The Perfect Weapon Chapter 12 part 4 section 2 of 3

[camillecarelli]

"That's ridiculous! This...I've been in countless nearly-fatal situations and never had a real problem. Even when I was young, I tended to have issues only with what I had to do to others not with what was done to me. And I, what she did....I was not...wounded in battle, caught in a firefight...."

"No? You didn't take a blow to the heart, to the soul?"

She paused, watched his eyes widen slightly, which in Jack Bristow's case was akin to someone else leaping around and yelling 'Eureka!' She breathed a little easier. "Here...look at this...Of course some symptoms are similar to depression, which can be found in combination with a stress disorder," she said, sliding a symptom sheet in his direction. He slowly bent his head. She knew what he was reading, 'difficulty forming attachments; difficulty feeling emotions, even happiness; outbursts of anger; hypervigilance; impairment of social functioning....' 
"Combine that trauma with your natural...shyness and self-esteem issues and..." she said carefully, knowing that to provide a label could either prove a great boon or cause him to retreat further.

"I'll think about it," he said quietly. Put the paper down, crossed his arms and waited. This could not be the end. What number tactic were they up to by now? She had surely pulled out all the stops, hadn't she?

"Describe your friend Dave to me," Barnett said. Noting his crossed arms, the mask he was wearing, she sighed. This was going to be...unpleasant.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously. Okay, he had been wrong. This was...unexpected.

"He was so important to you, you trusted him...Before I start this part of the session in earnest and begin--- " She paused, waited. Dave, don't fail me now.....

"Attacking," they said simultaneously. He stopped and stared at her, wondering....She smiled, thought as she had so many times today, 'Thank you, thank you, Dave. You're not the jerk I thought you were the time we met.'

"Yes, before I begin attacking you, tell me about him. I'm curious."

"You're not curious. You're looking for something."

"Yes. Are you curious about my search?"

"Are you trying to find my weaknesses?"

"Are you trying to avoid my question?"

He gave a quirk of his lips. "Okay. You got me." He took a deep breath and looked away for a moment. "Dave was...friendly, outgoing, gregarious, smart -- very smart, brilliant really, funny, sarcastic, a bad ice-skater, good baseball player, persistent, loyal, trustworthy, reliable...my best friend for fifteen years. My best friend, ever. What else do you want me to say?"

"How was he different from you?"

"I was... a good ice-skater," he said dryly.

"Oh?" she said, then gave up trying to swallow the chuckle. "Very good try. But....you were outgoing too, is that what you're saying? From the beginning, when you first met him? Really? You expect me to buy that? You who," she stopped and pulled out a sheet of paper, "When first recruited at the age of seventeen, you described yourself as a and I quote 'geek'? People who call themselves geeks are usually not outgoing. Do you still think of yourself as a geek?"

He forced himself to stillness. Forced himself to not betray by fidgeting how close to the bone she was cutting. To betray only annoyance rather than the beginning of a slow burn of anger. "I assume there's a point? Somewhere? If so, enlighten me."

"Do you want me to cut to the chase?"

"For the love of god! Yes. I've got a plane to catch. My time is---"

"Get over it. They'll hold the plane for you. So don't try that piece of crap excuse again. Let's see...It's interesting that the first word that came out of your mouth when you described Dave was friendly, followed by gregarious and outgoing."

"Is it? Just random thoughts."  
"Really? You have random thoughts, Jack, when someone asks you a specific question?"

"Don't get all Freudian on me, Judy. I thought that was out of vogue."

"Freudian slips will always be in fashion."

"Psychobabble humor, I presume."

"Did you envy Dave his outgoing nature when you were so shy?" she shot at him.

"Yes!" Then he blinked his eyes. What the hell had he just said?

"Was he fun to be with? Did you spend a lot of time with him up, even after you were married, until the time you were imprisoned? Did Laura seem to like him?"

"Everyone liked him."

"But he chose you to be his best friend?"

"Yes. A gift."

"Yes, I would agree. We should all be so lucky. But that's right, you don't believe in luck, do you?"

Could a grown man stick out his tongue? He wondered.

She paused, let him relax, then shot again. "Were you always shy? From the time you were a child?"

"Yes."

"Did you wish you could be like Dave? Did you try and emulate that aspect of his personality? Was he like a big brother to you in some ways, someone to...imitate, respect?"

"Yes, yes, yes!"

"Did he give you strategies to overcome your shyness? Did he talk to you about why you should try to overcome your shyness? How you would be happier if you made an effort to overcome it? Yes or no?"

"Yes!" he nearly shouted.

"Didn't you actually have quite a few friends before you met Laura?"

Then said, thinking, she could tell, "Yes, I did have friends before Laura. I did."

"Good. Did Dave talk to you about how the constant moving around you did as a child as your mother tried to find you adequate schooling to suit your IQ exacerbated your natural shyness? The shyness you were born with, for which your father always ridiculed you? That is, before he abandoned your family? And that's one reason you have trouble trusting people?"

"Yes! Damn you! How the HELL do you know all this?" He jumped up, breathing rapidly, his heart pounding so hard, so hard, so hard, he thought it was going to jump right out of his chest. "How, how? The only person who knows all that is, was....."

"Dave, right? Dave knew. He knew everything. You never even told Laura all that, did you? Or that you thought of yourself as a geek? Why were you afraid to tell Laura that, Jack? Why? Who were you protecting? Her or you?"

"Shut up! Shut up!" 
"Why? Does the truth hurt?"

"You know it does! Why are you doing this right now? You know, you know that I'm about to go out on a mission with Irina, that I need to focus, to concentrate. Now is not the time for this crap!"

"Oh, yes, it is," she said with surety. Her confidence was so clear it made him pause.

Then he went on the offensive again. "What the hell does that ancient history have to do with anything? I"m leaving!"

"No. You're. Not. Sit down. Now." They stared at each other. He sat. Stared at her. She breathed a sigh of relief and moved her shoulders, feeling the sweat trickling down her back.

"What does that ancient history have to do with right now? Nothing... if you had not been so deeply betrayed by one of the two people you trusted, as an adult, most in this world. If that had not happened, you would have kept maturing and grown out of most of your trust issues resulting from your father's abandonment, probably with a little help from Dave."

"Laura..."

"It's my guess that in some ways the...closeness, the symbiosis of your relationship with Laura actually prevented you from developing self-worth on your own. She gave it to you, but you did not own it. It was a gift she could take it back, couldn't she?"

"Dave said..."

"What? What did Dave say?" she pressed.

"Dave said that self-esteem is a gift you can receive only from yourself."

"When did he say that?"

"Many times." Then he stopped speaking. Okay, move it along, Judy, she told herself. Time is ticking away.

Bending over her desk, she pulled a sheet out of the pile and slowly placed it in front of him on the coffee table. He betrayed nothing, just looked up at her calmly.

"Jack, tell me about this day, this man in this picture," Barnett said softly.

He rolled his eyes. "You had Susan haul me in here to try every tactic in the book, then ask about this picture of me in my jeans on a couch? Surely we have better things to do than talk about an old photo when I used to have dark hair? Too long too, wasn't it?"

"It was the Seventies. Long hair was the least of our fashion faux pas, Jack. I had a pair of lime green, striped hip hugger bell bottoms that..." He looked at her, his brow creased and she spoke up quickly. "But what did Susan do?" Barnett asked casually, raising her eyebrow. "She was, perhaps, a little over eager, but that's understandable." Let him chew on that for a moment....

"Why is it understandable?" he asked, tilting his head.

"She cares about you, wants you to be happy."

"Again, why? Why would she care?"

She wanted to...cry for him, she thought fleetingly, then tamped it down. "Because she considers you someone with whom she could be a friend. Remember friends, Jack?" 
He reared back. Well, let's see, so far we've had how many modes of attack and he hadn't even been here for forty-five minutes. Two in the last three minutes, though. Too bad he had forgotten to count when he came in. Clearly, he needed sleep. Too bad he wasn't going to get it tonight.

"Yes, yes, I do. Actually, this photo reminds me of that day, my friends..." Where was she going with this?

"Tell me about this day. Tell me about this man..." she said, tapping his face in the photo.

"It was....a perfect day. And a perfectly-normal day. Gardening, talking with our next door neighbor - this nice retired guy, being with my wife, having friends over, talking with Dave...playing cards..." he said calmly, forcing himself to smile. Wow, and it didn't even crack his face. Would wonders never cease?

"The picture? Your ex-wife took it? Was it the only one she took that day? Why did she take it?"

"Laura took it. But where did you get it?"

She looked at him, measuring him he thought, for a moment. Deciding, he surmised, her next plan of attack. "The Archives."

"The Archives?" Oh brother, had she pulled his dissertation? Probably not, she might have trouble looking him in the eye if she had. Well, that would be one way out of these torture, oops, he meant therapy sessions. He forced his mouth to stay flat, to not smile, as he looked over toward the pile on her desk for the distinctive bright-blue of a bound dissertation. "What were you doing in the Archives?" he asked carefully.

"Research on you. Dave. So, Irina took this picture?"

"Laura took the picture. She took a ton of pictures that day," he said evenly, forcing himself not to grip his knees, not to shred the picture in half.

She paused, then noted, "Jack, sometimes you refer to her as Irina and sometimes Laura....Why is that?"

"Because....I think Dave was right. I think she compartmentalized herself and when she was Laura she....did things like take these pictures, act the way she did that day...Although that day I came home from a mission, so no doubt when she left to go to the store, she probably called in a report. Or when she said she left our bed to use the darkroom, she called in a report. Then she was Irina." He stopped, shook his head.

"Do you think she loved you? Did Laura love you? Did Irina?" she asked quickly.

But his walls were up too high, too strong to give her the answer for which she was trolling. "I think, in the end, that her feelings were irrelevant. She left."

"What did Dave think? About her feelings?"

"This photo - it's Dave's mistake." She raised her eyebrows in shock. That was the clumsiest, most obvious misdirection....She felt the adrenaline surge through her body. Careful, Judy, careful.....Unless it was not a misdirection...

"Mistake, how?"

Was she buying that misdirection? If that's what it had been...."Or at least one of them. That's undoubtedly the photograph that got him in trouble for 'file irregularities with the Bristow case'." He turned it over. "Ah yes, Iris was like a dog with a bone. Always was, superior investigator, never forgot anything, good nose for any weakness. I've had her on my team from time to time, requested her. The man whose handwriting is below hers was an idiot."

"How did Dave find it?"

"He found her entire portfolio behind the mirrors in our bedroom."

"There were more photos?" Judy asked, then raised an eyebrow when he bit his lip in chagrin. Seeing the look of speculation on her face, he immediately smoothed it out. "And he stole it, right? Wait....he stole the entire portfolio, didn't he? When he was on the taskforce? That action got him kicked off the taskforce before the end? Before he found out the truth that your wife was still alive - a truth that he would have told you?"

"Yes."

"You knew that? About the photo?"

"I knew all of that. Know he would have told me, no matter what. And the existence of the portfolio? Dave told me when he gave me the portfolio...The day he helped me, talked me out of the screw and skedaddles."

"You said this photo is Dave's mistake? How?"

"Because he thought if he salted the file with one photograph... apparently Iris saw part or all of the, um, photos and remembered them, for, um, some reason....Well, he thought she would accept it as the entirety, that she would think she had just gotten confused when they trashed my house looking for evidence. Bad idea."

"What should he have done? What would you have done?"

"Remove all traces. Blame it on her overactive imagination, convince her she was confused. Cover his ass. All perfectly doable."

"For you. But he didn't have the same..abilities in that area as you?" she asked, looking for other clues as to how the two men had complimented each other.

"Well, he could have confused her, manipulated her. He certainly had the capabilities, but not the desire, the will, even the mindset. It would have never occurred to him. No. A clear flaw in his character. Lack of deceit and subterfuge often is, " he smiled.

"Jack...this photo...It seems, I was afraid you would find it embarrassing." He shrugged and then snorted; she was surprised to see a look of humor in his eyes. Was he about to laugh out loud? Had the world as she knew it come to an end? Was Valium being slipped in through the vents? Had Susan been reticent with her opinions? New Yorkers, she shrugged, always thinking everyone was entitled to their opinions. But what had caused the momentary...was it embarrassment, then amusement....

She was looking at him oddly, he knew. But there was no way he was about to explain that this photo of him in jeans was nothing compared to those photos of him in their bed, doing....Oh, brother. Although...that had been a fun night. What a game....What a partner....They had been nearly perfect together. Except for that one tiny, little, problem. Almost microscopic really. Nothing to have bad feelings about, right, Jack? The little problem that she had been a lying, deceitful bitch who had betrayed him and Sydney. Ah well, there were other games. Games he'd perfected long ago. Had apparently been saving just for her. Tonight, they'd play a few.

"Jack..." she said softly, drawing his attention away from the future to the present. "So, Dave told you about the portfolio of photos of...Were they all of you?" 
"Almost all. A few were of her and me, that Dave took. She took a few of me and Dave too, some of our other friends."

"So why did he steal the portfolio? Was it...did the other photos have notations like this one?"

"Notation? Let me see...Oh. 'Mine.'" He closed his eyes. "Laura was...possessive. Apparently possessive, anyway. Who's to say if it was real or not? Finding the truth in this vortex of lies, half-truths, truths...is enough to make my head spin."

"I think you can handle it, Jack. If you want. If it's to your advantage. Aren't you always looking for the advantage?" she pressed, thinking once again of a note in Dave's files. "Let's start with the first part of your last comment, the notation," she said tapping her finger on the word, 'mine'. "What do you think? No, what do your instincts tell you?"

"Ah, you were listening when I was relating Dave's take on it, that I needed to listen to my instincts?"

"I listen to every word you say, Jack. You're not random in your word choices."

"Clearly a flaw. One of many," he said self-deprecatingly, thinking she had probably caught that flaw in his misdirection technique. She was...wearing him down with this combination of direct confrontation and elliptical analysis. "I need to learn to be a motormouth and ramble on like Weiss. It's great misdirection, after all."

"Please don't," she said, closing her eyes and grimacing. "But back on point...Was she truly, honestly possessive of you?"

"I...think so. Her reactions, right from the beginning, were so visceral, so quick, so automatic... Looking back...I wonder about this contact of mine in Cairo...But, you can be possessive about someone, something without loving. You may just be territorial or controlling, not loving."

"Good point. What did Dave think? What does this photo have to do with Dave's opinion of her feelings?"

His mouth twisted. "You do pay attention. You caught that error."

"Yes. I win. So tell me as your forfeit. Were these photos the catalyst for something?"

"Yes..." he stared at the back of that photo, at her handwriting, at the hard underscoring of the words, 'mine' and 'my'. Later, so much later, those photos would be the catalyst that would make him question his belief that it had all been a lie. Dave had stolen, or as he said, liberated them from the CIA file room, where the documents on the case against him had been stored during his brief tenure on the task force, ending long before they had come to the conclusion that his wife was still alive. He had not needed to see the assignment log to know that, to know that Dave would have told him the truth when Arvin would not.

"Are we agreed then, that you'll cease the s&s?" Dave had pressed. Had leaned forward, staring into his eyes.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's not good for me," he parroted in a sing-song voice.

"And why is that, you jerk?"

"Because I'm, let me guess, too 'sensitive'?" he snorted. 
"Well, if you're not sensitive, then you won't mind seeing these, will you?" Dave said aggressively and just as aggressively thrust a folder in Jack's hands. "Jack, I think you need to see these."

He had opened the folder and pulled out a sheaf of documents. His mouth had dropped open. Turning red, he shoved them all back into the manila envelope. Clenching his jaw, he muttered, "I cannot believe this! I asked her, told her to destroy those and she didn't do even that for me? Oh what the hell am I saying?! She lied and cheated and stole from me for ten years and I'm furious about some naked pictures of me? I am truly an idiot." He shook his head and tried to hand them back to Dave, who refused to take them. "What is this torture from a friend, now? If you're my friend, do me a favor and destroy this entire pile of sh*t."

"No," Dave said firmly. "You need to look at the images, really see and understand them---"

"Why? So I can feel, once again, over and over, like the world's biggest fool? I can't believe I allowed her to do this, what was wrong with me?" He put his head in his hands.

Dave reached out a hand and put it on Jack's shoulder. He shrugged it off. Dave spoke softly, as if afraid Jack would bolt if he pushed too hard. "Jack, I want you to see this file, but not to hurt you. You know better than that." When Jack said nothing, Dave pressed again, "You know better than that, don't you? Do you think I would ever deliberately hurt you? Do you? Think with your heart and not your hurt."

Looking over at Dave, looking into his eyes, Jack looked away and agreed, "No. You would not hurt me. Deliberately."

"And not inadvertently either, not once you take a moment to listen to me for a change! I'm sick of you putting me off and wallowing in your own guilt."

Wallowing he thought to himself. What an odd coincidence that both Judy and Dave would use the same word. He looked at her, as she waited for him to continue, then saw her eyes drop longingly to that pencil of hers on the table. Hmm. But what....He shrugged, he'd figure it out later.

Dave had said fiercely, "So listen up! I...liberated the portfolio because it showed the truth, which might have hurt your case."

"This, this is the file you stole? That got you kicked off the taskforce?" Why in the world had he bothered!

"Yes."

"Why bother?" he gritted out between clenched teeth. "The truth is that I was a dupe, taken in by a whore. That's....painful," he closed his eyes briefly before continuing. "But how that portfolio would hurt my case, I don't see."

Dave slapped him on the shoulder, "If you would open your eyes, you would see. You're behaving like a petulant child. Snap out of it and listen to me!" He stopped and Jack looked over at him, expecting to see anger, but instead only saw compassion.

"Don't try and manipulate me like this, Dave!"

"I'm not manipulating you. I'm caring for you, trying to help you see the truth. I pulled the portfolio due to the nature of the investigation, the assumptions under which we were operating initially, at least. The crux of the case against you was two-fold. The first problem was those encryptions in both your handwriting and hers on those files on your private research on Project Christmas. You know that....the investigators zeroed in on that right away, but the fact that you readily gave up the code---" 
"Actually was stupid of me. But....no, I was in a no-win situation. I was framed perfectly by a master. If I hesitated, that made me look guilty. But if I were helpful, which I was -- not understanding what was going on when they initially approached me, told me that it seemed that someone might have broken into my home files.... By being forthcoming, someone knowledgeable in game theory might deduce that I was being helpful merely to throw them off the scent."

"This crap makes my head spin. But yeah, it sucked. You were trapped. I understand--"

"Dave, until you spend six months in solitary in a 10 by 10 foot cell unable to see your daughter, your best friend, you won't understand," he said condescendingly. Hearing himself, he winced. "I don' t understand," he blurted out, "Why you put up with me."

"For the same reason I'm here making you see and listen to truths you don't want to see or hear. Because you're my best friend. You dolt. Now listen up. What I understand, is that you're still as trapped as the day they pushed you in there and turned the key. But now, you're a prisoner of your own choice."

"What the hell!" Jack glared at Dave.

"Because you'll always be a prisoner until you confront the truth."

"Your version of the truth is not necessarily mine."

"There is objective truth, Jack."

"And what would that be, O wise one? Do tell. I'm dying to hear. Although that's a lie...I know what it's like to be looking death in the face, don't I? Waiting everyday for them to come down the hall and tell me that I'd been found guilty...."

"Can the pity party. I'm unimpressed."

"You--"

"Oh, shut up and listen. The second problem with your case was...you. Your gifts, your skills..made you suspect. You are too good a games theorist, too good an analyst, too good with foreign female operatives in the field before you retired from those missions, too suspicious, too distrustful, everyone thought to have been taken in that long by an operative. They assumed that you must have known and been in on with her for the desire to play the game as a double, the excitement of it, the money, or...."

Jack felt his jaw clench and his back teeth grind together painfully. "Great. Fabulous. So either I'm guilty of treason or Im guilty of being a fool, a poor analyst, a poor games theorist. Wonderful choice---

"Or you're human. You made a mistake."

"An unacceptable mistake. Sydney..."

"We'll talk about Sydney later. Right now, let's deal with this evidence," Dave said, tapping his finger on the file of photographs. "You cut me off before. They thought you might have been in on it with her for the reason that seemed the most obvious to anyone who had ever met you two."

Jack looked at him quizzically. "What would that be?"

"The crux, the base, of the case against you ended up being the apparent love you two felt for each other." 
He stared at Dave. "So.....in a wonderfully tragic example of irony -- something with which, by the way, Laura always had trouble --what I thought was my greatest strength, one of my greatest blessings in this life, ended up being the weapon against me?"

"Yes," Dave said simply. Then added, "So, I had to remove anything that proved you loved each other."

"Of course, the problem with building their case on that notion is the inherent fault in the assumption that she loved me."

"That is what the team decided. Luckily they decided, agreed with you, your eventual contention once you accepted that she had been an agent, that she did not love you. That it had all been one-sided. That you had loved her, but she was just the world's best actress. Which was a crock of sh*t. That's why I pulled the portfolio that day. Because if they saw that, they would never have believed she didn't love you. Or at least the women would have understood what they were seeing."

"What are you talking about? I see these photographs--" He gestured toward them, avoiding looking at the images, "And all I see is a foolish, foolish man who allowed himself to be...vulnerable in every way. Vulnerable," he groaned in despair. "Vulnerable before someone who betrayed him, who was probably laughing at him, his foolishness in thinking that she enjoyed....".He broke off and looked down, swallowed hard. This time he did not shrug off Dave's hand on his shoulder.

"No, I don't think she was laughing at all. I think you are completely wrong. Absolutely wrong. Look at these images, Jack. They were taken by someone who knew you, who cared about you, who wanted you, who loved you. Look at these notes on the back. Like this one, 'Gorgeous and he's all mine. Not one for the class, just my pers. port.'"

"You can be possessive without love. I..think she did..enjoy what we had together. Sexually. But that's not necessarily love, is it? I had sex with how many women the last few months and felt nothing for any of them. So yeah, I think she probably did feel satisfied in my bed, but---"

"You think? That woman could not keep her hands or her eyes off of you! And...not to be crass, but you can't manufacture a physical response like she clearly had whenever you irritated her. Ahem. Sorry."

"Drop it," he growled, then wanted to smack himself. Why get protective about...he swallowed hard...a whore who had no doubt taped their sexuality to prove to her superiors that she had won him. Swallowed down the bile. No...he did not want to vomit as he had in prison when he realized the truth... He lifted his head. Dave was talking....

"She never intended to show these to anyone, but herself, so why make those notations, Jack?"

"I saw them. That fact helped her game. Remember? I wrote her a note... is that in there? No, she wouldn't have saved---"

"Yes. She did. They are in the file too. Look."

"What? Why? Oh, she must have saved them to build the case against me. She could have saved those notes, taken those pictures, just to prove that she loved me, it could have all been part of her game---"

"Stop twisting everything!"

"I'm just applying basic game theory to---"

"Okay, I'll play along," Dave sighed. "Why would she have wanted to frame you?" 
"Because then I'd be locked up long enough so that I could not track her down and kill her when I discovered the truth," Jack said flatly.

Dave stared at him. "Fair enough. She could not have known she'd die in her extraction. But I think more likely is that she would never expect that reaction from you. She always seemed to see you...as sweet, loving. Which you were with her. I don't think, due to her own skills at compartmentalization and self-delusion, that it would have occurred to her that you would feel the depths of anger you feel, that you would now look upon her as an enemy operative." Jack nodded his head. Dave was probably right in his assessment. She had always wanted, seen, him in only one light. Dave was talking again. Did he never shut up, he thought to himself.

"But...let's look at the notes. I need to at least show you that I'm not a complete nincompoop about the game. Here..." Dave said, picking them out of the pile Jack refused to touch. He held them out until Jack took them. "Read them, your encryptions make my head hurt."

"Yeah, those encryptions. These notes...I see your point," Jack said, nodding again at Dave as he began to read. "'I found out the truth. Liar. You are such a liar. In so much trouble. I found one item from your little portfolio. Which you had better destroy before anyone else finds, let me tell you. What else do you have? What else did you steal from me while I was asleep or otherwise distracted by you? Do me a favor and destroy them all, they are too.....incriminating. It's a good thing Im such a fool for you, or you would be up the creek without a paddle. High and dry. But you're going to have to work, long and hard, to get me to forgive you. What, honey, can you offer me?' Not my best work, but I was in a hurry, on the way out the door on an emergency mission. And she wrote back, 'I love you, Jack. Isn't that enough? Laura.' She left that on our bed for me to find when I came home. And then I answered, "That's all I ever need from you. Just love me and you'll have me whenever, wherever, however. You know that. Forever and a day. Jack,'" he read aloud. Looking at Dave, he said, "Well, you see my point. Those notes are incriminating. And you'd be lying if you told me that you didn't take this file in part because of those notes."

"I took them because they were incriminating of the love between you two. And, true, because someone might read the notes, if separated from the personal joke of those photos---"

"Yeah, the joke was on me."

Dave rolled his eyes. "I thought she saved them because she was sentimental. Laura was sentimental...all that talk about her memory book, remember? If she didn't love you, why always try to make and keep memories? She was sentimental, Jack. And she loved you, the way she looked at you, when no one else was around....I truly believe she adored you."

"Adored? Sentimental? Is a snake adoring its victim as it sinks its fangs in? Is a snake sentimental as it winds away from its latest victim? Or is it just licking its...fangs as it scents around for the next meal?"

"Interesting, isn't it, Judy, how you and I both devised the same analogy for Irina?" Jack asked wearily.

"Are you okay, Jack? Do you want to take a break?" Judy asked with concern, handing him a water bottle.

"Nah. It's gonna get worse before it gets better, isn't it? So, let's just keep moving, " he said with resignation.

"Okay, that's enough," Dave said. "Let's get back on track. Let's run one of your little games. If she didn't love you, why wouldn't you have known?"

"Because I am a poor excuse for an agent, deluded by her and her abilities into believing that someone like her could love someone like me." 
"That's enough. Don't say drivel like that, don't think it. She was lucky, damn lucky, that you even gave her a second glance, let alone loved her the way you did for ten years. She was the lucky one. And she knew it. The way she spoke about you, the way she looked at you."

"It was just a game."

"You're making me insane!" Dave growled. "Because that's not the truth, not the full truth. And deep down, you know it. You were a man who loved a woman and she was a woman who loved a man. Aside from everything else, that is the truth." Jack shook his head, clenched his jaw. "That's what you can see in these photos. In her words, in the words of her instructor, who saw what I see. Read the critique. Right now. Read it to me. Aloud. Now." Only Dave would he have allowed to push him like this, right into territory he would rather not have entered. The territory of doubt that she had loved him, Sydney and still left. Dave had thought he was doing him a favor, forcing him to confront what lay in those photographs, in the words of the photography instructor.

'Often, what is revealed in human photography is not the object or the subject, but the photographer. You say you took these photos to show your husband who he is, in his entirety, the sweetness, the innocence, the and -- I know you didn't say this, but lets be honest, even though I can tell by the missing neg numbers that you did not share all of your images, the sexiness of the man." He swallowed hard, felt his cheeks burn. Then and now. Avoided looking at Dave then, Judy now. "But what you show most of all is how you feel about him, how you see him. You see all of those attributes in him, not only because they exist, but because they exist so strongly for you. What truly shines through these photographs is your love and passion and caring for this man. You can tell through these photos that during the course of the day, your feelings grew stronger and stronger, your presence in those photos stronger and stronger, that taking these photos made you see him and yourself differently.

Looking through the viewfinder, composing the images opened your eyes. Show that in your photo essay. Rearrange the photos to tell a story. Start with the one you took of him in the garden that you consider flawed, the one with your shadow falling across him. End with the photo someone else took of the two of you - two people are always more interesting, compelling than one. I know you didn't take the image, that it's bending the rules a little, but sometimes you need to think creatively, find another option to make the story show the real truth, the deeper truth. And in this case, the story could, should be the discovery of your own feelings for him. Starting with him asleep with your shadow, to sleeping alone, any of the others you like best, but include the one of him obviously awakening, to the two of you, looking at each other in the full light. Show how at first you were just a shadow, then as the photos progress the viewer feels your presence and your emotions more and more clearly and in the end, the clear joy and happiness so obvious on your face, his face...that's the way the story should end. Not him alone on that couch...But you two together. That image makes the story a full circle. Rearrange the photos, make some unique choices, own the story, own your own story. And then, you'll get that A you want so badly.'

He said nothing. Just stared at the sheet. Looked at the images with new eyes. No, with old eyes. The eyes of the man who had watched her face as she took those images. The eyes of the man who had watched her from the doorway as she fussed with setting the photo of the two of them on their bureau, who had felt love in her fussiness. Which truth was real? Were they both real? He felt the earth move slightly under him. Could it be....Had she truly loved him? Was everyone right? But no. No! He wanted to scream, but no sound came out of his open mouth. He looked at Dave in a panic, but his friend misunderstood his reaction, tried to convince him, tried to comfort him.

"See, what the instructor saw, what the members of the team decided early on was that you loved each other. That's why everyone was convinced so quickly that you had to be in collusion with her. Because of the obvious depth of feeling between you. The team thought she had told you the truth and because you loved her so much you chose to align yourself with her, to abandon everything else for her, that maybe you were to follow her later with Sydney, but she died first." 
Choices. It was all about choices, he had thought dimly. She could have chosen to photograph anything. Flowers, a light study, someone else like one of her students as they went through the process of learning, anything really. But she had chosen to photograph him because.. Dave was talking again.

"The photos were clearly important to her. Even a catalyst, as the instructor noted. She had hollowed out a hiding place behind the mirrors. Not a small job. And the photos -- see the edges, how they're worn -- she must have taken them out many times to see..."

"Interesting word, catalyst. The agent of change, right? Which remains unchanged itself," Jack shrugged.

"Okay, I'm not the wordsmith you are, I used the wrong word," Dave said and rolled his eyes. "But my point is that I don't think she was unchanged. As an outsider, but one who knew you both well, I saw her change as much as you. She deepened, she grew, she---"

"She left us," Jack said flatly.

Dave shook his head and asked, "So, what happened with these photos? How did you find them? What led to that note of yours? She left out one of the more private photographs somewhere or..."

Jack sighed. "She insisted on developing these...private photographs, which she took as a little game, one of our little games. She showed them to me. I insisted that she destroy them. She told me she would. Then I found a portion of one of the photographs in the fireplace. And you know Laura --- what a neat freak she was. I knew immediately that she had deliberately left the evidence behind to prove that she had burned the images, when in fact she had done no such thing. If she had actually done it, there would have been no evidence. Damn! I should have seen right there that's the way the mind of a gamesmaster works, not a damn English teacher! I thought she had some of the characteristics of one...thought she excelled at encryption and decryption because she was brilliant and so good with words...Thought I was lucky to have find the woman whose interests dovetailed so neatly with mine....How could I have not seen that looking into her mind was like looking into a mirror? Oh wait, I know. Because she was better at it than I am."

"Yeah, so you were taken in by someone better than you. It happens to everyone Jack. It could happen to her."

"Except for the salient little fact that she's dead. So I can't kill her or beat her at her own game, which would really be better than killing her after all, because then she'd have to live with her own defeat, which -- take it from me - is the worst possible punishment for a games-master."

He felt rather than saw Barnett's hard look at him and spoke up quickly.

"Gamesmaster. So, let's talk about the odds, why don't we? Yes, it's possible she could have been playing a game for that long. But probable? You're the oddsmaker, what are the odds? Is anyone that good?

"She must be."

"Why?"

"Because I'd rather believe she never loved me than that she loved us and left," he said, then bit his lip. Bit it again, when Dave put his arm around him.

Dave asked gently, "What is most hurt -- you as the man or you as the game theorist, the analyst? Or are the two so closely bound that you cannot separate them and the anger you feel rightly at her as a man, just a man, just a human being who was betrayed is feeding your hurt pride that she beat you at a game?"

"What is most hurt? What hurts most? What can't I understand? How -- if she loved us, she could make the choice to leave....I've tried to run every game theory I know, tried to understand...."

"Jack, I think that the problem is that you're looking for logic. Or wisdom. And sometimes, sometimes, people make illogical choices. Or choices that may appear to be logical but are not particularly wise."

"That's the point you were trying to make, wasn't it, when I was talking about accounting for every variable?" he asked Barnett.

"Yes. The choices we make with our free will are...often neither logical nor in our own best interests. Sometimes...people just make bad choices. Usually because they cannot or will not see the ramifications of those choices."

Yeah, he thought the learning curve is pretty high for some of us, isn't it? Ah well, that's why born teachers like him existed.

Dave had thought he was doing him a service. That if he knew that Laura, whoever, had truly loved him, he would not feel like such a fool, such a dupe. That those photos, that essay, would help him heal and move on. But, it would have been merciful, really, if Dave had never shown him that file. Then he could have gone on believing that it had all been a lie. That she had just been acting for the duration of her assignment and then left when it was over. And that was far easier to bear than the truth. That she had loved him and still left. What was the truly unforgivable act in their pas de deux of deception? Was it the deception about her identity? Was it bringing Sydney into this world knowing she would cause her pain, for her own selfish purposes? Was it stealing intel from him? Was it killing those agents? Or, he thought, with shame, was it the fact that she had left him, left Sydney? Could he forgive everything but that? Was he that weak? If they went on this mission and she did not leave, confessed, would he forgive her? Could he? Should he?

"If," Dave began again. Jack had sighed. Now, too. Geez, Dave and Barnett had a lot in common. So damn persistent, so irritatingly creative with their endless variety of tactics.... "I should have seen it too. I met her the same time you did. Spent time with her, so much time with the two of you and even alone -- all those coffees we shared together. And never once, never, did it ever occur to me that she was anything other than what she said she was. Than what she was -- a woman in love with you."

"But somehow I should have seen.... "

"How, how? Explain to me how."

"I don't know," he moaned, "That's what I've been trying to ascertain, where her mistakes were, why I didn't see them.... "

"Maybe, maybe she didn't make any mistakes."

"That long, Dave? Come on! To pretend that you..." he choked, "intended to stay forever....loved someone that way...there had to be mistakes."

"Maybe there were no mistakes because, one, she was very good at her job and not so unimportantly, at compartmentalizing and two, because she loved you "

"That's ridiculous. Why did we keep talking about this? I was just a job to her. Sydney...How..Sydney....I always thought that she didn't use birth control that night, forgot about her period because. she wanted to get pregnant....but..."  
"Wait -- Sydney was an accident?"

"Yeah, only I thought it was a deliberate accident on her part, I mean when I thought she was Laura...but...Maybe it was, maybe it was just a way to cement her cover, after all, I kept pressing about when we were going to start a family....Damn her! She knew I wanted a big family, agreed with me, then kept putting off additional children.."

"Maybe that, under the circumstances, was the responsible thing... "

"Maybe you're right," he said pensively. "Maybe you're right." After all, wasn't that why he--

"And you know, I know now's not the time, but I need to say this....You know, it's not like this is the end. You can remarry, have more children."

"Are you outta your mind?"

"No. But you're not thinking straight."

"I'm fine," he gritted out.

"No. You're not. Don't make any decisions right now, about anything, Jack. Take your time. You're still hurt and grieving and..."

"Don't tell me what I'm feeling! You're breaking your own rules, for the love of...."

"Fine. Then you tell me." When Jack said nothing, Dave continued. Of course, he continued, he always continued. " Jack, you're not ready yet. That's normal. You're caught between denial and anger. And I'm afraid, knowing you, that you're going to get stuck in the stage of anger. That you're most angry at yourself, for what you see as a failure.

"It was a failure."

"A failure of what?"

"A failure to see through her, to see through to her game, to the truth."

"I know how you operate, I know how the game works, I know that it would be easier if she were still alive and you could seek her out, make her pay the consequences."

"You're not going to tell me that my desire to do that is...bad, that I shouldn't think that way?"

"Jack, is making someone deal with the consequences of their behavior revenge? Or is it justice? You're the philosopher among us, you tell me. But too often, I think, we allow others to get off scot free for their behaviors..."

Barnett sat up straight. The laid-back quality everyone noted in their peer assessment's of Dave had missed a truth, a connection with Jack, a fierceness, a thirst for justice that...made sense. The laid-back, gentle man of the assessments would not have been a celebrated psych ops developer. Derevko was probably lucky that Dave had died before she returned....Dave's venom in his notes on the subject of Laura had been...deep. Deeply empathetic. Jack's pain had been Dave's pain. She tuned back in as Jack continued.

"In any case, your hurt is as deep as your love was for her. Boundless, infinite. But the pain doesn't have to be endless, Jack. And it won't be. At a certain point, at a certain time, you'll be ready to move on. You will make that choice, make the choice to let the love go and the hurt will go. Or vice versa. Or..something else. Aren't you always saying there's an option c? I wish, wish she were alive so you could confront her in some way, work it through that way, it would be...quicker. I wish she were alive so she could explain what in the world led her to leave, to make that choice, when I know how she loved you."

"But, Dave...it comes down to this. We're circling endlessly here and...."

"And that's how your brain works, so...that's why this is most effective..."

"Was he really trying to provide me with therapy?" Jack asked in startled surprise, looking at Barnett. "Judy...was he, do you think?"

"Yes. Is this the first time you've thought of this conversation since then?"

"In full. Why not before?" he wondered aloud.

"You weren't ready. Now you are....But let's go back, you're about to get to the crux of the matter, aren't you?"

"Yes. Again. The crux of the matter has always been...."

"How could she love me and still leave me? How? I don't understand...."

"And neither do I. But her reasons are her own. Her own choices. Her own problems. It is no reflection on you, or Sydney, or your life. It is a reflection solely on her."

"Reflection...Humph. She always loved the mirrors....But then again...."

"What?"

"She never really looked at herself, I mean she wasn't vain. She didn't avoid mirrors, but she wasn't one to stand in front of them or look for her reflection in, say, a shop window."

"So, how did she love mirrors, then?"

"She was always looking at me, us, in the mirror. The first time..." he said, to himself, "She said, 'Look at us, Jack. We look perfect together.'"

"Maybe she didn't want to see, in her eyes, the truth in the mirror."

"Why?"

"Why? Because she loved you and deep down, way deep down, she knew she was going to hurt you. Someday. Unless she told the truth, confessed, asked for help which let's face it, Laura -- so stubborn -- ask for help?"

"You talk as if she were the same person....I thought you thought--"

"In some ways she was, in some ways she wasn't...Arvin was correct -- she must have been a world-class compartmentalizer to love you and still plan on leaving you and Sydney. And he would know, takes one to know one. But that's why she didn't look in the mirror at herself, only at you, the two of you. And yet....what she really needed to do, most of all, was look you in the eyes, tell you the truth and deal with the results. Face to face."

'... now, we see in a mirror dimly, but then we will see face to face...,' He thought, remembering their wedding.

"And what kind of love is it, what kind of love did she feel if she could just leave it behind like that? It was enough for ten years, but not for...forever? But then why did she..."

"Why did she always speak of forever and a day? Maybe...I'm just thinking aloud, trying to puzzle this out with you. Because I admit I don't understand it either....Maybe....she thought assuming as I do that she really did love you and Sydney that she could carry that feeling with her, that that was good enough."

"Good enough for whom?"

"Ah, there's the rub. Who was she to make that choice for you?"

"Yes."

"And who are you to make that choice for Sydney?"

"WHAAT?"

"Aren't you doing the same thing? Withdrawing from Sydney even though you love her, not acting on your love for her..."

TBC at Chapter 12 Part 4 section 3 of 3