The Perfect Weapon Chapter 12 part 2 section 1 of 2

[camillecarelli]

Clang, bang.

Did those gates have to be so loud? Couldn't the CIA afford a can of WD-40? He could bring one in from home; hell, he probably had a can somewhere in his trunk. Maybe he should run out to the parking garage and find it….Maybe he should stop avoiding the inevitable and just keep going down the hall and begin what he felt was, could be, the end. One step, then two, then another and …..

Jack shook his head as he took the now-familiar walk, forcing his breathing to stay slow and controlled, forcing his face into blandness. He could tell, though, that he had not fully succeeded; he could feel the intensity running through his veins, the focus narrow, the coldness that had seemed to take permanent residence in his gut the night he heard that song and remembered his darkest moment, the coldness -- that was all he could feel -- rise. This was, after all, the game of his life. Beginning - or ending - as the case might be, depending upon her choices - right now. Emotions had no place in this game. His emotions, anyway. Her emotions - that was another story. Her emotions would allow him to win this game, if he played them correctly, maintained control of at least that aspect of this op.

He hated not having control, hated it even though he knew that his foreknowledge gave him the upper hand. This time. Finally. As long as he kept his eye on the ball, his head in the game, did not allow her and his emotions to distract him. Could he do that? Ha. He had no choice. He would do that.

He walked briskly over to her, knocked on the glass sharply - how she loved to play the 'Gee, I didn't know you were coming over to visit lil' ol' me," game - and pausing a moment, thinking, planning, slapped his hands up high on the glass. Doubleplay time. Would she remember?

As she heard the gates open, she knew it had to be Jack. She thanked…whomever… every day that the gates made so much noise, giving her a chance to compose herself before Jack took the walk down her hallway. To pretend that she was surprised every time she looked up and he was there. And in a way that was not a lie. She had thought, feared, when she'd suggested that he check the hotel security tapes, seen the look of pain on his face when she reminded him, so reluctantly, of her own SOP when they were married before, that she had just burned a bridge. But as usual, his temper was quick and then over. Jack never changed, thankfully. Of course, why should he? He was just right the way he was. 'Just right'? Who was she, Goldilocks? Ech, that sounded like Jack. This is what happened when she spent too much time with him….He was dangerous to her. In so many ways.

He was walking briskly today, looked a little…agitated or excited or….She could feel his energy right through the walls of the glass, felt his intensity reach out to hers, match it, escalate it. Told herself to calm down, you're already a little, well, itchy, Did he feel the same way? Then she rolled her eyes, well, he of course, could play solitaire. But there was a way, many ways to solve their little problem, or -- she smiled remembering the blinking episode -- big problem, if, no when, they got out of this cell. How much longer did she have to wait before Sark gave her the signal?

Was he even aware of his body movements, what those upraised arms meant, what memories….She sighed internally, remembering that pose had always been a natural movement for him, that was why it had evolved….Focus, Derevko, he's talking. Ah, finally. The signal from Sark. Extraction time was nigh. How could she persuade Jack to persuade Kendall to let her out? Her original plan would suffice because as always the answer to any Jack question was and would forever be, Sydney.

"Jack, why haven't you….You of all people…"

He shook his head. Yeah, he of all people knew what it was like to be in the game. But, if it weren't for you, he wanted to say, if it weren't for my own stupidity and weakness and blindness, playing the game would have been a good life. And Sydney is neither as stupid nor weak nor blind as I was and she had the good fortune to find a trustworthy partner. Sometimes, sometimes, he pondered the issue of luck. He had never believed in it, but sometimes….And then he would remind himself it was not as if he had met a normal woman in Dave's psych lab and their marriage did not work out. No, she had been sent to him. That was not luck. That was a plan. And what plan is this, what game is this that Sloane and Sark and you are playing now?

Sydney, he had to keep her safe, out of this danger. He would rather, would always rather, be in it with Sydney. After all, if, if, she's not in the game with me, what kind of relationship would I have with her? And suddenly, he knew…he had been wrong and selfish and…Oh true, Sydney was a bloody genius on a mission in the field (just don't ever let her plan anything, for the love of god, look at the mess with taking over SD-6 when he'd allowed her surety to overwhelm his sense that there was something illogically easy about the whole set up), she was as much an adrenaline junkie as he was (and her mother), loved being on the edge as much as he did (and her mother), being in the game was in her blood, but….He had taken the easy way out, trying to create a relationship through work, through that particular shared interest, when in fact, he could have, should have….What an idiot. There were other shared interests. There was always another option. At least when one wasn't frozen by fear.

And, being honest, he knew that he did not want Sydney along because the cost was too high, not only to her, but to him. Because her faith might affect his, might create faith in Irina where little or none existed. Where none should exist. Having faith in Irina was a deadly error. He liked to think he did not make the same mistake twice. He could not afford to make any mistakes in this, what he knew suddenly with all the intuition he possessed that in the end that might be, might be, much more valuable than any game theory, match point. Wait, was he actually thinking he could trust his instincts with Irina Derevko? Potentially fatal error, he warned himself. Later, Bristow, focus. Remember: Irina brought up Sydney because she was going to use her to get what she wanted.  
And she wanted out.

Gee, why could that be? It would seem that extraction time was approaching. I'll play along with this….

Would Jack buy her argument? As if Kendall's objections meant anything, she wanted to scoff. If Jack wanted to do something, he would find a way to do it. It was him she needed to convince, him she needed to persuade that the cost was…"What if it were worth it?"

Back and forth they went, 'planning' how to use the Rambaldi item to 'lure' Sloane. To capture Sloane to get Sydney out of this life, as if either of her parents had any real interest in doing so, he scoffed. And so, and so, back and forth, handing each other an idea, then another, they built a mission together, building upon each other's ideas, with their minds in perfect unison. Each thinking that this plan might, would, could free them. But their words, their plans were the bricks creating a perfect walled circled around them. With lies and deceit acting as the mortar. And each left the conversation thinking, "Gotcha," not seeing, or acknowledging, their own entrapment.

"What if it were worth it?" The words rang in his head along with that annoying metallic bang and clang of the gates. Walking past the Sunglass Hut guard, he growled at him, "For the love of God, man, get some oil on those gates!" He smiled when the kid flinched and immediately picked up the telephone and asked for maintenance. Ah, life's small pleasures. How truly pathetic of him. He needed a life.

He needed his life back. From whence - and he winced at the pedantic quality of his speech, who talked like that in their own head? 'Whence' for crying out loud? Relax, you geek. Let a preposition dangle, Bristow! Start over. Where had that thought come from, that he needed his life back? What did that mean? He shook his head as he sat down at the monitors, and picked up the phone. Later, he told himself, later. He'd think about it later or…maybe ask Dr. Barnett about it? Nah, he should probably keep it to himself. But then again….Later! You need to make arrangements with that private technician now. He leaned back in his chair and watched Irina pace the cell. Boy, she was a bundle of energy today. Looking forward to her little field trip? Gee, wonder what she intended to pack? Wonder if he should pack anything else besides that…What about…should he take a chance, a small chance, an infinitesimal chance that it might prove….handy?...It would involve another errand, but….No. What the hell was wrong with him? He needed to focus. After all, it wasn't as though he did not have a million things to do. Starting with convincing Kendall of the necessity of this operation. Oh yeah, and run a game on Kendall, convince him that he knew what he was doing without tipping his hand. He put down the phone and got up.

Irina sat down. It would take Jack a while to convince Kendall, then set up the ops. There was really nothing to do now but wait. She should just sit down and meditate. But….No, she was too wound up. She jumped up. As she paced back and forth, she wondered why was she so…wired, so anxious, so…itchy and twitchy? The first part of the op - obtaining the information and then the manuscript itself was relatively routine. And Jack was calm this time, not filled with anger and distrust as he had been in Kashmir, not filled with dangerous emotions that led him to make idiotic mistakes….Although they had been in her favor, had helped proved her trustworthiness…She needed to remember that, needed to remember that she had to keep him, in the end, a little off guard, use the emotions between him for her professional goals. She rolled her eyes at herself. Face it, Derevko, using the chemistry between you also is personal goal, be honest at least with yourself about that. But…she needed to control that until they could be alone. She needed Jack's focus and intensity set on the mission now, needed him to do what he did best - okay, well maybe he was best at something else, she smiled to herself.

Then she lost the smile and got up and began pacing, remembering how he had combined the skills at the game and his other skills in an entirely different kind of mission than the one on which they were about to embark. Before he met her, anyway. She pinched her arm as she tried to tamp down that inconvenient possessiveness that still surprised her every time. Wondered if she had ever been in the position of being a victim of one of Jack's in and outs if she would have fallen for it, if she would have been as surprised as Natasha the next morning to find out that she had been screwed in more ways than one. She supposed it was fortuitous…--- fortuitous, there was a word she would have to remember, Jack would probably like that word, especially if she used a stronger version of her accent, hmmm --- that they had not met before when he was on one of those missions. Or after. She smiled, wondering what they each might have done if he had been sent out to acquire some piece of intel from some female operative and that operative had been her….That was a favorite little 'what if' she contemplated from time to time, but now that she had been with Jack, had seen 'her' Jack again as she had recently, she hoped he had not resumed those screw and skedaddles. Not only because the very thought made her nauseous, but because Jack had never been right for that job, it would hurt him inside to continue that behavior. The man was just too sweet to engage in that kind of coldness.

"I've had twenty years to reflect on that woman's ability to deceive. Trust me. The next time she lies to me, I'll know it." Running the game with a grain of truth was always best, he thought, as Kendall gave the okay. He was telling the truth after all, just not the whole truth. He did know she was lying to him, he just wasn't sharing that information with the rest of the class. He sighed, it would be a sad, sad day when Kendall caught on to the nature of the game with the Bristow family.

Speaking of which, what was Irina doing now? She was never cold. Ah yes, getting her little ducks in a row for her own little op. He was endlessly amazed, chagrined at how stupid she must think he was, that he would not be watching the monitors and understanding what she was doing. But then again, he reminded himself, he needed to put aside his ego and just be happy that he had successfully conned her into believing that he was 'her' Jack who had trusted her completely. Trust. Jack Bristow and trust in the same sentence? There was a good exercise; class, please write a sentence with the words Jack Bristow and trust in a sentence. The only one to which he would give a passing grade would be, 'Jack Bristow does not trust anyone because he is no longer a fool.' Or did it sound better to say, 'Because Jack Bristow is no longer a fool, he does not trust anyone'? Well, either one was fine as long as one did not add the clause 'even himself'. He needed to remind himself that this was just a…resumption of an old type of mission. He did not need to get…emotional about it. Unless No. But what if…was that an option? There was always another option, right? …. No, she would not make that choice. To her, this was just an in and out, one she would enjoy because, after all, isn't that what he had written the book on? Ha, he had just let a preposition dangle. Self-actualization completed for today. He should take a bow.

She stopped, thought, struck by a notion. In the aftermath, would he view their time together as a screw and skedaddle she had done to him? Oh, no, she hoped not, that would not be true, well, not the whole truth, not the important truth. The important truth was….Wait, why was she worrying about the consequences, she had never done so before. And surely he would know that there was truth in… Stop it. She, like he, needed to anticipate every possible contingency, every possible issue. And he would, he had been - she could feel it - full of resolve and energy, the wheels clicking in his head as he created and began checking off each item on a list. There was really nothing to worry about. But perhaps that was it - she was accustomed to doing all the worrying herself, being in control. It had been twenty years since she had allowed, wanted, expected anyone to help her, take ca….No, she was just being a control freak. Maybe being with Jack, his tendencies, had rubbed off on her. Maybe she'd really like to rub…Stop it, Derevko. Not helpful. Not. Right. Now. Control.

As she continued pacing, contemplating the mission, both the one Jack was planning and the one she was planning, or rather not planning, surmising how Sark and Sloane would set up the extraction, she swiveled back and forth, back and forth, faster and faster as she felt an tightness in her chest, Sydney, Jack…No, no. She would not think about that. She had spent time with each of them. That would have to be enough. She needed to find a way to say good bye to Sydney, she needed to do that, see her one more time. And Jack…She needed to be satisfied with what she could get, what she could steal from the game. She could not….No. Staying with them would not fulfill her long-term goals. Maybe when she did that, she could return, find a way….Of course, she could, she sighed with relief. She could have done it before if not for sheer stubbornness. Trust Jack to point out her flaws. And even if she couldn't, hadn't she created some new pages for her memory book? Wouldn't she be creating more when she went on this mission with Jack? Somehow, she did not think the kids would be with them this time. He wanted time alone as much as she did. So, yes, that memory book would be even more full now. She only wanted one night with him, just one last night, one last time with someone who loved her, who touched her with love and want and warmth. It would have to suffice, it would have to be enough. She could not afford need. And want would be enough for both of them, it would, she told herself, rubbing her bare arms, suddenly feeling the chill. Time to work on her part of the mission. She rang for the guard, asked for her sweater.

The guard Jack had so helpfully intimidated answered her call. Apologetically handing her the sweater, he said, "I'm sorry that you can't keep your clothes in here with you, ma'am."

"That's alright. I understand. I'm…dangerous, you know," she whispered, looking up at him with a dimpled smile. Thankfully Jack was busy planning this mission and had no time, nor - given that he trusted her now -- nor any reason to watch the monitors. If so, she knew Jack would be rolling his eyes if he were watching, saying derisively, "What exactly do you want, Laura? With that smile? What game are you playing?" Why was he the only one who could see through her little tactics? He was so irritating! But on the other hand, he had never seen through to the truth that she was an operative. But on the other hand --- how many hands was she up to now? --- he had seen the essential truth, that what had been between them had been true. Dangerously true.

"It's your ex-husband who's the dangerous one," he whispered back, then clamped his hand over his mouth, his eye darting around in sheer panic.

"True. Very dangerous. When he held that shard of glass at your throat, my heart was in my throat. I was so worried for you. In fact, I'm concerned right now -- talking with me is skating on thin ice, you know. You could lose your job that" she snapped her fingers, the sound sharp and loud in the silence of the cell block, "That easily. Jack, Agent Bristow, could have you fired. You need to be more careful," she suggested softly, touching his arm. "I'd hate for you to lose your job. Or face Jack's wrath. I've…faced it myself, you know. Before…And now. If Agent Vaughn had not intervened after Madagascar, I'd be," she stopped for a moment, "dead right now. Executed. So, you need to be careful. Your….courtesy and kindness to me is hardly worth your job."

"I don't need anyone's permission to talk to anyone I want," the young man said pugnaciously, if softly. Irina rolled her eyes internally. What a fool. This was too easy. A nice kid; it was almost a shame he would be losing his job once Jack returned without her from Panama. But anyone this naive should not be allowed anywhere near her. Oh well, the kid would learn a lesson, she supposed. They chatted for a moment longer, he left, but not before asking if there was anything else he could get her. She asked for black coffee and when he returned, gave him the sweater back, saying she was now too warm. He threw the sweater over his arm without checking it and talked for a moment longer before leaving. Check, she thought, going through a list in her mind.

"Yes, hello. This is Bristow. Is the item ready? I need it now. No, not tomorrow, today. And you understand that the lifetime guarantee means that the length of your lifetime depends upon the reliability of your guarantee…."

He hung up and fought the urge to imitate Irina and begin pacing. Fought the urge to scream. Maybe he should go to the target range? Maybe….he tapped a pencil against his knee, watching Vaughn do something illegal on his computer. One of these days the noose was going to close around the kid, he did not excel at covering his tracks very well. Humph, like he should talk - Vaughn had been the one to discover his Madagascar fiasco. As if that was not one of the more embarrassing moments of his life…that Vaughn was the one to make the deduction. Well, it could have been worse, it could have been Weiss. Then, he would have had to hand in his membership card in "Games R Us". That was lame, Bristow…You're too tense and there's too much going on…..there's too much at stake. So many choices…for each of them, but really only one right choice. Which would he choose, which would she choose? It was driving him nuts….Bristow, remember compartmentalization? Remember? Find something else, something simple and innocuous and easy upon which to focus…..

Should he tip off Vaughn that he was under investigation? He stared at the pencil in his hand, tapped it against his cheekbone, reminding himself. Pencil, eye, pencil, eye, Jack, remember? And Irina would surely notice if he walked down the hall with a lead point sticking out of his pupil. Of course, knowing her, she would just pull it with her bare hands and berate him for his stupidity while she was at it. Nah, just…calm down, he told himself. You can get Vaughn out of it later, it will be a good test of Syd and Vaughn's rel…wait, was that meddling? Could doing nothing be meddling? Was there any way he could win with Sydney? Probably not, she was a woman after all. He sighed and twisted the pencil between his fingers, watched Irina sit, then stand, then….Hmm, this was interesting. What page in her memory book was she turning now? Was it the one he expected? Could he check off that item on his list?

Now what, though? Where was Jack, what was taking him so long? He could plan an overthrow of a country in 45 minutes, for….Oh, but then again, he'd spend four more days checking his plans and…She needed to be more patient. Soon enough, he'd come back down the hall and they'd be out. Out! What did she need…She hoped they had a nice dress. And jewelry. Please, nice jewelry. She needed jewelry. Maybe she should ask Jack to bring in some of hers? Perhaps that necklace with the diamonds on it from Brussels, from that night in the parking garage, the night of the necklace they had always called it, the night he allowed her to tie him up. She sighed. Maybe that was too blatant…Jack had never been terribly interested in symbolism, but even he could not miss that one! Not that she would ever do that again, that had been an error in judgment on her part. So, maybe the gold necklace that matched her chain, the one he'd had specially designed for her on their first anniversary? Or should she push her luck and ask about the entire set, the chain, the necklace, the earrings, the anklet….The chain, she wanted that chain. He could keep the rest, as long as she had the chain. Wait. Had he given all their, her jewelry to Sydney? No, he would not have given that particular set to Sydney, that set had too many erotic connotations for the two of them. Oh, maybe she should just give it up, maybe she was being too greedy, wanting everything. But she needed that chain….If nothing, else she had to have that chain, damn it!

Calm down. Focus. Compartmentalize. After all, isn't that something at which she excelled? Wasn't it always better to focus on what one does well, on the positives in any situation? Wasn't it enough that they were going to be on a mission together? That she could prove how she excelled at her work? She rubbed her hands together. The two of them on a mission together. It would be perfect, she knew it. Knew it. He would be the best partner she had ever had, she knew it. How often had she fantasized about that, wished she had not lost her nerve in that skating rink and tried to recruit him? How often had she fantasized about showing up on his doorstep and persuading him to work for her? Or since this was Jack, with her? After he got done trying to kill her but before he started kissing her? And that fantasy led to another, the one in which she imagined showing up in his bedroom and persuading him…. Or then, there was the one in which she imagined looking up and seeing him standing in her doorway, with his arms on the doorframe, just like in that picture….just like he had today, only….She walked over to the glass where they had been standing. Standing on tiptoe, she reached her arms up to where his hands had rested on the other side. Then seeing the camera out of the corner of her eye, she relaxed momentarily and then resumed pacing, until she found herself rotating around the table in smaller and smaller circles, seriously contemplating jumping up on top of it, just to jump off it.

Calm down, you fool, she told herself, flopping onto her cot. What's the point of jumping off if he wasn't there to catch her, anyway? She knew she was almost high on adrenaline and anticipation, just as she had been when they were dating and she was waiting for him. How many times had she met him halfway because she could not wait for him to arrive at her apartment? And then he had changed it into a game, alternating routes every time so that she would have to track him down. She sighed…. that had been so much fun, the perfect combination of professional and personal enjoyment. She had excelled at that, almost always finding him, no matter which route, no matter how he tried to hide, irritating him endlessly. Finally, he had found a way to win. Unfairly, she was always quick to add, when he told the story. "Cheater!" she would laugh. "Unimaginative," he would retort.

He had called her one day from work after returning from one of his 'trips' to say he would pick her up a certain time. She had left her apartment, looked fruitlessly for him, running faster and faster down each possible street, swearing internally in Russian. After nearly an hour of searching, she finally becoming concerned. Oh no, what if he had gotten hit by a car or someone had kidnapped him or…what if he had fallen off that bridge over the river or what if someone had mugged him? She ran home as fast as she could to use the phone to call Dave, glad all the running she had done in the past and now with Jack and Dave almost every morning kept her in good shape. She had to get home. Surely, something had happened to him, she fretted, huffing and puffing in her distress as she ran up the stairs to her apartment door. Telling herself she was being ridiculous, he had probably just gotten caught up at work…. Well, she decided, he had better be lying somewhere bleeding or she would kill him for worrying her like this!

Careening up the steps, two a time, she stopped dead, seeing Jack standing there in the open doorway to her apartment. His arms upraised on the door frame in his typical posture, his head cocked to the side, just giving her that damn annoying smirk. He quipped, "Hi, honey, I'm home. Surprised to see me? What took you so long?"

"Ooh! I'm going to wipe that face right off your…face!" she shrieked in relief and anger. She launched herself at him and he let her momentum take them to the floor of her apartment. They had rolled around, she growling, he laughing. Finally, she straddled him and held his arms down with her hands. "You, Jonathan Donahue Bristow," she snarled, "are a dead man. Dead."

"You used my full name. Oooh, I'm so worried. Help, someone, help," he whispered, still laughing. "I need to be saved…Honey, you might want to close the door…."

"Jack…I was worried." She bit her lip and pounded his shoulder with one fist.

"What?" he asked in confusion. "Worried about what?"

"You! You idiot!"

"I still don't---"

"When I couldn't find you….I looked everywhere, ran everywhere, and then I was afraid something had happened to you," she ended, hiccupping.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry," he whispered, shaking off her hands to wrap his arms around her and pull her down against him. "It never occurred to me that you wouldn't figure it out." She shook her head against his chest and he spat her hair out of his mouth, before saying dryly, "Well, eventually, anyway. No imagination. That's how I beat you at our games. No---Ow!" She bit the chest muscle under her mouth. "So, now's probably a bad time to tell you I had enough time to run to the hardware store and replace your door lock, I bet…."

"What? Wait a minute? How did you get in, anyway?" She had to ask, the graduate student Jack ostensibly was would not have had a lock pick set in his pocket. She bet he undressed himself tonight. What a shame.

"I jimmied the lock. Took about two seconds. Then, while I waited - endlessly I might add-- Ow! Your teeth are sharp, you know! It occurred to me that the lock wasn't really sufficient. I started to worry that someone else could jimmy it, while you were sleeping or something--"

"You mean on those few nights when I actually sleep here, not at your place? Or sleep alone, without you here? When you're off on those business and research trips of yours?" she asked, fishing. 
"Yeah, then. So I replaced the lock for you."

"I guess I'm supposed to thank you now for scaring me half to death as long as you changed my damn lock for me?"

"Well, yeah, actually. If you want the keys to the new lock. Start thanking me. If your imagination fails, I can always give you some ideas---"

"Where are the keys, Jack?" she gritted out, still irritated that he had outfoxed her.

"Find them," he laughed. "You love games."

"Yeah, when you're not beating me at them!"

"Ahhh, I see, you'll only love me if I let you win?" he teased. "As if you could respect or love someone you could intimidate, Laura?"

"Are you calling me…bossy?"

"Who me? Never," he said, laughing.

She had flounced off of him, 'accidentally' knocking into him as she stood up. He laughed again which made her more angry and she had stomped around the room looking for the keys, swearing while he rolled his eyes. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes and pretended to sleep. Finally growing irritated himself, he said, "You're being a little ridiculous. And don't give me that crap about you being worried. What's really got your tights in a wad is that I faked you out. You lost in one of our games, one you've always won before. What a bad sport you are!"

"I am not!"

"You are--- I refuse to respond the way you want me to. You're being--"

"Don't tell me I'm being childish! Don't condescend to me. I swear, Jack…."

"You're wasting our time," he said and vaulted to his feet. To her astonishment, he had walked out the door without another word. She had stared in shock at the door as it closed behind him, taken a tentative step toward it, when she heard a knock. What in the world was he doing now? She hated when he did this, kept her off balance.

TBC at Chapter 12 part 2 section 2 of 2