The Perfect Weapon Chapter 12 part 4 section 3 of 3

[camillecarelli]

Jack sighed and looked over at Barnett. "He was good. Damn good."

"He was brilliant. He should have been a therapist," she agreed.

"She deserves better than--" Jack began.

"Stop it. Do not say it. Do not think it. You're being a petulant child."

"You're repeating yourself."

"You're exhausting me, my toughest psych op ever," he smiled. "Jack, look at me. You're not only dealing with the...crap that was flung on your plate about a year ago, you're also reliving what happened, those feelings from when your father abandoned your family when you were little. When you were at the age when kids think they're omnipotent, that they are the causal factor in everything. That somehow this was your fault."

"Stop it. You are always saying how what matters is today, the choices today."

"Yes. And that's correct. But, you need to understand that you're caught in old patterns, that if you're...good enough, perfect enough...then he'll come back, he'll love you and your mother. That he'll prove trustworthy. That you're worthy..."

"Not with the self-esteem stuff again. I thought we were done with that...."

"So did I. I thought, when you seemed to lose your shyness---"

"Reserve, not shyness. Reserve."

"Oh, stop it, Jack. Somewhere along the way, your natural shyness was held up as a negative. Your father. Negative reinforcement from school. And shyness can be, if it inhibits you from making connections with people you want to make- when you're being honest, it can be a negative. Just shut up for a minute. But you took the easy way out when you deny the behavior without trying to change it."

"Thanks so much for the analysis. Hold on, Ill give you a quarter. That's about what its worth," he said snidely, then cringed. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Stop trying to drive me off. It won't work. What I was saying, is that over time you lost that shynes. Everyone always looked forward to you and Laura entertaining or being with you--"

"Laura, it was--"

"No. Laura helped. Her love helped you gain confidence, but you were often the leader of our group. YOU."

"No. Without her..."

"No. You put too much faith in her, in your relationship and not enough in yourself. And I say this not because of the truth, that snake in the garden that was lying there all along, just waiting....I would say that even if she had been just Laura Bristow. Before you held her up in your mind even though you saw her faults as some kind of savior. Now you hold her up in your mind as some personification of every negative. And she's neither. She's somewhere in between."

When Jack said nothing, Dave continued. Didn't he ever run out of things to say? " I didn't say anything and here's my mistake, my regret because I didn't see it. Did not see that your self-esteem was as shallow a gain as it was. In part again my mistake because I did not see, understand your lack of self esteem. You have everything going for you and yet you cannot see it. From time to time, I would wonder, but you seemed so happy, I thought why upset the applecart? Tha'ts my mistake, I should have taken you to task for it. I could kick myself!"

"Dave, stop it. If you made a mistake, which I don't see....Its not....We all make mistakes, stop beating yourself up over it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

"How about you? Are you allowed to make mistakes? Or do you have to be perfect?"

"Sydney, for her sake, I should not have made that mistake. I was happy when we made her by accident...,but she must have..."

"Wait -- Sydney was an accident?"

"Yeah, only I thought it was a deliberate accident on her part, 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."

"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.

"You need to figure out what you need. What you have to do to come back to life. To be the father you can be to Sydney. You can't bring Laura to justice, she's gone. It would be easier in some ways if you could. It would allow real closure.... But you have to play the hand you were dealt."

"I am."

"No. You're not. You need to heal. That's the hand you're holding. Its time, Jack. Its time to start recovering, get on with your life. Or close to it. And Im not going to give up until you admit it. At a certain point you'll be ready. You'll say, Its time, Dave. And I'll be waiting for you." 
"No, you won't. You'll be back there pushing me or in front of me, pulling me." [i]If only....[i]

"You got me. I will. You can count on that. You can count on me."

"I....know. Thanks. I...trust you, Dave."

"Thank you, Jack. I know that's not a small...gift you've given me."

"Do me a favor? Destroy those photographs for me? Do you have them all?"

"No. Well all except the one. Just one. I made a mistake. I put one in the stuff from your house because Iris saw some of the photos and I thought if I included just one, she'd think she was mistaken about it..."

Jack groaned. "You're no gamesplayer, Dave. Thank god.

"Do you? Do you thank God for Dave?" Judy asked softly into the lengthening silence, as the shadows chased their way across her sunny office.

"Yes. He was...the one person in my adult life who was totally trustworthy, always there, always willing to tell me a hard truth for my own good. Patient. Kind."

"Did you respect Dave, respect his judgment his opinions, his advice?"

"Yes, of course."

"If he were here now to give you advice, would you listen?"

"Yes."

"Good. Here," Barnett said, handing him the brown portfolio she had been touching throughout their session.

"What is this?"

"Something, someone to have faith in." When he merely stared at her, she said, "This is one of those moments in life, when you just have to toss all doubt aside and believe in something....Just when I was despairing of finding the best way, the most effective way, the most...timely way to help you, I found this. Open it. Whose handwriting is that?"

Gingerly, as if it were a snake instead of a thick file folder, he extended his left hand and slowly turned the page. Looking at it, he felt his jaw drop. "It's...Dave's handwriting. He always had that very...block-like, very clear handwriting. It's...what is this?"

"Read the folder heading...."

"Treatment plan for Jack." He looked up at her, clearly in total shock. "He..."

"He began devising a treatment plan for you the minute Arvin Sloane called him the day you had your breakdown. He expected to be allowed to treat you, wanted to treat you, made plans to---."

"Yes, yes I know, he wanted to treat me. I wish.... But the lead psychiatrist refused on the grounds that he was too close to the subject, I think the recommendation said. He, Dave told me that. I...always wished....later, when it was too late, after he was gone..."

"Wished what?" 
"That I had talked with him more before he died...But I wasn't...."

"Ready yet?"

"No. Dave said I would know when it was time. That he would," he looked up and gave a sad smile. "That he would keep badgering me until I decided it was time. He was persistent, I told you that."

"Did you know how many times he tried to get into the facility to see you?"

"He told me. I...He was more than my best friend, he was the best friend a man could have."

"I know, I know, Jack," she said softly, touching his hand lightly. "I have to tell you something that neither of you knew."

"Okay. Go ahead," he said softly, meeting her eyes steadily.

"What neither of you knew is on whose recommendation the psychiatrist based his decision."

He closed his eyes. Was silent for a moment and then said grimly. "Don't tell me. You don't have to tell me. Arvin. It was Arvin, wasn't it?"

"Yes, how did you---"

He opened his eyes and she saw the click, click, click of the gameplayer. "Because if I weren't myself, if I were...not wholly there, Id be more amenable to his suggestions that the cause of my...distress, my imprisonment, everything, was the Agency and therefore follow him to SD-6. And too, if I weren't myself, that gave him and Emily, innocent of all this, let me be clear, more chance with Sydney, more time with Sydney. A doubleplay. So easy, so tempting. All he had to do was betray a friend. And what's that compared with power, right? Compared with using that friend and his daughter to gain more power? To say nothing of Rambaldi artifacts. Recruiting his daughter in part to hold him hostage? A mere bagatelle in the great Sloane scheme, right? The ends justify the means with Arvin. Always has, always will."

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"Thank you," he said haltingly, as if unused to thanking anyone for their empathy. "Where are you going with this?" he asked after a long moment of silence. Only when she stood up and disengaged their hands, did he realize that he had been squeezing hers. "I'm sorry," he said, jerking his head toward her hand. "I should not have..."

"It's okay, Jack... Sydney--"

"Yes. Sometimes I haven't been...clear on what she needs most. Sometimes, as you so helpfully yelled down the hallway, I allowed my fear, rather than my faith to guide me."

They paused. She said finally, "Let me describe your friend Dave to you. The one person in whom you had trust, faith. After all the research I've done, after all the time I spent poring over his notes on you, I feel like I know him a little. If you don't object."

"Would it really matter if I did, Judy?"

"Well, no." She smiled. "But here is what I see, when I think of your best friend." Barnett recited, "'Love is patient. Love is kind. It...rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love-'"

"'Love never ends,'" Jack concluded, closing his eyes. "I have been blind. I.... picked that reading for my wedding, thought when she betrayed me that I had been wrong about love, wrong about faith, wrong about everything. And all along, it was right there. Dave. My definition of love was too narrow."

"Yes. As it is for most of us." They sat in silence for a moment. Then she said, "Now, Jack, I'm sending you out to do whatever it is you have to do. But I have a request. I know I threw everything at you today. That you're probably in shock right now. But...."

"Yes?" he asked, looking up from the portfolio, his hand gripping it tightly.

"Jack.... Trust yourself. Have faith in yourself. If you are honest with yourself, honest about what you want, what you need, you can trust your decisions. If nothing else, you then will know you did your best. And that's all you can ask of yourself. Not perfection. The best. Whatever you do, remember that he thought you deserved the best."

He stood up and reached for her hand. Shook it silently. She held onto it. Said softly, "One last question. What does that tiny little voice inside you, the voice we all have, what does that voice say, tell you? What does it want? Really want?"

He walked away once again without answering, but this time with Dave's portfolio under his arm. Determined to ignore that tiny little voice, to stuff it right back into the box of hope, locked up tightly. He was, he admitted it with a wince, afraid to open that box, to listen to the voice of hope. Because if he did, if he opened that box he might find himself chained again. If he opened that door....allowed himself to fall down that hole, leap across that chasm again, the chasm of fear and trust, made the choice...he was utterly dependent upon the person...upon, he realized, the strength of will, the strength of character of the other person to resist the temptation calling her away from him and back into the game.

Walking into a bathroom near Barnett's office, he stared into the mirror. Felt all those voices, all those thoughts, all those feelings, all those desires, all those needs, swirling around him, making him almost dizzy. It was too much. He took a deep breath. He needed to focus. Focus. He was about to play the most important game of his life…. Closing his eyes, he heard Dave's voice again. Why Dave today? Why....

Figure out what you need. What you have to do to come back to life. To be the father you can be to Sydney. You can't bring Laura to justice, she's gone. It would be easier in some ways if you could. It would allow real closure....But you have to play the hand you were dealt

There. Focus. Closure. How do I achieve it? Well, he had started, he thought, with his plan, his perfect weapon.

And then he had these memories that he had begun reclaiming for himself as he began to believe that she had actually had feelings for him. Those memories uncurling from their painful sharpness within...yes, that was important, critical, necessary. But sufficient? No. What would be both necessary and sufficient....?

If Irina dropped dead tomorrow of natural or unnatural causes, which is much more likely, would I move on? Eventually, maybe....But would something be missing? Yes. And what would be missing? Closure. And what for him equaled or allowed closure? Well, he thought with a smile that might have frozen an iceberg, he was the type of rat that had to fight back. Finally. For too long he had been the rat that submitted to his fear, that kept running in circles even when the exit from the maze was right before him.... that even when free, was still held in thrall to his fear of pain. Not realizing that in the submission to fear lay the worst sort of pain. The pain that cut from within, instead of without. The slow death of internal bleeding of self esteem, of self, of the soul itself.

No more. He was done with bleeding. It was time for him to make some cuts. Time for someone else to feel the pain of a cut connection, an unwillingly-severed connection that she thought would always exist. It was time to cut himself free. Unchain himself from the past. Close one door and...He'd think about that later. 
Touching his scar, he smiled again. Well, who knows how much closure he might find tonight? He had a camera with him after all. Should he....Was he listening to that foolish voice again?

He stood up, tugged his jacket into place and straightened his tie. Prepared to play the game.

It had begun when she walked into his life with a plan, with a game, her game, her rules, thirty years ago. It had ended with her betrayal, using his love, her love, their love to destroy him. This time, it had begun again when she walked back into his life. Or so she had thought. Because she had forgotten or chose not to know that he was not the same man, not that fool. That he knew the score this time. That this time, the game had really begun sitting across from each other in a dusty train in the Indian countryside as he looked at her, remembered, and uncovered what he'd had all along. The perfect weapon. Faith, hope and love. This time, this time, she would know what it was like to live without it. And Sydney would understand who her mother truly was. A doubleplay. Perfect.

Picking up the brown file portfolio, the piece of paper Dr. Barnett had placed on the top slid out. He picked it up, looked at it. "Goals for therapy for Jack," was the heading in Dave's handwriting. Seeing it...so many years later, was still....hard.. He leaned against the sink and read. 'Jack needs to find closure and peace.' He looked up at his reflection in shock. 'But more than that...he needs to find himself. Truly be himself. Perhaps for the first time. He needs to see himself honestly, all his gifts and his flaws, through his own eyes first. Not through anyone else's. Once he does that, he will understand that he deserves the best and he will find what he deserves, faith, hope and true love.'

He carefully put the paper back into the portfolio and closed the clasp. Putting it under his arm, gripping it tightly with one hand, he walked out of the room and down the hall. Time to get Irina, get on the plane and get the game, all of them, in gear. He glanced at his watch and began to move faster. He was late.

As Susan and Judy watched him hurry down the hallway, they looked at each other and sighed. Susan asked softly, "Is he going to be alright? That look on his face..."

"He is conflicted. Has choices to make."

"I wish there was some way to make this easier for him. I wish..."

"I know, I know. But there is nothing else we can do except...hope and pray that he will find what he wants and more importantly, what he needs. And that he understands that he has the strength to do whatever is necessary. It's time. Time to get some answers..."

"Like if she loved him...why did she leave him? Sydney?"

"I don't know. I think the only person who can answer that question is Irina Derevko."

"Will he ask the questions?"

"If he did, would she answer? Will she tell the truth? Or would she offer up the truth? Freely? Or only if she had to?"

"God only knows. But it's time for the game to end."

Chapter 12: Part 48  
Many hours later, Judith Barnett pointed her remote at the television. She dug her feet under the warm body of her cat, lying on top of the tangle of sheets and blankets. After tossing and turning for hours, she had finally given up the battle for sleep and decided to look for some old movie on tv. Settling on watching "Dangerous Liasons," she shook her head at the corsetting the female characters must have endured in that film. It made her ribs ache to think about it. But this wasn't helping.  
Reaching for a glass of water on the nightstand, she raised her eyebrows and grabbed the brightly-blue bound copy of Jack Bristow's dissertation. Well, this should put her to sleep. Reading something in the foreign language of game theory should put her mind in a haze. Oh shoot! The book had been too heavy for her casual grab with her fingertips and she dropped it on the floor. Leaning over the edge of the bed she reached for the open volume and stopped dead as certain words caught her eye. What the hell was this in the last half of the book? She understood that language. Was this a joke?

Grabbing the book she plopped it on her knees and paged into the last sections of the book. Her jaw dropped. She began reading. Absently, taking a sip of her water, she stopped suddenly, forgetting to swallow. "Oh my god!" she spewed the water out on the bed. 'MEOW!' her cat spat at her and jumped off the bed with an offended glance.

Shuffling through the pages, she began smiling, then gave an occasional chuckle, then began laughing. 'No wonder," she gasped, 'he never uses the Dr. honorific before his name. Someone might ask him..." she laughed again. "Someone might ask him about his research...his research..." she began chortling. "...In the field, in the field. A pretty small field, about the size of, oh, this!" Putting the book down, she held her stomach as she struggled for breath. "No wonder his dissertation was accepted without a formal defense...what were those professors going to ask him?" She began to giggle. "Although he makes it pretty clear in his summary that 'the key to success in this field of operations is quite simple. In economic terms, your job is to provide the supply to meet their demands." Oh brother, then he goes on in that Jack-way of endless analogies, ending up with, she laughed again, "'Finally, to put it as simply as possible-' Can't you just hear the snarky tone of voice, cat?"

Her cat left the room, tail high, giving her a look of disdain as she continued laughing. "I don't blame you... woman to woman, I'm appalled. Applying game theory to sex, I'm appalled," she giggled. "Or I should be, I suppose, except for the fact that he's, well, right. 'Finally to put it as simply as possible, ascertain what the woman wants and then do it. That is apparently such a novelty in most women's experiences, that it will distract them and if you do it properly, tire them sufficiently that you will find it easy to extract what you need from them.' Do it properly! Tire them sufficiently! Extract what you need? That little snot, no wonder he was smirking when he was talking about his dissertation!" she called out into the empty air, and then choked on her own laughter. "He wrote the manual, he wrote the damn manual..."

She grabbed the glass and saluted the air. "Good luck, Irina Derevko. You're with the man who wrote the CIA manual on seducing female foreign operatives and stealing their secrets as the research portion of his doctoral dissertation." She laughed again. "He has a PhD in screw and skedaddle!" 
####

Irina tapped her fingers on the arm rest and stared at Jack curiously. He had sat near the rear of the plane, had been quiet the entire plane ride, had spoken only when spoken to....so unlike their earlier plane trips on this op, when he was alternately teasing and arguing with her. Instead he had been reading the contents of that brown portfolio intently, as if it held...a Rambaldi document, for crying out loud! No, as if it were the ultimate key to unlocking Rambaldi's mysteries and goals. Ha. Wouldn't that be....ironic, if all along Jack had held in his hands the key for which she and Sloane had spent decades searching?

She shook her head at her own aimless mental meandering and then, as the plane came to a stop, gathered up her pack. Suddenly a thought struck her...if Jack had seen her final goodbye to Sydney, had seen the unwanted tears in her eyes, he might suspect the truth. He would know if he saw that..."Jack, what were you doing this afternoon? Why were we late leaving LA?"

"Oh, I had an appointment and some errands to run. Ran late, got caught in surface traffic, " he said. "You know LA. Just had time to get to the Op Center and dash in before we left. Why?"  
"Just curious. You're never late."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time I was late to my own party." And then there was the little fact that he had to quickly review Irina's tapes. Yes, he had thought, feeling his heart sink as his brain acknowledged with a sad blend of triumph and despair, that he was right. She had every intention of leaving them, he knew, as he watched her say what she intended to be her final farewell to her daughter. Looking at his pack, he shook his head. What a waste that last errand had been, especially given how pressed for time he was.

Slowly unlocking the door to their room in the hotel in Panama, Jack gave a quick visual scan of the interior and then stepped back and motioned her forward. She gave a more careful inspection, then stepped all the way in, turned on several lights and laid her pack down on the table. She turned around and gave him a curious look when she saw him standing in the darker hallway. Putting her hand on her hip, she said in irritation, "What are you doing out there? Get in here, now!" He watched her mouth curve into one of those annoyingly-enigmatic smiles, only he knew what she was thinking. She was remembering the last time she had called that to him, standing in a doorway, backlit, her warmth beckoning him...the night they conceived Sydney, created the greatest blessing of all, a child. That night, that night, he had lost control. Tonight, he promised himself, crossing the threshold, he would not. That night, he had thought he had found everything he wanted, needed in her arms. Had thought he had found love, happiness, heaven in her arms.

Tonight...this... it could be heaven or it could be hell.

It was all up to her. Her choices.

He glanced at his watch. She raised her eyebrows, "What is it?"

"Lots to do tonight. Not much time."

She looked at her own watch. "Really? Looks like plenty of time to me. But you always..."

"Like to prepare for any eventuality." She opened her mouth to speak, and he overrode her words, "I overanalyze. I know. I need to use the bathroom. Why don't you call room service and order some wine for us and while you're at it, preorder breakfast?"

"What do you want for breakfast?" she asked, walking toward the phone.

"Whatever. Just make sure you emphasize the need for a timely delivery tomorrow morning. We'll be in a hurry then--"

"Well, we don't need to eat breakfast, I mean we can survive--"

"I don't want to send you off on an empty stomach. Just make sure, as I am certain you are perfectly capable, that they will deliver it when you tell them-"

"Jack, you're...really going to let me use the phone unsupervised?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Why not? I trust you. Unless there's something you need to tell me?" Attempt number one, he thought, counting his cards.

"No," she looked at him. Well, that was true. She didn't need to tell him anything. He might like to know, but he didn't need to know. Didn't need to know that she held the trump card in her hand already, or more precisely, in her pack.

"Well, then what are you waiting for? Time's wasting," he said and went into the bathroom and closed the door.  
In the silence left in the wake of his departure, the tick, tick, tick of the clock on the nightstand seemed inordinately loud, she thought, staring at it. Annoyingly loud, making it difficult to concentrate as she placed the order. She put the phone down and picked up the clock. Looking around the room, she walked over to the bureau and stuffed it into a drawer and closed it.

tick, tick.

No, that was still too loud. Grabbing a throw pillow from a chair, she opened the drawer and put the pillow on top of the clock. Closed the drawer.

tick, tick.

No, that was still too loud. She whipped open the drawer and grabbing the clock, stalked over to the window. No, of course not, they would not open. She twirled around. Ah ha! Opening the door to the room, she tossed the clock down on the hallway floor and gave a satisfied nod, shocking the Delta Force guard who stood a few feet away outside.

She closed the door. There...No more annoying....Damn it! She could still hear that...

tick, tick, tick.

Well, she'd just ignore it. Honestly, Derevko, you've compartmentalized....issues far bigger than the ticking of some damn clock! She turned around, sensing his eyes on her.

Jack stood in the bathroom doorway, pack in one hand, the other upraised on the door jamb. He lifted an eyebrow at her, still standing near the room door.

"I was putting the clock in the hallway...." she said trailing off, knowing that sounded odd.

"The clock in the hallway. Okaaaay," he said, smiling his first smile of the night. "You want to explain that or just leave it one of your little mysteries?"

"It was too loud. The ticking, it was driving me nuts!"

"Okaaay."

"Oh, shut up! And why in the world does a hotel like this have a windup alarm clock anyway? I mean someone could walk off with it, first of all. And second of all...what's wrong with an electric clock, a digital clock, nice and silent and--"

"Irina," he said softly, dropping his pack and putting both hands on her shoulders. "Get a grip. It's just a clock." Just one of my little props.

"I can still hear it. That damn tick, tick, tick..."

TBC at Chapter 13 part 1 section 1