The Perfect Weapon Chapter 13 part 2 section 5 of 6

[camillecarelli]

"Yes, she was. Because all you ever needed to seduce me was right here," he said quietly, looking at her with clear eyes, which closed as he bent his head and kissed the skin over her heart. Surreptitiously raising his eyes, he saw the softness in hers and nodded in satisfaction. "So....I know you want to move along. Back to the question of the hour. Which do you like better? This..."He bit one nipple over and over. "Or this?" And he suckled on the other nipple. Then withdrew his mouth, leaving her wet flesh to tighten even more with a sudden chill, even with the steam still rising from the swirling waters, even with the steam in her blood. The fear that he might stop chilled her blood. 
"Nooo...Just do it," she moaned, even as her back arched to present her breasts to his mouth, as he slid his tongue out and just teased the tip. His hands held her back when she would have pushed as much of her flesh into his mouth as she could.

"What do they want when they get like that? So rosy, like your lips. So tight, they look like they need something to help them. They look like they're begging for something. What could it be?" For a long moment he just stared at them. "But what do you want? This?" He bit her once again, then held her nipple between his teeth and began flicking his tongue to the same tune as his fingers below. She stilled utterly, the better to feel, to coalesce all her feelings, to control her response, to push herself over the edge. She really couldn't go on like this, and....Damn it! He was talking again...She was going to torture him with her body...some other time. "What did you think, want when you decided to not try to contact me again?" he asked.

"I thought... you would never defect to work with me, allow Sydney to come into the Soviet system of which you were so scornful." And you were right, she thought, that system, taking the children away from the parents....

"And you couldn't defect because you thought you'd be out of the game?"

"Yes. And the more I thought about it, the more I thought that what I really needed to do was find the answer to Rambaldi. I couldn't do that with you, you are so distracting to me. I couldn't achieve anything. And if I could solve Rambaldi, I could achieve everything, personal and professional. Rambaldi would solve everything. Give me everything. Power, the game, opportunities to...You. Our family. Another chance, a way to avoid---"

"Avoid admitting your mistake? Avoid having to swallow your pride, overcome your stubbornness?" He asked, smiling as he kissed her.

She held his head to her, glad to see he was willing to tease. But, you could take teasing too far, she thought, feeling her body undulate against him totally without volition. She was losing control.... "Very funny, smartass. But I...Jack, I needed to solve that puzzle. Needed. I know you think it was obsession, know you don't understand, you don't have that kind of need....but I know there is a higher meaning. Know it. And for all of us, Rambaldi.... That Rambaldi, immortality, time manipulation..."

"You want to explain to me how time travel works? Since you are a world expert? I'm so curious to know how going back to the past would provide you with everything?"

She stroked his hair, asked, "Jack, would you grow your hair longer for me?"

"Sure if you grow your hair a little longer for me. It's not long enough for me to twist my hand in it..." He kissed her, nudging her lips open with his. 
She broke off the kiss to smile, remembering the night they had conceived Sydney. "So, why are we having this conversation right now? When we could be--"

"Because...you're the only person with whom I've ever had conversations like this." She stared at him, nodded. He believed it as he began saying it, but by the time he had completed the sentence, he realized that Dave was right. He had given Laura too much credit. He had had other friends. Might now....Well, he had conversations like this with Dave, with Arvin until grew of sick of his obsessions and their costs, with Judy and Susan. Even a time or two, with, gulp, gag, Vaughn. And he might have a conversation like that with Sydney if she would ever just shut up and let him speak. "Why is Rambaldi's time manipulation, immortality so important to you?"

"Because if I went back to the past, I'd know my mistakes, and I would not make them. You idiot," she said fondly, rubbing her thumbs along his cheekbones, tracing his eyebrows with her fingertips. Kissing his mouth softly, even as her body moved inexorably forward, everything in her needing to find that connection.

"Here's the flaw in the logic-" he whispered against her lips.

She pulled back and rolled her eyes, "Jack, I swear....You don't know everything, you know---"

"Oh, I know," he said softly. "For example, I don't know just how much time we have left, so get talking, explain yourself, your theories to me. Just so I can have the fun of---"

"Give me a break, I've been working on this for decades and you're going to tell me now--"

"Is there a better time? Just humor me. And if I'm totally off base, I'm sure you'll tell me. So, you go back in time. How do you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you'll go back in time to your twenty-two year-old self with all the knowledge of a fifty-two year old? That, what, you'd look like a young woman on the outside, but have all the experience and wisdom that comes from living life and understanding it?" Well, of course, that presupposed one had gained the wisdom that came from allowing oneself to experience life, to feel the pain as well as the joy, to not shove the pain down into some box labeled, 'Later. Maybe. If I can't avoid it.' He raised an eyebrow, noted, "That's quite a deal. The most amazing do over in the history of the game of life. Or did you ever consider the possibility that time travel -- if it's even possible-- is not about your personal wish fulfillment, that it could be just a rewind?"

"A rewind?" 
"Yes, because isn't it possible, given that time travel is hardly an exact science, that you might be wrong? Might have made a mistake? Might it be that if you went back in time you would be that same twenty-two year old, that same twenty-five year old, that same thirty-year old, facing the same problems, facing the same set of options, and making the same choices? Because when it comes to choices, making choices and living with the consequences, not the vagaries of luck, wouldn't you make the same exact choices all over again? Because the only reason you'd make different choices the second time is because you know the results of your first choice. And if you don't know the results, didn't admit to your mistakes and learn from them, you'd make the same choices because they seemed to make sense at the time."

"Another damn circle!" Then gasped, as his fingers began moving again in smaller and smaller circles. "That's it," she gasped, "Keep making those circles smaller for me, that's it...."

"Okay, but first let me ask you this."And be began petting the center of that circle with a delicate touch, over and over as he said, "You felt, you said, believed that if you told me the truth I'd forgive you. Eventually. You left little clues in that portfolio to remind me of the truth that lay between us, right? So, my feelings were guaranteed, right?" then turning his head, he traced circles on her skin with his tongue as his hand slid back down and began playing with her once again. Gently biting her skin wherever he could reach, making teasing forays up toward her breasts but never quite touching them, he felt her breath hitch and hitch again whenever he took a sharper nip. Doubleplay those nips, gave her something she loved and a little outlet for his anger. How...very lucky that she seemed to want bites, anything, to feel something this morning.

"Yes, why--"

"But rather than the option c of the truth you were willing to bet everything on the theory that you could solve Rambaldi, build a time machine, go back and have a do over?" She shook her head, unable to think for the buzzing in her veins, in her head, her ears as he continued caressing her already-overstimulated senses. Smiling, he kissed her and commented casually, "You want some advice on playing the game? Knowing your weaknesses, aside from an inability to bluff? You were always a lousy poker player and you haven't changed. Even worse, you apparently forgot how to count cards and know where you stand in the deck." He stepped petting her and began rubbing her with a sure touch.

"You're wrong. I know it. I've thought about it, worked on it for so long--" She kissed him back. "Okay, I seldom beat you at poker, but still....I was fantastic at pinochle, bridge. We were unbeatable at those games ---"

"Partner games. Where our weaknesses were canceled out by each other's strengths." He nibbled on her shoulder and she shuddered. "And you have so many gifts, so many strengths," he said, pulling her up slightly to kiss her skin over her heart and nibble on the inner curve of her breast. She put her hands into his hair and tried to guide his mouth to her nipple.

Smiled when he took the cue. Sighed as he suckled on her breast until she knew if she did not speak soon, she would be unable to do so, "You're right. We are perfect partners. But I didn't need you to win. I did excel, after all, at Screw Your Neighbor."

"So, you did." He gave a short laugh, making her muscles clench around him. Felt her heart begin to race as she felt the intensity growing within him, felt the heaviness of his pulse thud,thud, thud everywhere, drowning out the TICK, TICK, TICK. Just what she needed. But then he began speaking. What was it this morning with the talking? She lifted her eyes from his body, looked at his mouth, tried to concentrate on his words as he said, "But this game is high stakes poker, honey. Didn't you ever learn when to discard a card in your hand? When to fold, walk away, when the game is over? You could have just picked up the damn phone and admitted you made a mistake. But of course, you would never do that because you're so stubborn." He gritted his teeth as he said and then leaned forward and bit her neck. A hard little bite that surprised her and a moan erupted involuntarily. Maybe annoying him with Rambaldi was the best option to achieve her goals, move this along....

"No, I didn't do that because....pursuing Rambaldi was the best option!" She ran her hands over his chest, scraped her nails across his nipples, heard his soft hiss of breath, did it again.

"Best for whom?" He said quietly and she looked into his eyes and suddenly saw not annoyance, but anger there. When had this happened? When had he gotten angry? Cautiously, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his mouth. In a swift move that took her by surprise, he wrapped one arm around her waist and hauled her up against him and cupped the back of her head in one large hand and took her mouth, she thought, as if this were the last time they might ever kiss. Ravenously, aggressively, leaving her no time to think, no time to plan, no time to even breathe.

Gasping, she blurted out, "Best for all of us. It just...it took longer than I thought."

He stilled to control his anger. Geez, define 'longer'! "Longer than you thought....I'll give you longer," he growled and thrust upward and bit her neck.

"Oh god," she moaned, feeling herself clench around him, as her head fell forward on his shoulder. Lifting her head slightly as he thrust in and out, she bit his shoulder. Then sucked in a breath, sucked his skin, when one of his hands moved between her legs and began pressing, harder and harder, just the way she wanted. Abruptly he stopped. 
"Why didn't you just give up, contact me?" Why did he keep asking that!

"Because if I could solve the puzzle, play the game, I'd have everything I wanted. And I needed to control it, my feelings, my....You know. After all, that kind of need is a ...liability in our lives if you don't set up the play properly. Don't have control."

"Really? That kind of need, desire is a liability? Hmm, you could be right..." he said and began moving inside her with long deep strokes, the kind he made right before...She gasped and pressed her hand down on his, pressing on her, if he would just angle his hand, move it this way, she thought frantically, trying to force his hand....They could fall together. "But you didn't want to lose control of your feelings, wanted to play the game, solve Rambaldi. You needed to solve Rambaldi, but you didn't need to contact me?"

"Not then. There were plenty of other tomorrows, especially if I could solve the puzzle, gain enough power. After all, I didn't need..." She gasped when he abruptly stopped moving and withdrew his hand. Just sat there. Waiting.

"Why did you stop?" she protested, moving her body against his, grabbing for his hand, trying to force it back to her enraged, throbbing center.

"You don't need this, right?" He asked aggressively, placing his hand where she wanted it and rubbing harder and harder, faster and faster. Then thrusting up with his hips, he lifted her entire body up, then let himself and her fall as he taunted, "You don't need me, what's between us?" He began moving again, said softly, "You don't feel empty when I'm not inside you?" as he flexed his body upward over and over, his fingers plucking at her in time to the rhythm he set. Then moved his other hand up to her nipple and began rolling it between his fingers. Bending his head, he gave a hard suckle to her other nipple. "You don't feel lost without me?" She ground herself against him, pushing, wanting, so close. Maybe she should have made him angry earlier if this was the result.

"Oh!" she gasped as she started to fall, clutching him with her hands, desperate to connect, take him with her, brushing his nipples.

The minute her hands touched him, he pulled back, stopped moving, stopped touching. "You don't need this, right? So... let's stop. Time is wasting, valuable time we could spend planning the op. Playing the game. So, let's get up and get dressed. After all, surely you can wait for the connection, for fulfillment, a little longer than you expect...for, oh, say twenty years?"

The softness of his tone sheathed the sharpness of the cut. For a moment. Then she started, much against her will, to feel the slice, the burn.

He leaned back against the wall of the tub, rested his head against the tiled wall of the bathroom. Stretched his legs out, destabilizing her, forcing her to catch herself by grabbing at his shoulders. He shrugged off her hands and spread his arms out along the edge of the tub. "Well, what are you waiting for? The second coming? Let's get to work." Then he waited. 1, 2, 3....

She raised her hand, began with "You...." Her hand dropped. Something in his eyes stopped her. Something more than the anger she expected. Something she did not know how to deal with. Something she had never seen before. Some...person she had never seen before.

He said quietly, his body relaxed, putting one hand on her waist to steady her as he felt her trembling, "Because you can wait twenty years to feel this again, to feel this connection again? No big deal, right? I mean, you didn't think it was a problem for Sydney and I to wait that long, right?"

Startled she looked up into his eyes and if his hand had not been around her, she would have fallen and drowned. She felt like she was drowning, gasping for breath, felt like there was nothing firm under her feet, felt like her every assumption had been swept away. Those were not the eyes of the man she knew. Correction, thought she had known. This was not the self-professed lonely geek who had been insecure of his self-worth. This coldness, this determination, this persistence, this coldness, those were the eyes of a predator. This was not her Jack, this was, this was, oh my god, this was the man in his profile of thirty years before. Cold. Utterly ruthless. The man she had not seen, not wanted to see. The man he had hidden from her. Protecting Laura. Protecting himself.

She hissed, "You hid this from me, just like your insecurities, you hid this from --"

"Then I guess we're even. You hid your true nature from me as well."

"You lying bastard."

"Pleased to meet you," he said softly. "You cowardly bitch."

They stared at each other, face to face. No mirrors. Just steam rising.

"Coward! No one would dare to call me that..." She spluttered. "I am fearless, I have done things that you would have never dared and---."

"Really....Let's review. You would have told me the truth? But you didn't. You could have tried to contact me again. But you didn't. You say you knew I would forgive you if you explained. But you didn't. All those years. You tried to contact us, but you failed and you convinced yourself that you had more tomorrows. That we could just wait. Or...Oh, does it matter? Does it? What a waste, all these years. Your life. My life... Sydney's....The time I wasted wondering what was wrong with me that you would leave me, the time I wasted, so many missed opportunities, so much...life. Do you have any idea what your...departure and your silence did to us? Do you care? Do you want to know or...are you afraid? You're afraid, aren't you? And you decided that your obsessions, your goals were more important than anything else because that decision allowed you to avoid dealing with the repercussions of your actions. So, yes, you are a coward."

She raised her hand to slap him and he grabbed her arm and pulled her up against his hard body. "Prove to me that you have some courage. Tell me what you want. I'll do it. I always do, don't I? Didn't I promise? So, tell me. I surrender. I'm yours. You want to be in control, it's so important? Fine. Tell me what you want. Really want. Now."

She was speechless, shocked into speechlessness at the rage in his voice, the coldness of it that astonished her, made her wonder just how he saw her, if he truly saw her.... He had never, never spoken to her like that... She could only think, be careful what you wish for....She had wanted his anger. She had it. It fed her own emotions, tiptoeing on the tightrope created by the three-fold cord of guilt and deceit and loss, twining around and strangling the life found in love and desire and need.

"How dare you speak that way to me, you son of a bitch!" She bucked forward, then regretted it, feeling the unrelenting throb make its presence known once again with the resulting friction.

"I still haven't heard what you want yet, Irina. Scared?"

"Damn you!" And then she did not know what to say for the heat, the desire, the need, the fear, the relentless TICK that pounded in unison with the thud of her pulse, pounding in her head, in her blood, in every pulse point, between her legs where they were still joined, in her heart. What to say.... Damn him for ruining this memory. Damn him. How dare he!

She blinked once.

"Gladly," he said. Grabbing for each other, both breathing hard, she sucked in a breath as he bent over and bit her nipple.

"Jack!" she exclaimed, clutching his shoulders, pushing back to stare at him. She blinked rapidly, three times, not even conscious of the meaning between them with that gesture until he fastened his mouth to her neck, giving it a hard suckle as he bit her. She thought dimly, that if he was not careful she might have a mark later, something to see when he was no longer in reach.... But right now, she had him. One last time, he was hers. Moya. She had him again, now she could bite him again. She bent down and bit his chest. Hard. Both trying to bite, to have....to take each other in before the sense of loss overwhelmed them both.

"Thank god, you're back with me," she moaned, scraping her teeth along his shoulder, grasping his skin with her hands anywhere, everywhere she could reach, sliding her legs along his as she moved back and forth on his body, trying to feel his hardness. "I feel alive again. I feel you. Feel alive with you. Before time runs out. One last time. Now, now, now." TICK, TICK. TICK

He paused internally, although his body kept moving, his fingers kept moving as he felt his anger escalate again as she articulated what he had known, that she did not feel alive but still planned on leaving anyway. Looking at her, he calculated the reciprocity between vulnerability and the humiliation of betrayal - a set of odds, he could, after all, calculate in his sleep and had done so in nightmare after nightmare before he began drinking. When she just stared at him, her eyes dilated, he pressed, needing to finish the set up, to give her a page in her memory book she might not want to visit. Opened his mouth, then changed his mind and began speaking once again in Russian, "Tell me, you have to tell me."

"Take me," she said, begged. "I'll take you too, whatever you have to give me. I'll take it. I'll want it. I want to feel. Feel alive. With you.

He spoke again in Russian and watched her eyes flare with more heat, "Is that what you want? To be taken? Now?"

"Jack...please. Pozhaluista. The pleasure - it's too much. It's been too long. It's too sharp, it's becoming painful. I need..."

"Whatever you want..." he responded, closing his eyes so she could not see the triumph in them as he allowed the gamesplayer to take over, to give her the perfect weapon for her own betrayal. He closed his teeth against the skin of her shoulder, then over her chest, trying and succeeding at controlling the anger that made him want to bite too hard, feeling her nails dig into his flesh, heard her moan, "Moya, moya," as his fingers apparently sought purchase on the edge of the tub.

The passive transmitter was perfect. A doubleplay. Even when he lost, he still won. If she did not betray them, if he was wrong and this woman he loved or could love made a different choice, he would have won. What he truly wanted, if he listened to that tiny little voice.

Heard her moan, louder and louder with each bite, the nips growing a little sharper with each pass, then louder still as the fingers of his free hand began circling her, as his mouth made teasing forays around and around each breast.

And if she did betray them he still won. That communication device was so tiny, it would easily rest above her heart. Lord knew, there had to be enough room for it in her chest cavity with its undeveloped heart leaving plenty of space. Lord knew, she would never feel it there, hadn't she numbed herself so very well to all pain?  
Shifting her slightly so that a jet was aimed properly he felt her jump, heard her moan, speak in Russian, congratulated himself on his thorough background research earlier, was astonished that she was allowing herself to be distracted by the swirling, hard water and technical expertise that somehow, somehow compensated for the total lack of any feeling on his part other than anger. He fastened his lips around one nipple and bit it softly as his tongue circled in perfect counterpoint to his fingers below.

What a perfect weapon for something so little. The passive transmitter, that is, he thought wryly. It provided a way of tracking her, a way to prove that he could predict her behavior, that he had been correct from the beginning when he had been incensed that everyone around him had been so complacent, so accommodating, as if the woman were not who she was. He did not believe that in winning, he would lose. It was not possible because he had already lost everything, twenty years ago.

She held onto him tightly, stroked his neck, his shoulders, his arms, whispered, "That's it. That's what I want. Go ahead, bite me harder. I need to feel...Make me lose myself again...With you."

To be more accurate, he had lost thirty years ago when he had met her. They had loved each other, he knew that. Had seemingly everything, he knew that. But that love had carried a huge price, one he had not known he was to pay, one he had not known his daughter would pay. And it was the price not only of pain, but of lost opportunities. He would not change, for the world, his daughter. Nothing, nothing was more important than his daughter. But if he had never met Irina...what would his life have been? Would he have met some other woman, have fallen in love, married, had a family. Wouldn't he? There was no such thing as only one perfect person for....That was just the musings of a hopeless romantic. Which he was not. No one with the cold center inside him could be a hopeless romantic. No, no, no. He had learned the costs. Learned the lessons before and tonight and in the last minutes.

Does anyone know what love can cost? 
To take you so high and leave you lost?

"Ia tebia liubliu, Jack." How twisted had it all become that hearing words of love just fed the anger within him?

He opened his mouth, but the words, even in Russian, would not leave his lips. Instead he softly kissed her chest.

He had loved Laura. Irina... that was a different story. He could...almost. She was like Laura in some ways. Had so many strengths, so many gifts...so much potential. If she would just look in the mirror and see herself. As much as she might protest, as much as she might believe that Laura and Irina were the same person, they were not. They could be, if she were willing to do the hard work that Laura had done originally, somehow he knew with Dave, because of Dave, to change, to mature, to become most truly herself. But with the addition of a strength of character to resist temptation.

The woman he had first met, first fallen in love with, had been much like Irina, true. But the woman with whom he had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love, more and more each day, was the woman who had covered him with kisses, made love to him, draped herself in jewels and presented herself to him, presented her love to him as the most profound gift a human could receive. Made him secure in his choice to allow himself to love her, to trust her, to have total faith and hope in the future with her.

That woman, the mature Laura, would have never left him, never left her daughter, destroyed their family, their lives. That woman would never have caused the untold grief and devastation left in her wake. That woman would not have turned herself into CIA custody for her own purposes and told her daughter that she had done so, at least in part, to bond with her. No, that woman was not Laura. That woman was Irina. Irina who chose not to see beyond her own needs, her own fears, her own desires. Dave had been right in his notes that she had lost herself. He would have given almost anything, almost, to have her integrate her two selves, to become the person she was meant to be. Anything that is, but Sydney's well being. And...he thought, his own. But it was Irina who, even now, could make love with him and plan to betray him again in the morning with apparently no compunction. Nothing could interfere with her goals. Nothing. This woman, in his arms, was not Laura. She was Irina. He was not confused about that. She was.

But his head at her breast as it had been countless times, hearing her heart beat under his mouth, giving her those little nips she loved, giving her pleasure, listening to her moan, listening to her say in Laura's voice, "I love you, Jack," he almost hesitated. His fingers holding the syringe fumbled. He almost dropped that little weapon, accidentally on purpose. But then he realized that it wasn't Laura's voice, was it? No, it was Irina's voice and she was saying it in Russian, not English."Moya, moya, Jack."

He moved his right hand up under her breast, cupped it for his mouth. Began suckling at the nipple, licking around and around the softness, until she was moaning, begging.

Then he did what he did best when the coldness took over. He calculated the odds. That took no time at all. They were simple. Guaranteed. A basic life lesson, in fact.

If someone screwed you once, they would undoubtedly screw you twice.  
Operating on that basis had never failed him before, had saved his life countless times.

"What do you want? You have to tell me, remember? You have to ask. Oh, and this time? Say please."

"Jack, please, bite me. The way I like. Hard, sharp. This time. Before we run out of time. Bite me, bite me...Pozhaluista."

Well, he would hate so very much to not fulfill her every desire, he thought. He bit the soft flesh over her heart, so very misleading, and thrust his hand and his body forward.

As she moaned at the touch of his teeth and tongue and he pulled the syringe away to drop it surreptitiously over the lip of the tub, he could barely hear her. Barely hear her over the dulled sound of his own voice so long ago, "The truth is, Dave, that we are all whores or victims of whores. I'm choosing not to be a victim." One last time, anyway.

"Jack...I can't again. I can't feel you...." Well, they were even. He couldn't feel anything either.

But damn. Some part of her, the instinct, the wisdom, the remnants of Laura, sensed his almost-complete emotional withdrawal, his anger, his coldness that made him shiver even though his body was buried inside her wet warmth that was pulsing around him, even though the warm water swirled around him. He forced himself to look into her eyes directly for the first time since he had begun this next to last stage of the classic screw and skedaddle. Blinked away the anger and the coldness, allowed her to see the regret.

"Sorry. My fault, I wanted to have that argument with you and I'm too.... I"m sorry. Let's try this. Turn over. Go back to the beginning," he said forcing himself to smile. "Try again....I've thought of this ever since I booked a room with a Jacuzzi."

"Oh," she said softly and pulled his head down for a kiss. "Covering every contingency, Jack?" she asked with a smile and then bit his lip and laved the sting with her tongue. To his own surprise, he felt...nothing. No connection beyond the physical, which was a poor substitute...as the chain she wanted so desperately was a poor substitute for the real ties that bind, the ties of trust and truth.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pretending as he had never done before in his life, never in all the times he had whored himself had he ever felt this coldness, this coldness that burned. This anger that had burned itself to such a heat that it had become cold, like liquid nitrogen, the means a doctor used to remove scar tissue from the skin. So, this position was good. He could use it to pretend she was Laura, to perform... "This will work. Trust me." She nodded and relaxed. He pulled out of her, breathing a brief sigh of relief, and used his hands to quickly, firmly put her on her knees, positioned her properly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as he carefully pushed into her and used his body to nudge her pelvis toward a jet. Good, let the water do the work, he...didn't want to touch her, Irina, again unless he had to. This last screw and skedaddle had accomplished his goal, inserted the transmitter, and now he just wanted it to be over. Just wanted to get out of her, out of the swirling water. Out of the whirlpool surrounding them, out of the game. He wanted to be warm. He wanted to be off of the ice.

Hands on her hips, he used his nose to push her hair away from her neck and began licking and nipping at the taut skin there. Stroked his hands from her hips to her breasts and manipulated the nipples, pushed into and out of her, pushed her into the swirling waters until she was gasping. It would not need much, after all....

As she convulsed around him, he automatically sent his mind to a memory, any memory, would do to accomplish one last pretense....He thought of the first time he had made love with Laura, the love, the care, the concern, the deepest desire to connect with someone from, with, for love. The first time while the last time...A circle.... And then and then and then, as he thrust and his body readied itself to do what the body could, he found that he would not. No, he would not. He could, he was capable of allowing his body to achieve oblivion one last time, he could pretend this warm woman under him was what he wanted. Or he could pretend to come inside her, in this water she would never know the difference between real ecstasy and the work of a whore. But...he chose not to. His mind had chosen the memory of their first time together and this would cheapen it. So...No.

Knew he did not want the last time to be one of merely emptying the body. Worse, emptying his soul. No, he wanted the last time to be that moment on the bed in the other room, when she had invited him into her, when he had felt her, truly her, one last time, as he had whispered his love. That, that would be the closed circle he had been seeking. A wholeness for himself.

He thought of what he had told Dave, "The truth is, Dave, that we are all whores or victims of whores. I'm choosing not to be a victim."

But, there was another option. Always another option. An option c. The true option. He could be neither a whore, nor a victim. He knew the costs of his behavior. He could be, should be, himself. With everything that meant, for good or bad. He should be true to himself. And he realized suddenly, but no, not suddenly, more like the slow surfacing of something hidden on the bottom of a whirlpool that had finally risen to the top, that he knew what he had been, what he is, what he wanted, what he needed. And it wasn't this emptying, this emptiness. 
He gave her a last nip on the back of the neck, a kiss, a soft kiss, then pulled out. Resting against her back, her buttocks for a moment, he sighed. Stood up. His hands gentle, he turned her around and pulled her to her feet, ignoring the question on her face. They stepped out and he reached for a towel and began patting her dry, slowly, carefully, as if they had all the time in the world. Taking care of her as if it were the night of the toaster, she thought. Should she bring that up? That had worked in India - had begun the process of bringing him back to her, hadn't it? Might it not complete the circle? Or should she wait until the breakfast she'd ordered arrived? Why was he so quiet? Why was he being so gentle, moving so slowly? As if that TICK wasn't getting louder and louder by the second now.

She shook her head. No, no. Go on the offensive again, Derevko. You don't have time for games. She had found release, but not the true connection she had sought, just a reasonable facsimile. She knew he did not like to make love when he was angry, but this was new, different. Something was wrong. Instinct, woman's intuition about her man, bubbled up and told her that there was something just beyond her grasp, right under her skin, like an itch. Her senses... suddenly she felt something... Something beyond her own sense of fear, her own sense of loss, something beyond herself. She asked softly, staring at him, trying to see even as she shied away from seeing, "Jack, why? What's going on? Before, you were playing a game with me. I understand that. But why, this time, didn't you come?" she asked bluntly. "Tell me the truth. You owe me that."

He looked at her for a moment. Felt the temptation, seeing the soft, loving, concerned look on her face, to tell her he knew the truth, the whole truth. But....if he made a mistake now -- the costs to Sydney. No. He could not. His instincts told him. No. No yet. If he stopped her this time, there would be a next time. You haven't pushed her to the point. She doesn't want to get to the point.

But...should he try one last time? The worst was over, the transmitter was inserted. Should he try one last time to access that guilt he could feel building with an almost palpable force as the tick, tick, TICK grew louder and louder and louder? Yes and let's try this truth, he decided as his mouth opened and it just poured out regardless of desire or need or game strategy, "Why didn't I come? Because I had been, was too angry, even though I pushed it down for one last time...I was angry. And that made it wrong."

"We've made love before when we've been angry, not very often, to be sure because you didn't want to lose control. But we have done it -- to make up, to battle for....dominance, possession, so many things." She automatically held out an arm for him to dry it as he had done so many times.

He turned her around and dried her back. "Usually when you were trying to push me to tell you what was wrong, why I was angry. You used...sex to ...was it...to channel my anger, then soften me up so that I'd tell you what was wrong. But not tonight. I"m sorry if that hurt you, but I had to do what I felt was right."

"You make it sound more calculated than it really was. I mean, Jack, really! Even as a young man you were not easy to manipulate, even with, actually especially with sex. If I pushed you then it was because you made me angry too. And now....And this time, I was angry too, so that would have made us even and---" She stopped as he shook his head.

"Believe me when I say that you were nowhere near as angry as me. That the kind of anger you were feeling was different than mine. In those circumstances...it would be wrong." He shook his head and ran the towel around the back of her neck.

He finished drying her and tossed the towel onto the rack. She turned around took a towel herself and began patting him dry now, as she had done so many times. But this time as she watched his skin ripple under her touch, she was trying to decide on the right strategy.

"Wrong in what way?" she pressed, trying to understand, sensing that this was important, that he had allowed her to misdirect him from the conversation that led to the tub only because he had made the choice to do so. Why?

"Having pleasure, as unfulfilling as it would be, allowing myself to come when I feel that angry is wrong. It's like---" He bit the words off.

"It's like---? Are you thinking that its like a...rape? My god! Is that what you're thinking?" She stopped toweling him off, only now realizing that his body held only the tenseness of...something. Not unfulfilled desire. In fact, his body betrayed no evidence of desire at all. There was something else, something... cold. Not hot, not heat.

"Yes." He waited. When she said nothing more, clearly thinking, her brow creased as she tried to solve this puzzle, he wondered why she was trying. He acknowledged, "You know me well, even after all these years, don't you?"

"In some ways. In some ways you were and will always be a puzzlebox to me. Unsolvable. Never enough time to solve it. But, Jack, I wanted you and you never, never hurt me, would never hurt any woman that way so---" She put a hand on his chest, lightly stroked his skin, wanting to reassure him. Wondered at the curious look on his face.

"No. I wouldn't. I would rather die than do that."

"Before, when you said direct hit. You meant that I had figured out something, one of those little details about yourself that you hid from me, were afraid to show me. About your father and the issue of control. When he would hit your mother. You are nothing like him. Nothing, Jack."

"Yes, I have control," he shrugged.

"Control? Those control issues of yours were always so ridiculous. You are not your father. You have character," she said firmly. "Integrity, honor. Decency. You would never abuse a woman, don't think that. Why didn't you ever tell me that you feared--What impact that had on you---"

"Irina, some other time. Pl--" He bit the word off and then said slowly, carefully, "You misunderstood my initial comment. It would be a rape of my soul."

"I...understand," she said softly. Thinking of that day after Dave left, looking in the mirror, understanding just how deep a salvation Jack's love had been. Thinking of all the times after she had left, avoiding looking at herself in the mirror after she had risen from a bed. Remembering that old superstition about covering mirrors after someone died so that you could not see the reflection of the dead soul in the silvered glass.

"I bet you do." He said equally softly with no rancor, no anger. And this was the worst of all, she felt with despair. Not that he was hiding emotion, but that he felt none. She dropped the towel to the side. She needed to tell him, find some way to reach him. To give him what she wanted.....

She reached out to him, began stroking her hands down his arms, then his chest. Lifting her face to his, she gave him a gentle kiss, then speared one hand up into his hair - too short, she thought absently - and pulled his face down to hers again. Twining one leg around his, she rubbed her body along his and realized, slowly, that although he was kissing her back, his hands were gentle on her back as he embraced her, perhaps even trembling, his body was not responding. She pulled her lips away from his and stared at him in surprise. What game was this? One they had never played before. She was confused. Sinking to her knees in front of him she reached out a hand. He grabbed it and pulled her up with a jerk. Said quickly, "Don't ever, ever act like a....whore with me. Never do that. To me or yourself. Make love to me because you desire me, not for any other reason."

"But I did..." she trailed off. "Let me..."

He asked softly, "Why do you want to do this? Why?" He held her away from him.

"You know why," she said pleadingly. "You know--"

"Say it. " He stared into her eyes, pressed her hand.

She looked away and mumbled, "I...I need to do this." 
"Ah. Need. You need to do this. But what is this?"

"You know!"

"Tell me. Now. Or I will leave."

"Jack!" She said in shock, seeing, feeling the sudden power emanating from him.

"I'll count to three. 1, 2-"

"Okay, okay. I want to make love to you, I want to give you pleasure. I want to repay you for all the pleasure, everything you've given me."

"You want to repay me for...tonight? The past? What I've given you? Really?"

"Yes. That's it." She nodded and put her hand on his chest, stroked the skin over his heart, felt the heavy thud, thud, thud of his pulse beating against the palm of her hand.

Silence fell between them. She could almost hear him counting in his head, thud, 1, thud, 2, thud, 3....waiting, knowing that she had just---

"Liar," he said calmly.

She blanched. He knew, he knew. And he was going to force her, wasn't he, force her to tell him? That she knew she needed to apologize. She knew he could do it, he knew he could do it, if he just exerted enough psychological or emotional pressure. Only he could do this. No, no.

"Jack, it was business, professional, political. Not personal. You know that. You must know that."

He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, his face assumed the mask. "I know that is what you have told yourself. I know that sometimes the political is most definitely personal. A gun to the head tends to teach one that lesson." He paused. "Most importantly, I also know you. You seem to have forgotten that fact. When you crawl all over me as you did most often in the early part of our marriage you did so to apologize without having to say a word. I thought that after a while, you had matured. Apparently, I was mistaken."

He did know, she thought resignedly, then started as he began to walk away. She reached for him, desperate to connect. She had accused Jack, in her mind, of ignoring his self. But she had done so too. And now she had just made a huge mistake. Had backed herself right into a corner with the worst possible opponent. Only, Jack was not an opponent, was he? Not even when they had been playing that impossibly-irritating truth and consequences game of his... Then why did it feel that way? Why was she feeling this confusion? He was her lover, her husband. Moya, moya. Had he forgotten that? Where was his ring? Where was her chain? She had to have him. She had to. She had to recover this last night, make one last perfect memory. Lunging forward, she grabbed at his hand.

"Please, Jack, let me...I want--"

"I know what you want." He looked down at her. "You want to crawl all over me, not because you think that's what I want, sexually, but because you feel a need to apologize to reduce your own guilt. I never wanted you to do that, remember? I wanted you to want me. I wanted you to just say the words and mean them. Remember that time with Sydney and the roof? And you, you always wanted to apologize without saying the words. Ask yourself again if this is that what I want, what I need? Grow up. Stop being a self-absorbed, defensive child still looking for your parents' nonexistent approval. Start looking at the people you love, the people who loved you and ask yourself why their approval means less to you than those sub-human icicles you unfortunately drew in the spinning wheel of the lottery we call life."

"I...STOP it. I love you, Sydney. You know that. I've given you...."

"Yes. You gave me. Once. But how about you repay me for everything you've taken from me?"

"Taken....What did I take from you, you idiot?"

"What did you.....You took everything from me. Everything! My wife. My self-respect. The respect of my colleagues. My health. My family. My self-confidence. My life! My life! You gave me my life, my reason for living and then you stole it back, Irina!"

"I did not! You are responsible.... You should have done what was best for you. You should have...moved on, gotten remarried, had more children. And Sydney was young, she could have just forgotten...."

"So. Let me understand this. It was okay to leave Sydney because she was young and could forget you? That's what you wanted? You cannot both be upset about her memory loss and say she should have forgotten. And if I'd done what I was supposed to - marry, wait let me guess, some other tall thin brunette, right? That was what my profile said was my type?"

"Actually, we didn't know that..." she mumbled.

"Geez! I cannot believe the abysmal job of background research- Geez! The truth is that if we hadn't fallen in love, holy sh*t - if we hadn't fallen in love..." Holy sh*t, we fell in love, we fell in love, he thought, owning it, truly owning it for the first time. "You wouldn't have had a chance, would you? Because your back up team sent you in completely unprepared! Good luck for you, wasn't it, our love? But...to get back to my failures...if I'd done what I should have - remarried, had more children - then your loss would have meant nothing to Sydney? So, the fault was mine for not following your damn plan? Gee, too bad you didn't let me know that was your plan! Too bad you didn't bother to get buy in from those implementing your grand schemes? Or did they forget to teach the art of the buy in at the academy in those days? Oh but wait, we weren't coworkers, were we? Or even employees. Just victims. Of your plan that went awry and---"

"That wasn't my plan originally, I just---!" Sh*t, he was finding every flaw. She clamped her mouth shut.

"Yes, I know. That was your justification to yourself after you chickened out on contacting me, after you decided you'd rather solve some puzzle than be with your family, the people who loved you. The people that wanted the best for you. Not the people, your parents, the system, who only wanted the best you could give them so that they could use it. Use you."

"It would have been best for you if--"

"Was it best for you? The results of your choices? Was it?" When she did not answer, he continued, speaking rapidly, TICK, TICK, TICK, "If that question's too hard, let me riddle you this, have you moved on, have you?"

"I--"

"Don't even try it. You loved me. You love me. You may have f**ked Cuvee and who knows how many others, but you didn't love any of them. You used them, no doubt for a variety of purposes, just as I used women the last twenty years for a variety of purposes. For sex, for momentary forgetfulness, for work, for someone to hold the loneliness at bay in the dark of a moonless night."

"Don't talk to me about other women! Don't you dare!"

"You cannot both say that I should have remarried and also say-"

You. Are--" She choked on her anger, "Moya!"

He switched to Russian and threw back to her, "Am I? If I am, was, that was a gift I made to you. I can always take it back, according to your rules!"

TBC at Chapter 13 Part 2 section 6