The Perfect Weapon Chapter 13 part 2 section 2 of 6

[camillecarelli]

Damn, he was tired of pressing with no apparent benefit. How much longer could he sustain it, sustain his composure before he either strangled her or had to leave to prevent her from seeing his despair? No, no, he could do this, he could do what was necessary to give it one last final try. What was he missing? But then he frowned, feeling that tap, tap, tap at the back of his mind that told him there was some puzzle piece right there. She was hiding something that would hurt her pride or...prove her stubbornness...or prove he was right about something....or all three. Please god, not all three. He wouldn't have time to break through a wall three-fold thick. tick, tick, TICK C'mon, Irina, move it. Get angry, get careless.

"Well, I hesitate so very much to point out the obvious, but people generally don't leave situations, people, that make them happy," he stated in a tone of voice that made her feel like an idiot.

"But I....Time, we had more than our share of...."

"Tell me," he said quickly, "In your world, who allots the time limit on happiness?"

"No one does, it just is."

"No, it's not. There are very few things in this world that just 'are'. Life is a series of--" Jack paused, seeing her eyes go somewhere else.

"It's your choice, Laura. I can't make it for you. It's your choice....choice....choice....."

"Choices, choices, choices!" she called out angrily, pushing her hair behind one ear with her free hand, then pulling it forward again, not wanting to hear Dave. Not Dave. Not that half of the conversation. She spoke, anything to drown out his voice. "Yeah, yeah, I've heard it before, Jack. But sometimes you're trapped, caught, imprisoned--"

"Prison made quite the impression on you, didn't it?" he flung at her, like a grenade, she thought. Thought she really needed to learn to duck better when Jack was the one tossing the weapons.

She stilled, then forced herself to relax. "Of course. Didn't it make one on you?"

"Oh, you bet. But...remind me? Why were you incarcerated again? I've forgotten." He said it casually as if she were an acquaintance whose profession he could not recall, whose birthday he had forgotten, whose pen he'd forgotten to return. As if that trap of his mind did not remember everything, everything. He knew damn well she had not told him, knew that she knew he didn't know, so why....Then she saw the small smile on his face, saw the glint in his eyes and felt a circle, a trap begin to close around her as he opened yet another line of attack. A potentially fatal line of attack.

She looked into his eyes, searching for some remnant of her Jack. Feeling that the man who had said that could not be her Jack. But who was this? This man with the opaque eyes that just glinted at her, stared at her, waiting like....she was sure that she would be able to see his eyes in the darkness, even in the near total darkness of a jungle, she would see those eyes gleaming at her, following her whichever way she moved, warning her....Warning her of what? Warning her before he did what? What was she seeing? Suddenly she knew and forgot to breathe. Those eyes, those eyes were the eyes of the ultimate gamesplayer, the predator. Then he blinked and the predator was gone as if he had never been. His eyes were merely cautious, watchful.

But why was he doing this? What did he hope to gain? What would the truth give him? "How can you say you love me and do this? Ask these questions?" she asked, squeezing his hand so hard he was reminded of the night she had been in labor with Sydney and had actually given him a hairline fracture in one of the bones in his hand with that strong grip. That strong grip that held onto ideas, notions and goals in an iron fist long past the point of good sense. "And where's my chain?" she asked, not even realizing she had spoken.

He ignored the question about the chain. This was hardly the time to answer that question. "How can I say, 'Ia tebia liubliu' and still ask you difficult questions? How could you say you love me and leave me? Life is just full of paradoxes, isn't it? But, you know me, I love a puzzle, especially the puzzle of a paradox. Good intellectual exercise, isn't it? Keeps me busy in my spare time. You know, when I'm not in the field." He shrugged. She was coming to hate those shrugs of his. She looked at his shoulder longingly...but no, she would not bite him again. No, not until she had him under her. Then he raised an index finger, "Oh, almost forgot. Why am I doing this? Of course, there's more than one reason--"

"Of course," she said, rolling her eyes. "Nothing is ever simple with you."

"That's not true. I'm a simple man with simple--"

"Needs. Heard it before, never believed it before, won't believe it now, Jack. Sing me a new song."

"Okay. My love for my family was pretty simple. Simple. Absolute. Unconditional. Unlike---"

"Jack....what are you doing? Where are you going? I'm lost. I admit it. Lost."

"I'm only trying to level the playing field in this game of ours. After all, do I have any ships left in this game we've been playing? Did I ever?"

"What the hell are you talking about? You have no true vulnerabilities," she argued, rattling their joined hands.

"Really?" he said softly. "I used to agonize over showing vulnerability to you, but Dave told me I should to strengthen the connection between us, to be honest, to trust....But is that how you see me? Without any weaknesses or vulnerabilities? Not even Sydney? Or my love for my wife? No weaknesses, no soft spots, no vulnerabilities? Or is that how you choose to see me, how you justified...?"

"Jack shows you more of himself than I ever expected he would...I'm glad to see it, but sometimes I wonder if you do. See it, see him, that is. "

He trailed off, seeing her mind go somewhere else, not a deliberate attempt to tune him out but to listen to something, someone she could not ignore. He arched an eyebrow as she put a hand up to her temple and rubbed. Humphf, reminded him of how he felt when he'd hear Dave's voice in his head. Hmm. His eyes narrowed. What had just happened? What memory had he accessed? Had Dave...Wait. Earlier tonight she had admitted that Dave had told her that she had made a mistake the night of Dave's party, that he was livid with her. And it was after that night, after he came back from a subsequent mission that she had started to change, mature, that he had fallen completely in love with the woman she had grown into. Dave. Dave had done something, said something, something critical. That was why his notes referred his 'failure with that woman'. He had just thought it was Dave's failure to see through her, that his reference to his 'mistake' with her had referred only to that but... had he viewed it as also a therapeutic failure? Dave, he sighed, you should have been a therapist, stayed at home, stayed safe. If only Dave had lived longer, he would have told him about this conversation, he knew and he'd be so far ahead of the game....But if Dave's words had been as potent for Laura as they had been for him yesterday...That was good enough. Thank you. Again.

He waited, willing himself not to hear the tick, tick, tick. Sloane could and would wait, after all. Sloane could wait til hell froze over, after all it couldn't be any colder than his bones. He looked at the hot tub with a mixture of longing and loathing. Finally, he continued, "You chose not to see the vulnerabilities, the need I had, didn't you? Even with those photographs that day? Remember how I...How did I look, what did my face look like when you told me you wanted to make love to me in the shower?"

"Surprised...and happy," she answered immediately, without thought, still in shock from his attack, from the accusation in Dave's voice, from the notion that too late she was realizing that Dave was right and she was wrong.

"Why did I want you to come and sit with me, talk to me on the couch?"

"Because you'd had nightmares about terminating enemies on the op you'd been on." Her brow creased in concentration, as she remembered calling Dave, asking him to come over and talk to Jack. 
"How did I look when you were showing me the developed photos, when you were telling me how you felt about me?"

"Astonished."

"How did I look when you told me you loved me the first time when I was lying under you on that ice rink?"

"Shocked. Like no one...."

"What adjective, adjectives did you call me so many times that I hated?"

"Shy and sweet. Sensitive."

"And yet, and yet, I had no vulnerabilities? I could not be hurt by your betrayal?"

"NO! I... No." She stopped, wondering if she would have visible cuts from the mirrored glass walls of the maze into which she kept running. Damn him. "You should not have been! Not personally. Jack, it was...It was just the game. You understood." She squeezed his hand. "You knew, would know I loved you, that I just had no other options."

He pounced. "I would know you loved me....because you left that portfolio behind to prove that you did? Because that's why you did it, right? Right? It was literally your ace in the hole - right? Just in case, I might have doubts, there was proof? Proof positive?"

She closed her eyes. Felt another wall of silvered glass shatter. "Yes, yes! Damn you! As if you needed another one, as if Sydney was not proof enough!"

"You left those photos behind to prove to me that you did indeed love me because on some level, probably some deeply-buried level because you were never good at introspection-"

"Not much for introspection, are you, Laura?"

"No, I never thought that, never! I had more faith in your love, I relied on it...." Shut up, shut up, shut up. Don't let him do this. Damn him, he could bait her so easily it was pathetic.

"No, you didn't or you would not have left me. You would not have left the photos behind. You knew, you knew, I would have to doubt your love when I found out the truth."

"That's not true and I--" What the hell was she supposed to say.

"Don't try this crap on me, Irina, you bit your lip and looked away when you told me minutes ago that you left them there because you could not bear to destroy them."

"Okay, okay. I wanted you to know how I felt just in case. That was my option c! You were always yapping on about needing an option c and--"

"Liar." She tensed, waiting for the pounce, the push, another slice of glass to shatter. "That wasn't your option c. That was part of your option c. Just as the tripleplay aspect of the drowning extraction was part of your option c. One tied me up and the other kept me....bound to you by love. By the knowledge that you loved me. You couldn't have me, but you didn't want anyone else to either. What was your real option c?" He paused, watched her eyes grow hunted.

She felt another bang as he pushed her in another wall. Or had she run into it herself? Or was that two walls? Oh, what difference did it make? She was rapidly becoming surrounded by shattered illusions. No, she meant glass, mirrors. She had to push back, jump free. Now, before it was too late. She said snidely, "If you're so damn smart, Mr. Game Strategist, Mr. PhD in Game Theory, then why the hell didn't you figure out that the drowning was not real? Why didn't you know I was alive? Why didn't you---"

She stopped when she saw his slow smile. Knew she'd been had. That smile was not just to irritate, although it certainly did that. No, she had been trapped by a master.

"Interesting questions, all of them, Irina, to quote you. Hmm, hmm, hmm. But I have one of my own. Why did I need to be in prison? Why did I need time to cool down before....? Before what? Before what happened?"

Looking up into his eyes, she saw too late, the truth. Those were the eyes of a predator and she was in the circle of his sight. He was encircling her, slowly, inexorably, with her own words, using the deceit as a knife, a weapon.....Using her own words, her own weaknesses as a weapon against her in his strategy that she was realizing belatedly was a masterpiece of manipulation and misdirection. He had opened so many lines of attack that she could not defend them all at once. Had opened them, then dropped them to lull her into complacency while his brain fit all the pieces together. He had done what he always did to her. Distracted her. She closed her eyes, tried to regroup. She would not just wait for the last mirror to shatter, she would find a way to----

"Oh wait, I know. I needed to calm down before I came after you?"

She sucked in a breath. Kept her face bland even as the glass, the mirrors sliced, surrounded. She could do enigmatic. But then again, whenever she had tried that in the past, he had always seen through it, known....Damn it, damn it. How could she--

"Did you plan that all along, or did it occur to you only later?" Why was she allowing him to do this? It was the only signal, the only sign that gave him any hope. She could only be permitting herself to be caught if somewhere inside she wanted to be caught. After all, as she had said, she truly was an excellent liar. She had completely fooled him for ten years; he'd like to think he would always see through her now, but he wasn't sure. If she were playing the game with all her powers, he wasn't sure he would be able to trap her this way. He smiled again, in relief.

She frowned. That smile, that smile of his demonstrating that he had the upper hand, that he was winning, she'd like to wipe it off his face. If she could only think how to do it, how to feint, obfuscate, lie her way out of this. But nothing was occurring to her, all she could think of was how to get back in his arms, one last time, one last connection.

"But, why, you're wondering, why didn't I come after you? After my dead wife? Yes, I believe you were leading up to that earlier here when you were talking about how I knew you had used those encryptions to frame me. I believe you said - and do correct me if I'm wrong - when we were talking about my understanding that you had framed me with those encryptions - very interesting conversation by the way, so....illuminating - you began to say, 'Which leads me to an interesting question...' The question being why didn't I come after you, after I cooled off? That is, after my little stay in the spa we call federal prison, so calming to the nerves after all-- that is what you were going to say, weren't you? Why didn't I come after you the way you expected me to? Deep down, where you didn't even know it at the time? Because that wasn't a conscious option c at the time, was it? All of your prep -- that frame up, that hidden portfolio -- that was hidden even from your own conscious mind, wasn't it? Because to have planned it out consciously would have required some introspection, some hard self-analysis, some crack in that tightly-sealed box of your own needs, wouldn't it? Some acknowledgment that your indoctrination, the system, your parents were fatally nihilistic, that the game was not everything you needed? Or did it take longer, did you only develop your little plan later and ---"

She pulled back her hand to slap him, just wanting to stop the torrent of words. He countered it, grasped her arm firmly and hauled her up against him as he snarled, "Don't you want to know why I didn't know you were still alive?" 
"Yes! Why were you so blind? It was so obvious. To someone like you. Someone who knew I loved you, loved you so much. Someone who knew me. You are brilliant, Jack, why, why---"

He caught his own breath at the undercurrent of pain in her voice, in her face. He wanted to be gentle, but every time he slipped and allowed that she just thought the game was over. So being gentle...that would not be effective. Instead, he said cuttingly, feeling the slice within himself as he spoke, "I didn't know you at all. This person who would leave us. Laura would have never left us. And it simply never occurred to me that you were alive. Sydney was the one who figured it out, believe it or not."

"Sydney analyzed the situation before you? You must be joking."

"I -- foolishly as it transpired -- trusted the task force to tell me the second most important truth about you. At the time it never occurred to me that Arvin would have lied to me about something so critical. If only Dave hadn't been reprimanded and removed from the task force I would have known---"

"Jack, where is Dave?" She grabbed his arm, afraid to hear the answer. Let herself feel for once, someone else's pain, felt her heart twist. She was not the Tin Man, she was not, she told herself even as she tried to push the pain away.

"Dave is dead," he said flatly. "And no, I don't want to talk about it now. I don't want any of your analysis, whether it's to find my weaknesses or to help me, depending on to whom I'm talking at the moment. For the record, I've talked about it. Grieved. And grieved again. If you can possibly grieve enough for that kind of loss...but that's not the point.The point is that I can't believe now that you would care if Dave is dead or alive." He stopped, time to change tactics, talk to the other woman hidden within this shell, "The point is that it never occurred to me then that, no matter what I know of you....it never occurred to me that you'd leave and that we'd never run across each other again. That you'd make no attempt to contact me. God, I am a hopeless rom---" He stopped speaking, ran his hand across his face as he acknowledged to himself the truth of his words. Began again, "Yes. If I had thought about it, it would have never occurred to me that you would...torture me like that. Be so cruel. Be alive and make no contact. Allow me to think you were dead because you lacked the courage--"

"Jack..."

"Or more importantly, contact Sydney, your daughter, for twenty years. TWENTY years!"

"Jack..."

"It never occurred to me that Laura would let me think that we never found your body -- god, do you know Dave had to sucker punch me out cold because I tried to dive into that water to find you? To bring your body back?" He closed his eyes in memory, hearing, barely, her indrawn hiss of dismay. He snapped his eyes open, sensing a weakness. "No closure. No closure. Just a grave bed empty except for..."

She gasped with pain. Tried to find the resolve to defend herself and found only this, "Shut up, you idiot! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Do you know what it's like trying to explain to a six-year old why she's never going to see her beloved mommy again? So, NO! I didn't occur to me that you were alive! Maybe because I had a few other issues on my mind! Like getting up every day and just getting through it, like listening to our daughter cry---"

"Jack!"

"I thought...but, there is nothing you can say, nothing---" his voice escalated with each word. "Nothing can explain your silence, nothing can excuse it, nothing--" 
She reached out and grabbed his arms and shook him as she snarled, "I did try to contact you!"

Then fell back as he smiled once again. Grimly. She felt the next to last mirror shatter. Felt the circle of broken glass close tighter around her feet. Wondered why she just didn't step up and over. Felt anger, anxiety, fear, grief, then pushed them down. Forced determination to swell through her. She had to recoup this, she had come back from worse. She could do it. She could. She just needed a moment. Improvisation was not her strong suit, but....in a pinch, she could...

"So...you tried to contact me?" he asked quickly, not allowing her the time he knew she needed. Contact him! As he had suspected for so long, since India, since that dusty, dirty road in India. He knew it, knew it. Damn her, damn her cowardice, her obsessions; damn it! "Did you?" he yelled at her, leaning forward into her space until she backed up against the toilet, trapped with no where to go. "Did you? So tell me again...Why were you in prison?"

"I..."

"You were not in prison for the last twenty years, Irina. But Sydney and I were. We were."

"That was your choice! You were a prisoner....of your own device!"

"Ah, but you handed us the bricks and mixed the mortar, didn't you? You cannot say both that you wanted to keep us tied, bound to you and then blame us for feeling those connections to you. Why did you leave us in the prison you constructed with your lies? With your silence."

"I had no choice! It was the best decision, the logical decision..."

"You cannot say both that you had no choice and that you made a decision."

"If you would think with your brain, instead of your emotions for one minute!"

"Yup, that's me. Once again, just a fool blinded by my emotions, right?" She hissed in a breath. Oh no. He had seen that tape. He continued, "It may have been logical, we don't have time to debate that at the moment, but it certainly was not the best decision. Not the only decision. It was...No, you tell me. Was it a failure of love, courage or imagination? Or all three?"

"You know nothing!" She shoved at him. He did not budge or stagger or even acknowledge her attempt.

"You're right. Of course. You're always right, aren't you? Let's see. Let me put my puny little mind, which pales in comparison to the great intellect of the criminal genius of Irina Derevko, to the task at hand. Give me a minute to get my brain in gear, it just doesn't work as fast as yours...What don't I know, what could be another reason for your silence? Oh I know, the real issue was your mindless, endless, sightless pursuit of your own obsessions at the cost of everything, everything in your path. Did you ever once count the cost?"

"Do you even care about my answers?" She parried. She had to stop his mind from traveling the path she could see stretching before her, the path that led to the truth. And she had to find a way to restore the connection, to end this game, this argument. tick, TICK, TICK

"Yes, I do. I'm just waiting for them. As I've been waiting for twenty years!" Damn it, he wasn't penetrating her, he would have to insert that passive transmitter instead, he thought, feeling the coldness fill him.

"Well, let's get them all out at once, why don't we? Any more questions?" Good, that sounded like him, maybe that would---

"Just one." s***, miscalculation, Derevko. She braced herself. "Minor detail, really." He shrugged nonchalantly, even as his heart raced. One more attempt. One more try. "Why didn't you take the chain with you?"

Tell me that some part of you expected to get it from me later. Or that it occurred to you later. That you had a plan or developed a plan. Admit that you screwed up, then screwed up again when you allowed your stubbornness to keep you from--- Suddenly, the coldness and the anger he had kept at bay simmered together in an explosive combination as he felt her refusal to truly connect, fill him with a hard, cold, hot rage that burned. Looking at her, knowing her potential, knowing that the woman he loved was there, but he could not reach her.... Damn you, he thought, just tell me the TRUTH! "Why didn't you take that chain with you?"

"Damn you!" she shrieked at him, looking around wildly for some weapon, some way to win what she wanted, needed-- Her hand darted out and she grabbed the green wine bottle from the back of the toilet. Ah, a doubleplay.

With a quick, jerky movement that caught him by surprise, she picked up the bottle of wine.

He reached out to her, trying to grab the bottle. She pulled back from him, thrust aside the shower curtain and in a swift arc of her arm, dashed the bottle against the empty tub. Green glass exploded, red wine everywhere, staining the white porcelain of the tub as they watched the splatters and drips bleed.

As the large shard of green glass that had been the base toppled and fell over, then cracked on a previously-imperceptible imperfection, they looked at each other.

"The glass shattered," they said simultaneously.

"So it did," he said. Then said nothing, just stood there.

She stood there, her chest heaving, her fingers itching to touch him, her entire body itching to connect with him one last time. Waiting for some signal that he would surrender, that his control, his anger, his dogged pursuit of the truth had fallen apart with the explosion of glass. Waited for him to demonstrate that he felt the same tightening of the tether she did when that glass shattered, some signal that he would give her what she wanted. What he wanted, if he would only admit it! Who was the stubborn one now, she thought smugly, watching his chest fall and rise rapidly, watching the heat in his eyes build and yet he did nothing. Watching him waiting. Waiting for what? She wondered. Then sighed, nodded. Ah, he was playing their old game, waiting as he had at the beginning of the night for her to make the first move. A circle back to the beginning, of course, he liked circles. She had him. She....thought. But...tonight had shown her that he could surprise her, that puzzlebox of his mind was endlessly and irritatingly inventive, always saw some option she did not. She needed to be careful.

She stared at the tight planes of his face, watching them settle into...was that acquiescence to the inevitable? Had that doubleplay truly won her the game, the match point? Had it truly stopped his endless circling with words and reminded him of the ties that bound them even as something clear shattered into a million pieces? Yes, she thought watching him clench and unclench his hands, then take a deep breath and let it out slowly, it had. She had won, won everything she wanted. He was hers. "Moya, moya," she said beneath her breath as she reached out a hand and took one of his, brought it to her mouth, kissed each knuckle, then hid a smile of exultation as he opened his palm and presented it to her. She bit his hand softly. She had him.

Over her shoulder, he watched the red stain slide down the white porcelain into the drain, he felt the coldness and anger fill him, fill the empty places left behind as hope receded. This was it. He had rolled his fingers into a fist to control the nearly-uncontrollable surge of frustration. He had no more options left, he thought and forced his hand to furl open, forced himself to relax, to....

He looked back at her as she had picked up his hand. As he opened his hand to see what she would do with it, he saw the triumph in her gaze, the heat in her eyes as she bit him. Knew what she wanted. Knew she wanted to forget that the tick, tick, TICK would end in a shrill alarm soon. Knew she wanted the connection, the last perfect memory for her damn book that kept her company on lonely nights, the warmth and the light that shone from it that would fill the empty stretches of the human soul denying its own needs.

Glancing sideways in the mirror, he saw them standing there. Naked, bare as they had been for hours. To no avail. He still couldn't reach her, touch her and she...could not see him clearly. Still saw him in her damn mirror, dimly. Saw him in little pieces and thought she saw the entirety. Saw his body and thought she saw his soul.

He had bared himself tonight, he thought, telling her of his pain, Sydney's pain. He watched her reach out a hand and trace circles on his shoulder where she had bitten him earlier. Glancing down absently as her fingers went round and round, he noted that her teeth marks were still visible.

He had met women in the course of his work who were just as deadly as any man. Truth be told, the female of any species was usually the more deadly. One of life's little paradoxes that those who gave life were often the most successful predators. As was this woman in his arms, who had been stalking what she wanted, what she thought she wanted, and would do anything to achieve it. Anything, he thought, seeing the shattered green glass over her shoulder. Then seeing her, them, watching as if from afar, watching her caress him, stroke his body into readiness. Looking down at himself, watching in disbelief as the body remembered, knew what it wanted, even as the heart resisted and the mind went elsewhere seeking....a way out, a way to prevent himself from getting screwed one last time....

Screwed.....Then he wanted to smack himself upside the head. Idiot! He must be the stupidest agent alive, letting his emotions cloud his judgment, making him forget that you always played to your strengths. That there is always an option c. Telling her of his pain hadn't worked. Surrounding her, shattering her illusions hadn't worked. But there is always an option c. And here was an option c he could perform in his sleep. After all, he'd written the manual on it. 
He looked at her as she pulled back and gave him one of her looks, the look that she had used that very first day, that slow ride of her eyes up and down his body. He put his hands on his hips and shifted his feet, saw a small smile touch her lips as she watched the play of muscles under his skin. Let a grin overtake his face, just as he allowed the coldness and focus of the gamesplayer overtake the rest of him. Except for some hard place inside where anger still dwelled, which he would use to generate some heat, some needed heat.

When her eyes returned to his face, she gave a slow smile that reached into her eyes, that formed creases around her mouth. She gave a deep sigh of relief as she said fervently, "Jack, I'm glad that's over." She reached up and gave him a kiss, then said against his mouth, her hand in his hair, "Glad you're back with me." Then another kiss, then two. "So glad." She pressed her lips against his, pressed her body against his, gave a shiver of happiness.

"Positive reinforcement?" he said teasingly against her lips. Then cupping the back of her head in one hand, he bit her bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth.

She licked her lip when he released it, the tiny indentions left by his teeth already fading rapidly, then said breathlessly, "You promised we'd use the Jacuzzi."

"True," he said softly, reaching one hand out to caress her cheek, then trailed both hands down her neck and putting his thumbs on her chin, tilted her head further back. Leaning down he bit her chin lightly and then began nipping his way down her exposed throat until he reached the base and began laving it with his tongue.

"Bite me, Jack," she pleaded, pulling at him with her hands.

"Like this?" he asked softly, biting her equally softly at the side of her neck.

"No. Harder, I want to feel...Yesss," she moaned as he took a sharp bite from the curve where her neck and shoulder met, then laved his tongue over the sting. "Let's get in the jacuzzi, like you promised."

"Now? I'm kinda enj--" he began as his hands on her back arched her body to his mouth as it lowered down her chest.

"Now. Remember? You always keep your promises....But, I have to ask," she said, pushing back at him to see his face. "Are you done being angry with me now? I know you don't like to make love when you're angry."

"No. I don't. You know me well. Throwing that bottle stopped me in my tracks. Good play," he complimented her. "Sorry....I was angry. I didn't even know how angry I was 'til I got going....But you know me..." He gave her a sheepish grin. "Quick temper still at my age. I'm sorry. Forgive me?" Before she could answer, he pulled her up against him, let her feel his traitorous body's response, rubbed it against her until she parted her legs. "What do I have to do ...." he kissed her mouth, opened her lips, delved inside until he felt her heartbeat accelerate, "To get you to forgive me. Or have you already?" Really, someone should give him an award for this acting job in the category of "Advanced screw and skedaddle." Maybe when he returned home he'd update the manual. Much had changed in thirty years, after all. A better use of his time, surely, than sitting in a bar somewhere. And clearly, Marshall, poor guy and Weiss, the nimrod, could certainly use the pointers. To say nothing of Kendall, if ever a guy needed a good---

"Of course!" She laughed in relief. "Of course. No harm done. And we'll have lots of other times to talk, for you to get angry at me again, for us to make up again." She narrowly stopped herself from biting her lip, instead pulled back just enough to look up and down his body again to distract herself. Distract him. To ensure that he was truly responding. Ah yes, she thought, she had him, as she wrapped one hand around his hardness and began stroking him.

But then again, she told herself, they would have other times. As soon as she wrapped up Rambaldi, she would come up with a plan for them to be together again. If not tomorrow, then another tomorrow. But he was right, being together was much better....Much better, she sighed, as she moved her hands, caressed his chest and shoulders, leaned forward and began kissing his skin everywhere she could reach. As relief filled her, as happiness lightened her...what was that, what part of her was that, that felt like she was floating and falling all at once, she wondered briefly as she kissed and licked and bit lightly, until he stopped her by asking the kind of question 'her' Jack would ask.

"You're sure? Sure you forgive me?" he asked, his eyes downcast, then getting control of his face, he looked up again. Doubleplay. The look hid his real emotions and played on her fetish for his shyness.

"I have to forgive you. I love you. Remember? You told me that the night of Dave's party. You were right. There I said it!" She laughed again and leaned up, looping her arms around his neck. "You were right. When you love someone, you have to forgive them. Or...you'll always make the choice to forgive them. See...I was listening."

"Ah," he murmured, as his lips caressed her ear, making her shiver. "You heard me...and Dave about choices?" Had Dave---

"I don't want to talk about that, about Dave." Direct hit, he thought, only this time she doesn't even know it. Stealth was another option. She nodded firmly, trying to convince someone, as she asserted, "Talking about that's a waste of time." She reached her hands around his back and slid them down and over the curve of his buttocks. 
"What do you want to talk about?"

"I want to talk about....you love words and so do I...I want to talk about your promise to give me what I deserve if I helped you with capturing Sloane. Which we're about to do...shortly." No, no. She would not hear that incessant tick, TICK, TICK. Not now, when she had, literally, everything she wanted in her hands, as her hands slid up his back to his neck to pull his head down to hers. As her mouth touched his, she parted her lips, invited him in, invited him to take over, take her cue, do what he did so well. Another time, she'd do what he wanted, take control herself. But not this time. This last time...She just wanted---

"What you deserve? Oh, I'll give it to you, don't worry. But tell me. Tell me what you want. You know the rules, you have to tell me."

She had him. She sighed in relief and putting her hands around his neck, pulled his head down to hers, felt his smile against her lips. She would never understand his mind, she thought, one minute ferociously angry and the next smiling as he kissed her.

But, she had him.

She'd have him again. One last time.

And then it would be done. For now.

For, this was just one more step in the never-ending game between them, wasn't it?

She put her hands around his neck and pulled his head down to hers, kissed him as if she would die without his lips on hers, without the connection of the flesh between them.

He wanted to....strangle her. He wanted to push her away and keep pushing. But he prided himself on having more control than that, certainly more control than his father. He needed....control. But never had he felt so close to losing control, felt the trembling in his fingers just itching for an outlet.

He suddenly lifted her in his hands, smiled into her happy face as he took the step to the swirling bubbling waters. "Finally!" she exclaimed, "I've been waiting for ever to get into that water with you."

"Have you?" he asked. Holding her against him, he smiled at her, kissed her forehead, then her mouth in a slow, open-mouthed kiss that made her moan. He lifted her a little higher, asked "Really?" and took another step when she nodded. Then he opened his hands and dropped her into the hot tub.

"You son of a bitch!" she growled as she spluttered her way to the surface, hauled up by his hand on her elbow. She rubbed her eyes with her hands, trying to clear them of water so she could see him clearly. Which was a bad idea, given the satisfied smirk on his face. Oooh, wait 'til he got in here with her, she would find a way....

"You wanted to get in the tub," he said, taunting her. "I was just obliging, being efficient. After all, seemed like you were in a hurry to get...wet."

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "You..." she let out a torrent of curses in Russian. Then shook her head, not knowing whether to smile at him or kill him.

"Oh, you want to speak in your native tongue." He switched to fluent Russian, "Your wish is my command." He grinned, raised an eyebrow, daring her to remember...

She hid her own smile. "Then get the hell in here with me. Now," she snarled at him and scrambled backwards to stand up as he stepped in. The swirling water pushed them together in the middle. She shifted and he automatically wound one arm around her waist to steady her. Then his fingers rubbed the curve where the chain had rested so often, gently plucked at her skin with his thumb and index finger, as he had so often done around the chain. Why was he doing that? Reminding her of what she was missing, no doubt. She wanted to groan. He was good. Too good. How to win, get him to get to the point? How to win against someone who knew her this well? Who knew all of her, not just Irina Derevko, ruthless, cold, driven, but Laura, needy, loving, emotional?

"Why did you do that," she demanded, pushing wet hair out of her face. "Dump me in the water?"

"A doubleplay," he said in English.

"How so? And speak in Russian. How was it a doubleplay?"

TBC at Chapter 13 part 2 section 3