The Perfect Weapon Ending 2 Part 1 Section 1
The Perfect Weapon
Ending 2: Part 1 Section 1
Her hand stopped.
The clock, that damnable clock had finally stopped?
What had stopped the clock she had thrown into the hallway endless hours ago?
Inside the bathroom, Jack had carefully closed the door after taking a careful peek into the other room. Sighing he had pulled the remote clock control from the lip of the tub, automatically dialed the volume down one last time, and then hit the off button. Then shrugging, he tossed the tiny device into the waste basket. He sat down against it to listen.
And wait.
One last time.
Looking over at the wastebasket he sighed, thinking he was such a manipulative bastard. Or, if all went well, he would be a caring husband trying to win his wife back. He sighed again. That’s what he would tell her anyway. She would be in her rights to slap him if, no -- when, he told himself trying to hold onto hope, when she figured this all out.
But all’s fair in love and war. Only time would tell which campaign this would prove to be. Which memory would she choose? It had to be the correct memory from her memory book, not the best or the easiest or the most pleasant. It had to be the right choice. ... Or would it take more than one memory? What would be enough to get them everything again? He sighed. Waited. 1, 2, 3...
What time was it, she wondered, as she began to search for her watch. Unsuccessful, she shrugged and went to look out the window which faced east. And as she stood there, hearing the silence left behind by the cessation of that endless ticking, she remembered that poem by..... Who was it? Auden. ‘Stop All the Clocks.’ She remembered reading it to Jack one night before the fire, telling him it was the saddest poem she had ever read in her life.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
They had talked about the poem that night for so long, all the way up to bed; she would end up writing a paper about the poem with the theme coming from that conversation. Looking down she saw her watch under the bed and picked it up. Putting it on, she shook her head, said to herself, remembering that paper’s theme, ‘The time is irrelevant when you have forever.’ Remembered arguing with Jack about it. He had always loved to argue with her about her papers, her articles. That time he had thought the theme should be ‘The time only seems irrelevant. But it always counts.’ They could not resolve it and she had finally shrugged and said, “It’s my theme. I’ll chose the interpretation I want, thank you very much. Although maybe I should just choose a different poem. This one is so sad, every time I read it, I want to cry.” Jack had laughed, stroked her hair, told her, “You think it’s so sad because for you admitting you were wrong is the worst possible fate.” She had slapped at his shoulder, laughed. Then leaning forward to kiss where she had slapped, she had laughed again, said, “Well, I do know I am right about this... If I kiss you here.... or here... or here.... You are mine. I’m never wrong about that.” He had laughed too, gathered her up in his arms, laid her on top of him, lifted his mouth to hers and said huskily, “I can’t resist you. You’re always correct about that.”
But tonight... he had resisted her. What did that mean?
Her head jerked up. What if.... What if she had been wrong? What if?
What if she did not have forever? What if... all she had was right now?
What if that man in the bathroom, that man in this bedroom, that man in her body had not been... her Jack?
What if she were not his Laura?
What if?
No, she hated that question. But... maybe... She had tried everything else. Every other option. She groaned to herself. Jack and his damn options. A, B, C. Okay, she would try that. What did she have to lose after all? Option A - seducing him had not worked, had not achieved her goals. And in fact, she wondered who had seduced whom. Option B - exercised only when he had begun attacking - defending herself by drawing a wall around herself had not gotten her what she wanted either. Then she shook her head.
Wait.
She had cocked her head and listened.
”What do you want, Laura?”
What had she wanted again? Yes. One last connection, one last true connection with him. With her Jack.
What if...
What if... What if... What if...
She whispered the words over and over, waiting for some inspiration, some... help. She had never liked asking that question because there were too many options in the answer.
Or rather, to be honest had asked it to herself once. Only, once, truly asked it.. When Jack had told her she was pregnant. Then...to protect her baby, she had asked that question. To protect a loved one, she had asked that question.
But now, why would she ask that question? Sydney was an adult. And she had Jack, who would always catch her. And Jack himself was... strong now, as he was then. Wasn’t he? He could catch himself?
Couldn’t he?
She covered her ears, hearing that voice asking... What if I were wrong?
What if....
And suddenly that voice - one of them- she had been suppressing for so long popped right into her head.
“Laura. We joke about it. But you can be wrong, you know. And sometimes we are most blind about the people closest to us. Because we need them so much, want them so much, we cannot see or will not see what we don’t want to see. I love you both. Please. Don’t be so blind. It could cost you everything.”
“But I would know...” she whispered to herself, walking slowly back over to the table in that hotel room in Panama. Then shut her eyes as she reached the table’s edge and saw that portfolio, as Dave’s voice intruded again. Louder this time, after all, a memory she had revisited previously.
Don’t you see what he was doing? A master of misdirection…. Unbelievable.” He said nothing for a moment and she just waited, completely befuddled by this discussion. Finally, he sighed and said, “Clearly you don’t know, don’t want to know, or Jack has hidden from you, the fact that he does not trust easily.”
“That trust issue you mentioned then? That’s ridiculous, Dave. Jack does not have trust issues.”
She shook her head again to clear it. Dave had been wrong then. Was wrong now. Wasn’t he? It was control with Jack. Not trust. Control. Wasn’t it? And he must trust her or he would not have left this portfolio here on the table. Yes. Unless he wanted her to see it for some reason. But in either case...
It wouldn’t hurt to take a peek at it. Would it? No.
And who knows, it might have some useful intel or... It was never a wise idea to ignore an opportunity to obtain information, to have the clearest possible picture. She remembered from photography class that you had to take your time and get the proper focus or the picture, no matter how perfectly composed , would be useless, forever blurred, a lost opportunity. Lost.
She pushed her hair out of her face and reached out for the portfolio.
As picked it up, she shook her head, trying to clear it of those words that were tapping now so very insistently at her brain. Wanting out, out OUT of that memory book. Wanting to leap right out at her. She closed her eyes. She would listen... for just a moment....
”Listen to me. It won’t hurt you to listen, will it? Will it? If you’re right and I’m wrong, what’s the big deal? And if you’re wrong, maybe you’ll learn something useful. What can it hurt? I have the time to talk about this? How about you? Can you make the time? Or is time running out?” Dave had asked it calmly, crossing his legs as he leaned back in the chair as if he were not about to tilt her world on its axis. He had been good, damn good. Those clear blue eyes of his seemed so open, but they hid an intensity that matched, perhaps even exceeded Jack’s.
Well, Dave was right. As usual. It never hurt to have all possible information. And maybe she might learn something useful, she decided as she picked up the brown portfolio and flipped back the lid. Peering inside she saw a single, fat file folder and pulled it out, checking carefully to ensure that she had left nothing inside. Nothing. She held the file in her hand and turned it to read the heading. Treatment Plan for Jack
What?
She stared but the words did not change. Had she thought they would if she looked long enough? There they were.
Treatment plan for Jack
What the hell did that mean?
”What do you think Jack wants, Dave? You know him so well. You do know what he wants. So just tell me. Stop wasting my time. And yours.”
“Laura. It is never a waste of time to help those you love. I have all the time in the world. The question is... Do you?” He said it calmly. He was always calm or laughing. Dave was so... steady, she had always thought. Jack could be volatile in some ways, but Dave was his opposite. Or so she had been fooled into believing. She had just never seen this side of him before. What she was about to see very shortly. And had tried for almost thirty years to forget. The truth he had forced her to see. Then. And...
Was Jack ill? Judging by the thickness of this folder, he might be very ill. But... no. He didn’t appear ill. He was in perfect health, perfect shape. She should know after last night. She took a breath, then another as she stared at the folder heading. Wait.... That handwriting. She never forgot... It was Dave’s handwriting. That block-like, very clear script.... But Dave had been dead for so long... Had Jack been ill, long ago? But Dave was not a medical doctor. What was this? And why would Jack be reading it now?
She flipped open the file folder, curious about the timing of Jack’s current perusal of what must be an old file. Jack would never waste time reading something irrelevant, so what did he see in this file that had warranted all of that attention on the plane ride to Panama when they might have been sitting together, playing a word game or... she sighed, feeling tension rise again... just being together. They had so little time...
”What do you mean?” She had asked suspiciously. “About me not having enough time?” Did Dave know the truth? Was this just his way of pressing her?
“What do you think he needs?” Dave had pressed. Leaning forward now, he had speared her with his gaze. “I asked you a ---”
“Stop being such a damn therapist and stop turning my questions around on me!”
“No.” He had shaken his head, but said firmly, calmly. “We’re doing this my way. Jack spoils you and I won’t. That’s what he sees as his job, but I sure as hell don’t.”
“You’re a nosy, interfering--”
“Friend. Who loves you both and wants the best for you. So. Let me ask you this… how do you feel when Jack spoils you?”
“I feel…. “ She stopped. Closed her eyes. This was dangerous. Very dangerous. Dave was dangerous and she had never known. This yearning to tell someone how she felt, it was dangerous....
“It’s okay. Go on. How do you feel? I know from comments you’ve made that your parents did not seem to have spoiled you. So in contrast how does being with Jack make you feel?”
“Warm.” There, that was safe.
“Warm like a blanket? Or warm like---” Damn him, he had been good. He had tried and used every tactic in the book and invented some. “Hot coals? Or a cup of tea? Or hot sand on the beach? Or the my black car seats on a summer day? Or---”
“Did you take a page from Jack’s book of analogies, Dave? Geez!”
“Answer the question and I’ll stop.”
She had stared at him. “Basic interrogation technique?”
“Basic...friendship technique.”
Liar, she thought now. It was both a basic interrogation technique and therapeutic technique. The two were not so very dissimilar after all.
Then she had been young, not so well versed in resisting either interrogation or.. the efforts of a friend who truly only wanted to help. So, eventually, he had worn her down and she had answered, “Warm like he’s poured… his love over me and it warms me. Like...” She looked away, looked down, looked around. Anywhere but at Dave and his eyes. Blue... “Like an endless cascade of warm water that flows over me. That’s what his love feels like to me.” She said it softly, afraid to even hear the words herself.
“Did it feel good to say the truth? Freeing?” Dave had asked softly. She had nodded, not looking at him, embarrassed at her honesty, the vulnerability in it. “That’s…. beautiful, Laura,” Dave said very quietly. “Have you told him that?”
“I should, shouldn’t I?” But had she? Had she ever said it? She had shown it, hadn’t she? That day in the shower? Wasn’t that showing it? But... Jack... Jack needed the words. She looked up suddenly toward the bathroom, wondering what he was doing in there while he waited... Waited for what, this last day in Panama?
She came to herself and realized that time was in fact passing. She opened the file, a small black and white photograph flew out and danced around in the still, too-stuffy air of the hotel room. Grabbing it in its flight, she turned it over and looked at it in shock. One of the photos she had taken that day.
A photo of Jack and Dave, standing before the window, laughing -- at her expense, no doubt. They were both convulsed with laughter, Dave’s hand on Jack’s arm. Dave. Shorter and a little stockier than Jack, his hair as dark as Jack’s but straight where Jack’s was curly or wavy, as he preferred to call it, his eyes blue where Jack’s were brown. Dave... For so long he had been trapped in black and white in her mind, but somehow, staring at this black and white photograph, she saw him in living color. Saw him, always there. That day, in that photograph, slightly bent at the waist, facing forward. Laughing, those little laugh lines around the corner of his eyes that he’d had even as a young man. That glint of merriment and mischief in his eyes. The intensity in those same eyes that day he had told her some hard truths. Even... she had seen derision that day. Then love, caring and concern. Dave... he had been black and white, two dimensional, really in her mind. But he had been real. So real, it... this hurt. This hurt....
Dave, Dave, she thought. Another person I never had a chance to bid goodbye. I am so sorry you are gone. So very sorry. For your sake. For Jack’s sake. So very sorry, she thought, with a little hiccup, that I wasn’t there for Jack when you died. How he must have grieved, how he must have hurt. How this hurt, she thought, feeling this, this opening somewhere inside her as a tear ran down her cheek thinking of how Jack must have felt when he heard the news. Who had told him? How had they told him? Had it been a gentle telling or abrupt? How he must have hurt....Ten times, twenty times, one hundred times the hurt I felt when he told me you were gone. And I wasn’t there....Wasn’t there....And he hurt....
She swallowed, bid the pain goodbye, or tried to by looking at Jack in the photograph.
But suddenly, she had trouble seeing either Dave or Jack. Suddenly she thought the photograph was too small, that must be it. Or perhaps she had not focused properly that day. Or perhaps the image had faded, grown blurry with time. Or perhaps....she decided as she felt a tear slide down her cheek, perhaps she could not see because she was crying. Not a single tear either, she realized as she watched drop after drop hit her hands, then stain the photograph. Quickly, she placed the photograph on the table for safety. Jack probably did not have many photographs of Dave, he would not want to lose this one. So precious. Those memories. That friend. Gone, now. So much pain there must have been to bid Dave goodbye forever.
She tried to concentrate on Jack to ignore the pain. Blinking rapidly, she bent over to look at the photograph again. Trying to see how gorgeous he was in his jeans and nothing else. How abandoned he looked with his head thrown back, his face in profile against the sun streaming in, his hair against the back of his neck, his eyes crinkling around the edges, his face suffused with laughter and joy.
Joy.
A simple word. Only three letters. Easy to spell. So very difficult to obtain.
But then it hadn’t been. Not really. All she’d had to do was give. All he’d had to do was give. All they’d had to do was give, And then you received. One of those circles Jack loved. The happiest circle of all, giving joy to the person you loved. The best game, she knew, Jack thought. The game between a man and a woman. That endless circle. She looked down now at her bare ring finger and then looked away.
Looked instead at the photo of that young man. So happy. Full of joy that day. In the garden that morning, the shower, the bedroom as she took more photographs. Those photographs that had gone into her portfolio. Then another night... outside in the garden his face lit by moonlight and torches. Full of passion and love and... abandonment, what he called freedom as his head had arched back and he’d bitten one hand while the other had tangled in her hair, his touch and his body inside hers binding them as surely as the love between them. A picture she always wished she could have taken with her camera. Instead of just kept within her mind’s eye. The picture of love. Freedom, Joy. All in the face of a young man who had loved her more than....
But....Where was that man? a little voice asked?
When was the last time she had seen someone in her life look like that?
When was the last time her face had looked like that?
Where is that man? a little voice asked.
Why haven’t you seen that man in these last few months?
Who have you been seeing instead?
Who is that man in the bathroom?
Who was that man in your bed tonight?
Who was that man in the hot tub?
Who was that man who told you to get out?Who was that man?
Where was her Jack in the grim visage that had confronted the first day he had walked down the hall to her cell? This morning as he flung those words like weapons at her?
Where was her Jack? She needed her Jack. Touching Jack’s face with her finger, taking care not to smudge the black and white image, suddenly she saw his face, so many times ... Like a reader rapidly flipping the pages of a book, her mind saw one image after another. Each turning slowly from black and white to color. And none, she realized, were images of him in the mirror, all were memories of them face to face...
The first grin he ever gave her, that still melted her heart every time she saw it.
The shy nervousness when he asked her out the first time.
The happiness when she had thrown Pride and Prejudice at his back and called him back to her.
The exasperation when she beat him at Screw Your Neighbor so many times.
The shock when she had lain on top of him at the ice rink and told him she loved him.
The courage when he had taken a deep breath and told her he loved her back.
The satisfaction every time, so many times, he had irritated her.
The anxiety when he asked her to marry him.
The innocence as he slept.
The protectiveness as she walked down the aisle on their wedding day and had almost collapsed until he had taken her in his arms.
The pride when she had finished her master’s thesis and had come running through the door with the bound copy in her hands.
The anticipation every time he would stand in a doorway with his hands upraised and say, “Honey, I’m home”.
The resolution and hard swallow when he held his hands out to her the night of the necklace.
The sly grin as he would watch her butt when he, Dave and she would jog.
The confident glow of the night she had taken those photographs.
The fulfilled desire of the night of the jewelry.
The raw power of the night they had conceived Sydney.
The exultation when he told her she was pregnant.
The trust as she had sat next to him waiting as he allowed himself to fall asleep for surgery.
The concentration as they worked on some research.
The gratitude when the doctor placed Sydney in his arms.
The laughter as he and Dave planned some prank or some way to annoy her.
The surprise the night of the toaster when she had poured that rum on herself.
The roll of the eyes when she irritated him, usually with her possessiveness.
The sweetness as he looked at Sydney or herself with love.
The terror that time Sydney had jumped off the roof.
The quirk of an eyebrow - that single eyebrow when he irritated her almost every day.
The joy in both their faces in the photograph of the two of them that Dave had taken....
So much joy...
So many faces, so many moments, little and big that created a life.... they all ran by in swift succession. So fast, she could not grab onto any one of them. So rapidly she could not superimpose any image from her memory book on the reality of the present, on the cold determination in his face right now.
Except for one. One image came to her mind and stayed there, mocking her with its resemblance to tonight, today. The expression of shock and anger and disappointment and fear the night of Dave’s party, when she had failed to catch him.
Dave had nodded. “And what else should you do?”
“Why won’t you just tell me-“
”Because you are smart enough to figure this out on your own. You’re just choosing not to. So, I’ll push. It’s for your good, as well as Jack’s. I love you both.”
Laura sighed. “I know. And I appreciate it. But… this is hard.”
“The easy way is not always the best path.”
“You veering into triteness, Dave.”
“I’m no wordsmith like you and Jack. I’m just a humble psychologist who does his best with his words.”
“You’re also full of s***. But… what I should do is… give Jack what he gives me.” She felt like a child learning how to walk. And in some ways, she supposed that was true. What example had she had? She thought defensively. But then an honest little voice had spoken and she heard the truth, what about Jack’s example? or Dave? She had not seen it because, it was, as she had been taught in the academy, dangerous to give in this game. She could get lost.
“Yes,” Dave said nodding. “I think you’ll find that the more you give, the more you receive. And in giving you may, oddly enough, find yourself”
She stared at him for a moment, thinking. “And… but it becomes insatiable, doesn’t it? Because the more you receive the more you will want to give.”
”Yes. But I don’t think insatiable is the right word. That sounds rapacious, aggressive and…. I think it’s more like a full circle, an endless loop that in Jack’s case - and possibly your own - will give you both the warmth you both need. And can find. If only you look around the possibilities are---.”
“Look...” She’d asked. “Look at what?”
“For example.. Well, I hate to say this and sound sexist, but... most women decorate their homes.” Dave waved his hand around the room. “And yet, this house looks no different really than the day you moved in. White walls. Tan carpet. A poster here, there. Nothing. Every room the same, even the bedroom. Tons of books, to be sure. But no personality. And it’s always struck me as odd.”
“Odd in what way?” She’d asked, trying to use his own tactics against him. Turning the question back.
“You - and Jack - both have strong personalities and yet it’s completely unreflected in your house. I won’t call it a home.”
She straightened and glared at him. “Are you trying to insult me?”
“I hope I’m succeeding at insulting you.” Dave said it with a grin, that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “This house looks like... some place no one is planning on living permanently, that they’re just staying in for a while.”
She stared at him, sensing the shakiness of the ground under her feet. Jack had always said Dave was gifted, brilliant, his instincts nearly infallible. And what was Dave sensing but the truth? Why would she decorate this house that she was not planning on living in for all that long? Why invest the time, the effort, the....sense of self in some place she could not keep? But...she had to deflect Dave, had to protect herself.
So, she said, knowing it was utterly banal, but nonetheless apparently true. “I am busy, you know. School and student teaching and---”
“I know you’re busy. But... for something important, couldn’t you find the time?”
“You think this is important?”
“No, I think it’s totally irrelevant, that’s why I’m sitting here sweating bullets over the notion that if Jack thinks I’m meddling in his marriage, he’ll kill me! Of course I think it’s important, Laura! Did you ever think... Even if you don’t care that the walls are white and sterile that your husband might prefer something a little...warmer?”
She opened her mouth to blast him, to say that Jack had a mind and a mouth, that if he wanted damn color on the damn walls he could damn well buy damn paint at the damn store, when she snapped it closed. It would never occur to Jack And.. maybe it should have occurred to her. To Laura, that is.
“Yes,” Dave said with that uncanny ability he possessed to read people’s faces at times... Thankfully not at all times, she would realize later, or she might have been discovered early on. “Jack doesn’t even know that he would want that. He and his mother spent all those years moving from one tiny apartment to the next, always white walls, tan carpeting. He probably thinks this is how one lives. But I see him when we were traveling in... the middle east for example. With our friend there, in his booth. Hung with all these brightly-colored reams of fabric. Jack is always touching the fabric, looking at the colors.”
“Well, how would I know that?!”
“You could choose to pay attention. How about because the last time we went to that Indian restaurant, Jack said, ‘I love this place. It’s warm, hot even, like India. Laura, we’ll have to take a trip there sometime. The heat is so...relaxing.’ And what color were the walls in that restaurant?”
“Red. They were red.” She said it reluctantly, admitting, “And if you noticed, then I might have too. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You know...You can’t really love someone until you look outside yourself.”
“And what would that tell me that I don’t already know?”
“Laura. We joke about it. But you can be wrong, you know. And sometimes we are most blind about the people closest to us. Because we need them so much, want them so much. We cannot see or will not see what we don’t want to see. I love you both. Please. Don’t be so blind. It cost you everything.”
What, she thought, as she opened the file folder and looked down at the words, could she be missing this time?
On that plane to Panama, she remembered how she had wondered - thinking herself so ironic- if this file Jack was reading so intently held the key. Now, she shrugged at that thought as she flipped through the pages, which seemed to consist of Dave’s notes that were about some treatment plan for some as yet unnamed problem...
Wait. What?
What was Dave talking about? This couldn’t be about Jack. Her Jack. Could it?
....treatment plan for Jack. It is going to be incredibly difficult. He is going to erect nearly impenetrable walls. His greatest fear - of trusting someone - has come true. The woman he loved so much not only took the love away, but betrayed him professionally as well. Combine that with what he endured in solitary, his pride and self-esteem issues... No wonder the man is curled up in a fetal position.
She gasped. The words echoed through her head.
Fetal position
Fetal position
Fetal position
In disbelief, she continued reading, feeling a roiling in her stomach, cold sweat pop out on her forehead, hoping she had read wrong.
He needs
She stopped, put a hand to her temple, hearing Dave’s voice in her head again, not just words on the page, but in her head, seeing him before her. Earnest. Relentless. Solid. Solid and as immovable as a rock. Impervious to her distress, to her desire to end the conversation, to her rudeness, to anything that would sway him from his meddling course. Just like... Jack this morning, she thought suddenly.
”What does Jack need and what you don’t know about Jack are questions with the same answer. And apparently your gap of knowledge is not insignificant. Because if you knew him, you would not have pretended not to catch him the other---”
“Not the trust thing again,” she groaned.
“It will always be the trust thing.” He sat there calmly, then dropped a bomb. “Especially with you.”
“I....I don’t understand. Jack has always trusted me, I never felt...” Then too, she had broken into a cold sweat. Was Dave giving her a hint that Jack had some inkling of the deception in which she was engaged? No, no! Did Dave have an idea? No, please no. She did not want to have to kill him or leave, which would be her only two options if he had an inkling.
“Anything other than what he wanted you to feel, would be my guess. He fell for you immediately, was afraid of hurting you, so he made a choice to go outside his own comfort zone, to use that psychobabble he hates so much, made a choice to trust you, to love you, long before any of us expected he would. Did you know that the office pool had you two dating for approximately five years before marriage?” Five years? That’s what his friends and colleagues had thought? Damn Cuvee, damn the research team that had done such a poor job on his personality profile. She had been sent on a mission doomed to failure... had they not truly fallen in love.
Once again, she had thanked... well, if she believed in it, she thanked her lucky stars that they had fallen in love. But then again, if she did not love Jack, this conversation would not have been so devastating. She shook her head now, refusing to allow the memory to go that far. At least not yet.
“What? But, I never knew... Don’t know if I can even believe it. No, it can’t be...I mean he was not the first to speak, to say his feelings, but...then once he did, even before he did...he was, is, the most loving, sweet man. I know,” she said, forcing herself to smile. “He can be somewhat demanding at, um, times, but....I like that too. And he brings me all those gifts; he hugs, kisses, touches me in front of everyone. Never seems to have any reluctance to show his feelings... No, those are not the attributes of someone who is cold or has trouble trusting.”
“I know, I know. But you need to understand that this choice of his to trust... How many people does Jack trust? And when he does... I don’t think you understand quite how special this choice of his is, how easily he could...,” he said heavily. “Laura, yes, Jack loves you, he does so much for you, he dotes on you, he takes care of you, he thinks about what you want, what you need, all the time.”
She nodded slowly, knowing he was leading her down a path she would probably not care to visit on her own. Dave excelled at that. Jack complained about it all the time. But the two of them... always meddling. Told herself that this was just Dave. Just Dave. Jack’s friend Dave. Her friend Dave. Just meddling. It meant nothing more. He would stop talking and leave and she could forget all about this the minute he left. This was not Dave the operative, or Dave the psych ops officer. It was just Dave.
Softly, he asked, “Let me ask you this how often do you think about what he wants, what he needs?”
She stared at him, mouth agape. “I...I love him, Dave. You know that! What else is there?”
“That’s my point. You don’t even know, do you? Did you even apologize for your little trick that night? Don’t you remember that look on his face before he assumed that mask of his?”
Suddenly, from nowhere she decided, nowhere she wanted to know, although she knew it came from deep within, some deeply-buried strongbox of her soul that she had thought safely locked, came the thought, the wonder, the question, the voice that asked....what had his face looked like when they told him of her ‘accident’ or worse, far worse, when he realized the truth about her, their lives together?
But she knew what that face had looked like. Had been seeing it, she knew, in some form or fashion, ever since he had first walked down the hallway to her cell.
She had seen him face to face. The man he had become, the man he had become after she had left. The man who had allowed his coldness to overwhelm him, to protect himself, who slid back into the dubious destructive warmth of utter coldness to protect himself from the worst cut of all. The cut that didn’t flay skin, did not visibly bleed, but rather cut from within, endless tiny oozing little cuts that together formed a wound that only... what could heal such a wound? How deep did the wound go?
Nonresponsive, completely unwilling or more likely, unable to respond at this time.
Intravenous feeding only
That was
There was a gap of several lines, then Dave resumed writing, as if he had needed space and time to compose himself.
That was a difficult visit. Why the hell would they only allow me to observe and not go into his room? Try and reach him? I don’t understand the rules prohibiting visitors. This makes no sense. Jack needs to be reached. And that will not happen locked up, sedated, in that white room. s***! If Jack could see himself like this... he would die again. I’ll have to find a way to destroy the photographs they took when he was in intake. The blow to his pride to see himself... dirty, bound... I can barely stand to see him like this... But Jack. This is disastrous. How will he recover? What is the best plan? I have to find a way to help him recover. Sooner rather than later.
Recover from what? She wanted to scream. If Dave were still alive, then she would find him, shake him, force him to tell her. She clawed through the papers, seeking an answer. Knowing even as she did so, that all she had to do was walk, what was it five, ten paces, knock on that bathroom door and ask Jack. Just... ask him. She took a step in that direction and then stopped. No. She needed all of the information before she confronted him. It was always better... what was it Jack used to say? “There is no substitute for exhaustive background research.”
But he will destroy those photos himself. He’ll find a way. If, that is, he can find his way out of this quagmire right now, then I can help him. But is there a way to help him...
Help him do what? She stared blindly down at the papers before her, her mind spinning with options, ideas... and that damn memory of Dave’s meddling. Dave, why did her mind keep going back to him?
“So what the hell do you want me to do? Because I assume you think I should do something.” She crossed her arms over her chest, crossed her legs and glared at him. “Because clearly you don’t think I love him enough, or properly or...something. Maybe you think I don’t love him at all!” She held her breath, half-expecting him to say, ‘No, I know you don’t, because I know who you really are.’
“No. That’s not true at all. In fact, I would say you adore him, that you see him as.... perfect sometimes.”
“No, I don’t! His damn elliptical thought process drives me crazy, for one thing! And we argue, we fight, I call him---”
“Idiot. I know. I’ve heard you. But you only say idiot because for some reason you won’t say what you want to---”
He stopped when she slapped at him, losing control as she became aghast that he had seen that truth. What else did he know? Had they bugged the house, did he know.... Did he know the truth and was just toying with her to achieve some form of payback for, as he might see it - not being a gamesmaster - hurting his best friend?
He picked up her hand and put it aside. “Jack lets you slap at him, but I don’t like that. So don’t do it. But perfect means that he does not need improvement, does not need anything but that which he possesses inside. Deep down, do you think he needs you?”
She took a deep breath, concentrated on finding the best way to deflect these questions, too hard, both personally and professionally. If she failed personally, she also failed professionally, after all. Perhaps... perhaps she should view this as a lucky break, that Dave -- and no one knew Jack better than Dave, except for her, of course -- was pointing out a flaw in her m.o. Yes, she should be glad Dave was pointing out a weakness in her... performance, if that’s what she was doing. She took another breath and answered his question, “Well.... He’s so strong, so self-reliant. He wants me, but needs me? He says he does, but that’s just him being romantic. He’s so self-contained, so confident.”
“You---” Dave had stared at her, then in clear exasperation, ran his hands through his hair. His brown hair, not as dark as Jack’s. Straight not curly. Or wavy as Jack preferred to call it. “Everyone has a weakness. Everyone has needs. Everyone needs help from time to time. Even if it’s just to uncover their own best self.”
“I don’t know that he needs me or anyone.” There -- that was a truth. It was always better to start with the truth. Isn’t that how she had succeeded when the other female operatives had failed? Because of the truth of her response to... she smiled reminiscently... to that grin of his. She had frowned. “I just don’t see that he needs---”
“Everyone, everyone needs someone to catch them sometime. Why didn’t you---”
“Not that stupid game again!”
“Yes. That stupid game again. He hated that game, because he understood that it was about testing a person’s ability to blindly trust. And he went ahead, made the choice to trust you, trusted that you would catch him. Just as he made the choice to love. And what did you do? You let him---”
“I did catch him in the end!”
“It was almost too late! You, you were the one who failed the test. Not him. You. Because you did not see the truth. I’m trying to tell you the truth -- about the trust issues -- before it’s too late again.”
Too late...
She nodded, as she looked out the window at the sun rising in the eastern sky. Knowing that time was running out and she needed to find the answer to a question she had not even known she needed to ask.
What if....
What if she had been wrong? Twenty years before? Or...thirty years before? What if she had not seen options that would have made all the difference? What if she was not seeing them now?
Damn it. Why won’t they let me talk to him? I’m his best friend, after all. And I have a treatment plan that... Why won’t the doctor even talk to me? This makes no sense. I have inside information on Jack. I know.... I just don’t understand these orders... Especially given how long he’s been nonresponsive. Why don’t they want to try every option?
Arvin. Arvin Sloane. Irina mouthed, her lip curling with contempt. Odds were it was Arvin. Always so jealous of Dave’s role in Jack’s life. The doctor would have consulted with Arvin, Jack’s supervisor and he would have prevented Dave’s visit and help if it suited his own purposes. She hissed in a breath of contempt and determination. Whatever it was that had happened to Jack, Arvin would have to pay for this betrayal. But what was it that happened?
Then sucked in a breath again as she read on, the words blurring before her as she flipped page after page of dated notes, absently realizing that Dave must have had inside information...
Sedative dosage decreased. Long since overdue. Length of sedation at that level was inappropriate for someone of Jack’s nature. That doctor is too inexperienced to be handling a case like this. As I’ve reported over and over again.
What did he think he could have done?
”What more do you want me to do? I don’t understand. I love him, you know that, so much. So very much. Do you think I don’t love him?” She tried to hide her panic as she wondered once again if her cover was blown. No, it could not be. She did love Jack. But what was wrong, what had she given away, what was her mistake?
Now of course, she realized that she had been right to have fear. That Dave had sensed something was wrong, deeply wrong in their relationship. That was why he had pressed so hard. That was why she had been so deeply panicked at his questions, his relentless pursuit of the truth, his relentless pursuit of winning the trust game. He had thought the problem lay within her, not knowing that the problem lay within her, their circumstances. Hadn’t it?
Failure...of courage? Imagination? Love?
She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate. All these voices.... Jack. Dave. Her own.
“I know, Laura. You’d have to be a blind fool not to know that. But... “ Dave sighed. “Sometimes, love is not enough.”
“What the hell do you mean?”
“Let me ask you this. Do you feel like you have everything?”
“Yes,” she snapped out, without thinking. “Yes, I have everything.” Everything. Personally and professionally. Who could ask for more?
“Which is better? Enough or everything?”
She had stared at him, once again sensing the acuity of the danger confronting her. Personally. Professionally.
“He could use your help, Laura, to find his best self.”
“How...”
“Jack may not come right out and say it do you remember how you and I used to tease him about being shy? Or maybe its just self-protective. And I’m not saying that tendency on his part makes this easy. But if you know him well enough, you can ascertain what he wants. You can certainly ask him. I am, um, sure he asks you at times to tell him what you---” He had stopped and looked away, his cheeks turning slightly pink.
She had stared and then had mumbled, ‘oh’ and looked away too. How did Dave know about that? Then had shrugged. Men. They probably talked about sex with each other. Well, that was okay. Women did too. Involuntarily she smiled, Dave’s discomfiture was almost... cute. “You mean in the bedr--”
“That’s enough of that!” Dave had smiled and shaken his head. “That is a conversation we definitely do not need to--- Oh.” He had stopped and smiled at the look of amusement on her face. “You’re putting me on.” She smiled, remembering the slang of the time. God, they had been so young. All of them. And then he had turned the gun barrel back in her direction once again....
Wait... She flipped through the notes, remembering what she had seen... or rather, what she would rather see, than continue that memory for the moment. Words leapt out at her...Damn him. Dave. Damn them. Jack too. There it was...
‘Multiple modes of attack.’
For Jack, for whatever it was that had caused him, she swallowed hard and shook her head, to curl into a self-protective shell. And Dave had used the same technique on her. For her. Because they had so much in common, after all. It made sense... Wait. Tonight. What Jack had done? Suddenly, she could see. Remembering Dave in .. his version of an attack mode had stripped the veil from her eyes. Tonight. Jack. Had he followed Dave’s lead tonight? Had he tried to...She looked down again, ran her finger rapidly down the margin as she skimmed through the pages, coming upon some notes written long after the first ones. Something about...
“Resumption of negative patterns from the past, for which he receives positive reinforcement from the Agency which hung him out to dry. What’s wrong with Arvin? Why can’t he see how destructive this is? Jack needs an intervention.”
Oh. My. God. That is what Jack had been trying to do tonight. He thought.... Just like with Sydney, he would always wait to intervene until he had been without hope that she would come to the correct choice herself. He... Her mind slid back to the past again, putting the truth back until she was once more ready to face it.
Dave had said, “You need to compensate for the other night. You need to show him that you care enough for him to trust you. I know he’s probably convinced himself that he’s forgiven and forgotten, but Jack never...You need to compensate---”
“How dare you?” She jumped to her feet. “You have no right to say this. NO RIGHT!”
Dave had remained seated. Calm. Incensing her all over again with his calmness. He shrugged. He shrugged! She fought to control herself.
Remembering her younger self, she began to wince at her volatility, at her inability to control her emotional responses under this kind of personal pressure. Then she stopped, shook her head. She had to forgive herself for that failure. She had been so young, what twenty one, twenty-two at the time. She had not been the expert at compartmentalizing then that she would become with months, then years, then decades of practice. And furthermore... the truth was that younger self had been... happy. Remembering that day in the shower, seeing herself in the mirror after, the look of joy on her face as Jack had made love to her... then she had known joy when she let down all barriers.