Part four! I should warn you guys though, this chapter is much darker than the previous ones. Nothing too graphic, but it does contain themes of torture—it takes place during season four, when Irina was being held prisoner by Elena. Just a heads up.
The Time She Fell Apart
The darkness that surrounded her didn't seem to have an end. But she'd gotten used to it; just sitting there against the wall in the pitch black of the tiny little room. It wasn't the darkness, or the emptiness that bothered her anymore. The worst part now was waiting…
They came every day. Each time, the door was thrown upon, and she was dragged away into an interrogation cell. They would ask her the same questions, over and over. But she never told them anything…and today would be no different.
Light flooded the room, and Irina didn't even have need to look up to know that they were there. There was a heavy shuffling, and then the guards were level with her. They hauled her roughly to her feet, and she nearly cried out in pain. Every nerve in her body felt as if it were on fire, and even the slightest touch left her certain that it would leave a bruise. The guards had no concern for her well-being, however, and shoved her out of the cell without a word.
She longed to fight them, to turn on them, to hurt them as they forced her onward. And she had, the first couple of days…or was it weeks? Months? How long had she been here? It felt like an eternity, and now she had no energy left to fight with.
Irina let no word of complaint slip from her as she was forced into a chair, and the binds around her wrists were tightened. She even managed to lift her chin half-defiantly; a vague reminiscence of her once proud and dignified disposition. But she knew that the light was gone from her eyes. She was no threat to her captors.
And then a familiar form stepped forward, smirking upon seeing Irina's dull glare. Elena Derevko drew out a long syringe and fiddled it gently, under the pretense of cleaning the needle. Irina knew it was only meant to strike fear within her.
"Good evening, Irina." Elena said quietly.
Irina's only response was to narrow her eyes, ever so slightly. Elena arched an eyebrow and pretended to look disappointed.
"This would be much easier for you if you allowed yourself to speak with me." Elena gave her a patronizing smile. "Can you imagine how it must hurt me so, doing these things to my little sister?"
Icily, Irina stared at her with an expression of disgust. When she spoke, her voice was so dry and unused that it was barely more than a whisper. "We're both past small-talk, Elena. Do what you must." She answered.
For a moment, Elena looked like she was struggling to feign regret, but she eventually dropped the charade. Her expression went stone cold as she approached slowly, gripped her sister's arm, and plunged the needle in.
It was only a few seconds before Irina felt it: the searing, unimaginable pain that spread like fire through every blood cell. She choked back her cries as the agony nearly blinded her; helpless against the torture she was being subjected to. Elena, for her part, merely watched quietly. Though Irina could no longer truly acknowledge her presence, she knew in the back of her mind: her sister was waiting.
She fought it for as long as she could, but eventually the pain became too great, and she longed for it to end somehow. The last of her energy spent, Irina slipped back into darkness.
-
It didn't take long for Elena to revive her. A shock jumpstarted her heart, and then Irina was gasping for breath, alive, but utterly defeated. She had hovered in this balance between life and death many times before, so that the shock of the incident itself no longer had much effect on her. It was the hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm her that made her cringe each time.
Elena leaned close to her. "We both know you are going to talk, Irina." She purred, her gaze blank and soulless. "And we both know you are going to die. It's only a matter of when…"
As she slumped, bound to the chair, Irina tried to search her broken mind for any shred of light; the tiniest reminder of why she continued to fight for her life. Images flashed before her eyes as if they were real: her whole life, contained in a matter of seconds. Laura Bristow. KGB. Sloane. Sark, the Covenant, Rambaldi, Nadia, Katya, Elena, the prophecy, Jack…Sydney. Irina let out a shaking breath. And then, unbidden, a memory came to her from several years ago:
After a mission, Irina and Jack sat on a CIA airplane, face to face. They were in the midst of one of the first real, honest discussions they'd had in a very long time.
"I remember the first time you introduced me to Sloane." Irina mused quietly. "You were both working at the CIA. He came to the house for dinner…you were true friends." She gazed at Jack, a question in her eyes.
He nodded slowly. "Yes. We shared a similar unsentimental patriotism." He agreed, his eyes narrowed as he recalled the past. "…And devotion to our wives. But Sloane changed…and it was Rambaldi that did it. I'm not sure what it is, he never told me. But Sloane has a personal connection to Rambaldi."
Irina listened, quietly analyzing his words. "I lived for years with the same obsession." She admitted at last. "To find a higher meaning in Rambaldi's work. I never understood how you managed to avoid getting caught up in it." She told him.
Jack replied with conviction. "I had something neither of you did." He answered shortly.
She looked into his eyes, and then she knew. "Sydney." It wasn't even a question, and the look in Jack's eyes confirmed it.
Irina had secretly admired his devotion then, and now she wondered if she could manage to find that same devotion within herself. Jack had resisted so much for the sake of his daughter. Could she fight this for Sydney as well? Could she fight for their family? As she pondered, she almost felt a spark of strength.
But then, Elena had always had a gift for reading her like a book. She smiled coldly down at Irina, but as usual, the smile did not reach her eyes. "I wonder what you think you're fighting for." She murmured. "Or who?"
Irina stared wearily up at her sister. "It should concern you that I'm fighting at all." She hissed through her teeth.
A dark chuckle escaped Elena's lips. She placed a hand on Irina's wrist, a gesture that might have seemed almost comforting—if it weren't for the painful scars there that Elena was deliberately provoking. "See the guards outside this room?" she whispered. "They're no longer here to keep you in. No, I'm afraid that even if I let you walk out of here, you wouldn't get far. Not in your…current state. No, those guards are here to keep others out. Though now that I think about it," Elena paused for vicious effect, "There's really no need for them. No one is going to rescue you, Irina. Not your husband, or your daughter."
Averting her gaze, Irina remained silent.
Elena continued on in an even softer tone. "I've made sure of that."
With a burst of energy she didn't know she had, Irina immediately half-lunged forward. Bound, she was no real threat to Elena, but her eyes were blazing with fury. "What did you do to them?" She demanded unevenly.
Elena drew back, suddenly looking rather bored. "Oh, they're fine. For now…but you see, I've made a few arrangements. They think you've betrayed them, once again. Not really a stretch, is it? They won't bother coming here to rescue you…especially since soon, they'll believe you are dead." As she spoke, Elena walked briskly across the room and refilled the syringe. "Of course, we could easily make that last part a reality." She added.
Irina stared at her, numb with disbelief. How had her own sister managed to destroy things so completely? As much as she tried to fight it, she felt defeat slowly crashing down upon her. She looked down, seething with fury and despair.
"Now," Elena approached her again. "You will tell me everything you know about assembling the Rambaldi device. And you will do it soon. Otherwise, it won't just be you who suffers." She gripped Irina's arm again, and smirked, raising the needle again. "I think one more dose should do it."
Irina closed her eyes. She knew now, inevitably, that she was going to break.
