The Perfect Weapon Chapter 2 part 1-4

[camillecarelli]

Chapter 2: Part 1

Holding her arms above her head, while using the weight of his body to pin her to the bed in Panama, he thought he’d made a mistake equivalent to telling her the truth about the toast.

Thought she’d seen, felt the truth, when she said, “Jack, no, not that game.”

He forced himself to smile and ask, “What game?”

“The game where you make me….” She trailed off.

“What?”

“Stop it,” she practically snarled in frustration. “You know what.”

“Tell me,” he practically purred, knowing it would incense her, make her reveal….1, 2, 3 - Yes, success.

The words spilled out, “The game where you make me tell you, show you everything, what I want, what I need. It’s been twenty years, can’t we just….? Please, Jack.” She stopped.

They were both suddenly aware of what she’d said, the ‘please.’ The tension rose. He had to diffuse it. There was too much emotion, too much memory, in that tension. It was too dangerous, he had to control the emotions he was creating. Had to control the burn.

He smiled. He could without any problem, for he was successful -- she had slipped so easily into their former roles, their former games. Watching his face, she smiled ruefully in return, aware that by saying ‘please’, she had just lost that power play in the game. She was unaware, however, that this game was somewhat different than she expected. That it had been, really, ever since he had slipped the necklace around her neck. But then again, to give her credit, he had not been fully aware at the time either. She broke into his thoughts when she said quietly, “You already know what I want.”

“No. I don’t. If I ever did. Tell me, show me.”

“No. No games. I want honesty. I don’t want….”

Honesty? Between them? She wanted the truth? What a…

“Liar.” He said flatly, while nudging his way between her legs, feeling the heat at the juncture of her thighs. Pushing himself against her, he smiled. “And so am I. You’re right. I do know what you want. But you’re also lying. You love the games. You want the games. You need the games. You always did. You always will. And honesty?”

“You’re right,” she sighed, looking into his eyes, searching for what she wanted. “You’re right. But the games were always the truth, weren’t they?” He felt his heart stop for a moment. That was when he had a moment of fear that she knew…

Calculating the odds, he paused and then said, “Yes. You’re right. The games are the truth. This game is the truth.” He had never spoken truer words. He could look into her eyes without a mask to say that. He paused and continued, resuming that purr in his voice that had always either incensed her or aroused her, “Now, Irina. Tell me…”

Bending his head, he began nipping her neck. She had always loved that, the little sting in the kiss. As he kissed and bit lightly at her skin, oh god, her scent…he mused that if her patterns still held, this should distract her from…. whatever he might be sending, whatever, to his own disgust, he might not be able to control.

Sure enough, she angled her neck and began to moan, in between telling him her wants, her needs. It was a good position, for she could not see his face, see his recoil at her words. Although he had half expected it, he had hoped it would not come to this. He did not know if he could give her what she wanted, even to win this game. The price might be too high.

No! No. He could do it. He would do it. He had the perfect weapon. One he had not even had to create. Just use.

He would be a fool not to use it. All he had to do was feed her needs, her desires.

Luckily, he marveled, as she continued to talk, the depths of her self delusion were endless.

All he had to do, really, was open the door to it.

Chapter 2: Part 2

Open the door and he had her.

He had her from the day he’d walked through the multiple doors to her cell. She didn’t know it at the time, didn’t know what she’d given away. With the look on her face, when she called him a ‘loving husband, good father.’ Or had it been the other way around? He had not been a good father. He had loved Sydney with everything he had in him, everything he had left. But he wanted to be a good father, in truth would do anything, anything, to earn that title, earn his daughter’s love. This game was proof of that. And if he had not felt so desperate to protect Sydney, he would have seen Irina’s mistakes. He couldn’t believe she had made them, hadn’t seen what she had let slip. But truth be told, neither did he. At the time. He’d forgotten the most important rule of the game, all games.

Never, ever, operate out of fear or anger. Or feelings.

And he had done just that. He’d spoken rashly, had not picked up cues, out of his fear for Sydney, his fear of losing Sydney, his own rage. Had forgotten the skills of his opponent. And she’d picked up on his failure to hide his fear, zeroed right on it, as he walked away, “Did you tell Sydney what you did to her after I left?”

Shit. How had she known?

Shit. She knew him. Or the man he had been.

Later he would realize that he could use that. He would use every advantage he could. Anything. Everything.

But then, round one to her. That could not continue. She could not win this game.

But at the time, he allowed his rage, his fear to overwhelm his good sense.

Too late, after Madagascar, he remembered the lessons he’d learned so long ago, that seeing Irina, allowing the rage to surface, had temporarily obliterated from his memory.

Never underestimate your opponent.
Better yet, eradicate your opponent.

Never use a loud gun. Never use something that reverberates.
Better yet, just give them the rope. Let them hang themselves.
Even better, let them use a silent, sharp knife of their own construction for their own destruction.

Never make the opponent appear to be a martyr.
Better yet, make sure the opponent appears to be as exactly what they are.

Never show fear.
Better yet, never have fear.

Never show your feelings.
Ignore your feelings, ignore the burn.
Better yet, never have the feelings.
Even better, never feel.

Plan. Double check your plans. Look for holes, errors, unintended consequences. Control as much as you can.
Then, do it.

Then, live with the consequences.

Or, better yet, come up with plan B. Any fool knew that in game theory you always had to have a plan B.

And when he said to Barnett that he needed a more subtle strategy, as the words fell out without conscious volition, he knew he was right. He just needed an idea. The kernel of an idea. He was trying to ignore Barnett as she babbled on about him needing more sessions to work on his “anger management issues.”

Anger management issues, my ass, he wanted to say to her. Revenge is the best therapy.

Walking away from her office, he began to do what he should have done before. Analyze all the available information and begin to synthesize it. Acquire patience. Wait for the perfect moment. The perfect opportunity. It would arise. If not, he would make the opportunity.

He almost missed it when it came, however. When Sydney began warbling on about accompanying her mother to Kashmir he almost lost it again. Only years of conditioning (and fear, if he were honest, the fear of screwing up around Sydney again,) kept him from just walking down the hall and strangling Irina right then. Taking a deep breath he forced himself to think, to view this as an opportunity.

How can you use your enemy’s assumptions, strengths and weaknesses against them? That’s what he was thinking after he agreed to accompany Sydney and Irina to Kashmir. He was talking with Kendall about security measures, when he had a flash.
He didn’t quite understand it at the time, Kendall was talking, distracting him. They were discussing electronic shackles, a bracelet of some kind. The tech op ended up creating a necklace; Jack overruled Kendall’s suggestion of a bracelet by pointing out that Irina could avoid detonation simply by putting her hand on Sydney. Moreover, even if she was free of other people and he could detonate the bracelet, he would only blow off her arm. He wouldn’t necessarily kill her with a bracelet, he noted calmly. Kendall and the tech op had stared at him and then Kendall had nodded and said only, “Good point. Make a necklace.”

As he stood in her cell and opened the jewelry case, he had a flash of memory. Another sting, another thrust, another flash of heat. Knew in that instant, another reason to recommend a necklace.

Turning, he walked over to her with it. Let the heat show in his eyes. The heat that disgusted him could nonetheless prove useful. He would use whatever weapons he had or could acquire, anything; there were no limits in this game.

He saw her eyes, felt the corresponding heat begin to rise in her. Saw that this necklace, however deadly it was, sparked memories of an earlier necklace. Memories of an earlier ‘please’ arced between them as she lifted her hair. Memories that forever changed this last game, as he stared at her, starting to know….

Because he was beginning to realize, dimly, in the deepest recesses of his soul, in the place where hope lived a tiny, stunted life, that those memories were just as stinging for her as they were for him.

She lifted her hair higher, smoothed it aside. He placed the necklace around her and let the memories encircle them both.

Chapter 2: Part 3

He had been standing in their walk-in closet, rubbing the back of his neck. Wishing that they did not have to go to this cocktail party at some LA version of an embassy. He had been the designated delegate from the office, had lost the coin toss with Arvin. He and Laura would know no one there and it would be hours of making endless small talk with people he could care less about. Wishing he could just cry off, stay home, sit in his office and drink a few Scotches tonight.

Work was…killing him. This project was killing him, making the coldness he could assume so effortlessly become a part of him. Worse, it was all consuming, the hours were longer and longer; he saw little of Sydney and sometimes less of Laura. And he needed them both to keep him sane, help him feel, before he lost all feeling.

Suddenly he heard Laura enter behind him. She said quietly, “Jack, I need your help.” He turned, forcing himself to smile, and then stopped. The smile became real. How had he gotten so lucky? She was the most beautiful woman and she was his. He never ceased to be amazed that she had chosen him. Later he would be amazed that he had never suspected the truth. That she had not chosen him; she and her superiors had selected him, like a ripe piece of fruit at the grocer's. Ripe and ready to be eaten. Eaten alive and then tossed away.

But then...She was standing before him in a soft, black, sleeveless dress he had never seen before. He would have remembered it. He would never forget it.

He would never see it again. Neither would she.

“What are you wearing underneath that dress?” he asked hoarsely, seeing how it clung.

“Remember that lingerie set you got for me last time you were in Paris? The sheer, black, lace---“

“I remember,” he said as he moved toward her.

She shrugged her shoulders and the dress fell forward to her elbows. He looked at her startled. “I came in here to have you zip me up,” she said watching his face. He reached out a hand and traced the lacy edge of the bra, “Beautiful. You, not the lingerie.” Then he glanced down and grinned. “Are you wearing the rest of it, that piece of nothing the salesgirl told me were the panties?” he asked eagerly as she pulled the dress back up onto her shoulders. Turning she presented her back to him and he trailed a gentle finger up her back as he zipped her into the dress.

Swiveling on her high black heels to face him, she smiled and asked, ““Why don’t you look for yourself?

“What?”

Smiling, she began lifting the skirt of the dress. Snapping his eyes downward, he watched as she slowly pulled it up, over sheer black…stockings, ohmigod, the kind he loved, the kind that didn’t require garters, just stayed up by themselves. Like him, probably for the rest of the night he thought. Then, knew that was going to be his condition, as he gasped, seeing that she was not wearing that wisp of lace called panties. “Laura!”

She dropped the dress quickly and smiled. “Oh, you are so---“ he moaned and reached for her.

“Oops, no time now, Jack!” Laura teased and darted away. “Arvin and Emily are already here to pick up Sydney.”

“What?” His head swiveled back up to her face from her body, “I thought Emily was going to watch her here tonight?”

“No. Sydney’s staying overnight with them. She’ll come home spoiled rotten tomorrow. As if you don’t spoil her enough already.” She walked over to the jewelry box she kept in the closet.

“I’ll ignore that. Arvin and Emily are always thrilled to have her; it’s too bad they couldn’t have children of their own. But I feel like I haven’t been spending enough time-“

“I thought we could use some time to ourselves, just as a couple,” Laura said as she searched through her jewelry box.

He came up behind her and watched her pick through necklaces. “Mmm. True. I’m all for that,” he agreed and pressed into her.

She moaned, then giggled and said, “Stop it. I can’t concentrate. Which necklace?”

He paid more attention. “This one. The white gold one with the diamonds in it that I bought for you-where was it?”

“I think this one was Brussels. You spoil me,” Laura said as she sifted the necklace through her fingers.

Jack shrugged, “I like to spoil both of the women in my life.”

Looking in his eyes in the mirror, she said quietly, “I know, Jack. Thank you,”

“My pleasure. I like to see you sparkle.” He smiled at her reflection. Then as their eyes met in the mirror, he watched her face change, watched her eyes linger on his lips, saw her pupils begin to dilate.

Lifting her hair, holding his gaze, she handed him the necklace. “Fasten it for me? Please?” He stared at her, knowing what she was doing, helpless to resist, not wanting to resist. Even though he had tried to diffuse the tension between them, she could reignite it in a moment, effortlessly. And truly, he did not want to resist, even though he should. The timing was terrible, they had to go out. But this…heat, was a feeling, This was life running through his veins, not coldness, not fear, the fear that he was not good enough, that he would drive her away someday with the coldness within, but heat and life.

He snapped the necklace closed, then putting his hand on her shoulder, turned her around. Bending down to kiss her, he stopped when she placed a finger on his lips. “No, don’t mess up my lipstick, I’m all ready---Mmmph!” She sighed as his lips covered hers.

Lifting his head momentarily, he said, “Just reapply the stupid makeup. You don’t need it anyway. And you can’t tease me and not pay the consequences.”

“Shall I take that as a warning?” she asked and pulled his head back down.
“Take it any way you like it,” he said quietly as his lips met hers.

When he finally lifted his lips, he pressed her against him. “Um, Jack, I think you need a moment before you go downstairs,” she laughed.

Feeling her laughter vibrate against him, he groaned, “You’re right. Go down. Give me a minute.”

She gave him a quick hug and then walked toward the door. Looking back, she gave him a glance full of fire and promise. He groaned, “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”

“Well-“

“Don’t say it! Go!” he said and turned away, adjusting his pants.

Later he groaned to himself, this night was not long, it was endless. The party was lovely although he could not have said the name of anyone to whom he has spoken, the food looked incredible although he hadn’t eaten a bite, the band remarkable although he could barely recognize what they were playing as music with the blood rushing in his ears. Because all he could see, all he could notice, was his wife. His wife, who was tormenting him endlessly. Brushing up against him, running her hand up and down his sleeve as he attempted to make small talk with some emissary from - what the hell country’s liberation was this party about, anyway? He had no clue. All he could do was concentrate on not embarrassing himself.

She kept him on edge all night. Touches, touches everywhere, until he felt like her hands were on his body even when they were cupping her glass, brushing her hair back from her face, gesturing as she spoke.

Now those hands were lightly touching his suit jacket as she told a story to two women whose husbands had disappeared to get them drinks. He could use a drink himself, but he was trapped, trapped by his own desires. She was telling some story about how the two of them met almost ten years ago. Then she lifted her hands to rub the ends of his hair as she told how long it had been at that time, how she liked the waves, even the curls and wished he would let his hair grow a little longer again. He saw the other women exchange amused glances; one sighed at the display Laura was putting on.

He pulled back instinctively in self protection as she left his hair to gently rub against his ear lobe. Forcing himself to laugh, he said, “Well, if you ladies are going to engage in girl talk about hairstyles, I’ll go get myself a drink too.” The other women murmured polite goodbyes while he gave his wife a look that promised later retribution. She merely dimpled a deep smile in response and gave him a wave as he walked off.

He took a deep breath and headed towards the bar. Initially he told the bartender to make it a double Scotch, then reconsidered. No, he didn’t want to drink that much tonight. He needed to be able to control himself and perform properly, he thought with a smile and changed the order to a soda. He turned and saw his wife coming toward him. Oh no, that look on her face. She was up to something. What else could she be planning?

She was accompanied by one of those women from that blasted hair conversation and her husband. Laura walked up and took him by the arm and said, “They wanted to say goodbye before they left.” He shook hands with the man. The wife asked him to go out and get the car started. The husband laughed, “Women, they hate to be cold, don’t they?”

As the wife, he never remembered her name, joked about how she did indeed hate to get into a cold car, Jack leaned down and whispered in Laura’s ear, “Well, that’s a problem I never have with you, do I? Being cold?” She stepped on his foot with her heel and gave him a look. They smiled at each other. What would be the next step?

Once they were alone, she turned to him and gave him another deep smile as he watched the heat climb back into her gaze. “Laura?” he asked huskily.

“Look,” she said opening her purse. “You were right -- I don’t have a problem generating my own heat, at least with you around. You’ll keep me warm, won’t you?” she asked. He stared in astonishment at the bra that was hidden in her purse.

Snapping his gaze back up at her, he let his mouth drop open, knowing she would like that response. “You…amaze me. Are there no limits?”

“Between us? No, Jack. No limits at all. There is no end to what I will do to get you. To have you where I want you.”

At the time, he only felt the heat rising up in him, beginning to overwhelm him. Later he would view those comments as, possibly, her one mistake. He would remember them and cringe, cringe, that he had not read anything beyond her desires into them. Much, much later, he would think that those words had been prophetic, that they had come true for him as well. There was no end to what he would do to get her, to have her. He would be glad that she even if she remembered, she would not know how he took them as his own mantra.

“How do you want me?” he purred, watching her face flush. Two could play at this game.

“Every way, any way, as long as you tell me you want me, love me, need me. Please.”

“Mmm,” he murmured as he leaned down to give her a teasing kiss, although the words had caused his flesh to leap and harden. “I can do that, I suppose. If you make it worth my while.”

Then he just stared at her, feeling the tension rising between them. They said nothing for the longest time and finally she looked away and said softly, “Let’s dance.”

Pulling him onto the dance floor, she urged again, “Let’s dance. We so seldom get the chance and you’re a wonderful dancer. Indulge me?”

As always, he could not refuse her and pulled her close. Then regretted it, feeling her soft body against his, being unable to ignore the fact that she was nude under that clingy, soft dress. Imagining her wearing just the shoes, the stockings and that necklace, and then the necklace alone, he groaned.

Then groaned again when she smiled and put her arms around his neck, running one hand through his hair and using the other to stroke the back of his neck.

“Laura! What will people think?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood, afraid if she continued he would just haul her over his shoulder and stalk out of the party, making a fool of himself.

“Oh, stop it. Like you care what anyone thinks of you. And if they were thinking of us, what would they see, anyway?”

“A man totally besotted by his beautiful wife?” he asked in a whisper, biting her ear softly.

She moaned, “And me? They’d see a woman totally in love with her gorgeous husband, who can’t believe she was so lucky---.”

“Blindly in love, maybe,” he said firmly. Later he would remember that statement and think he had been speaking no less than the truth, only he had been the one blindly in love, not she. Twenty years later his foolishness tortured him still.

Dancing was torture. People thought he’d been tortured in the field? Ha. Dancing with Laura when she was in this mood bordered on the most exquisite pain. When he knew she was all but naked under that dress? He didn’t know how he continued dancing, when by all rights he should barely be able to walk. He was on the edge of control. The very edge. How she managed to rub up against him and hit every pulse point in his body he would never know. Then she pulled back and reached her hand between them to unbutton his suit coat. He looked down and hissed, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Driving you insane,” she said solemnly and ran her hands up his chest under the coat. He had to bite back a groan as her nails scraped against his nipples. “Mmm,” she almost moaned. That was it. That was enough.

“Look at me,” he commanded and stopped dancing. He pulled her up against him. Pressing himself into her, gazing into her half-focused eyes, he realized that this weapon she wielded cut both ways. She looked as ready to lose it, right there in public, as he felt. She stumbled for a moment and grabbed onto him. He never let her look away as he asked, demanded, "Tell me what you want. You have to tell me."

Looking into his eyes, she whispered, “You, Jack. Us. Everything we can have together. I…. Now, please. Let’s leave. Now.”

Pulling her with him, they left the party and walked down the street to the parking garage. She kept shooting him glances, watching, waiting, wondering. He knew it. But she could wait. The tension rose as the elevator climbed. He did not look at her, could not look at her. If he did, he would lose all control. He had to keep it, that ache, that hole, inside him that threatened to erupt, at bay. He just had to wait a few more minutes….

Finally, the elevator stopped and they stepped out. As one they walked toward the car, a black, basic Agency-issue car, walking quicker and quicker. He followed her to the passenger door and reaching around her, unlocked the door. Pocketing the keys with one hand, he pressed the other against the door. She looked over her shoulder, startled. “Jack?”

“Shut up,” he growled. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she turned fully to face him. “Jack-“ but she never finished as one hand grasped her jaw and the other snaked around her waist to haul her up against him. Feeling the hardness against her, she began to smile, but then moaned as his lips descended on hers in a voracious, open-mouthed kiss. Her arms went around his waist as their mouths slanted and then slanted again, searching for the perfect connection. His other hand came up and both cupped her face, holding her still when she would have moved again. “No,” he murmured hoarsely, “Stay right there,” as his lips captured hers again and his tongue swept inside over and over until she could hear her own moaning in the stillness of the garage.

It startled her and she pulled back just enough to plead, “Jack, stop. No, not here in the parking garage.”

“Stop yourself. You’ve been asking for it, wanting it all night. You said, ‘now, please.’ You picked the when. You don’t necessarily get to get to pick the where. Turn around.” When she hesitated, he put his hands on her waist and turned her to face the car. Sweeping her hair to one side with his right hand, he bent his head and began licking and sucking her neck, knowing……Ah, yes, there was the groan he knew would result. Pinning her body to the car with his own heavier body, he began rocking rhythmically into her softness. Yes, another moan and then, “Jack, no, please. Wait.”

“You want me to wait? Really?” He asked against her neck. Then bringing both hands up to palm her breasts, he brushed against the hardened nipples to make his point. “Really? This doesn’t feel like you want me to wait. I bet if I put my hand up inside your dress…” He stopped when he felt her clench her thighs together. He smiled. He didn’t need to say anything more. He had her, right now.

He knew if he turned her around he would see that glitter in her eyes, that almost feral look she wore when she was on the edge of wildness, when he had brought her there, where she wanted to be. But that would make him lose control himself, right now, so he contented himself with bending his head and whispering against her ear, “You don’t want me to wait. You want me to do it right here. You like taking the chance of someone coming…up here. Don’t you?”

She moaned and shook her head. “Liar,” he said softly, “You want me to do it right here. Well, I could oblige you.” He stopped, hearing her indrawn breath. Smiling his own feral smile, he could see it in the car window, he bent his head and with his teeth began pulling down the zipper of her dress.

She hissed in a breath and whispered frantically, “We’re in public. Someone could come at any moment!”

He smiled and whispered back, “Someone is going to come at any moment. If you’ve been good, it will be you.” She stilled completely. Waited. When the zipper was completely open, he licked his way up her spine to the back of her neck. Giving it a light bite, feeling her shiver, he grabbed the fabric of the skirt in both hands. Pulling it slowly up over her bare buttocks, he stopped. Waited. She pressed back against him. Suddenly, he pulled the dress right over her head. She gasped in shock and then gasped again when he pressed her warm, sensitized body into the coldness of the metal of the car. “Jack....” He pressed again. “Jack, now, please,” she begged.

“Turn around,” he ordered. With a confused look, she turned, faced him. Automatically glanced down, smiled. Meeting her half-focused gaze, he smiled in return. “Watch,” he said. Confused she looked at him. “Watch my hand.” She looked to where he held the dress in one hand. With the other he balled it up and then swinging his arm back, threw it as far as he could.

She stared at him in shock and then whispered harshly, “Jack! What are you doing?”

Reaching down with one hand, he grabbed the door handle and with the other pulled her back. “Get in the car,” he growled. When she just stared at him in shock he smiled at her and asked quietly, “Feeling naked and vulnerable and wanting, Laura?” She nodded silently. “Good, that’s how I felt all night tonight. Get in.”

Still in her heels, she tottered for a moment. He cast an appreciative glance down at her body, rounder than it would be in twenty years, clad only in necklace, shoes and thigh high stockings. “Very nice,” he murmured, “But if you want to get what you want, get in the car. Now.”

Unsteadily, she sat down heavily in the car, staring at him in open-mouthed shock. Bending down he picked up the purse she had dropped and tossed it in and slammed the door.

Sliding into the driver’s side, he glanced over at her. She sat there, with a glazed look still in her eyes. Finally she swallowed and asked, “You’re going to make me ride all the way home like this?”

“Strap yourself in,” he said softly. When she made no motion, he sighed and said in mock impatience, “Fine, I’ll do it.” And reaching over, he pulled the strap across her body. Pretending to make sure it fit properly, he fondled her breasts and hips, dipping momentarily between her legs. She gasped and looked up at him as if she’d never seen him before. Taking her right hand in his, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. “This was a talented hand tonight, wasn’t it, Laura? Very busy, keeping me on the edge, wasn’t it?” When she nodded, nervously, waiting, he smiled. She swallowed. “Let’s see what else this hand can do, shall we?” he whispered and pushed it down between her legs.

“No! Jack, you know I ---“ she protested.

“I know, you prefer my hand, right?” he asked silkily.

“Yes, you know that.”

“You know you’ll do it if I ask you to. If I tell you to,” he taunted.

“I know, you know. But…Sometimes I forget, Jack,” she whispered, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Forget what?” he asked, rubbing his hand and hers in smaller and smaller circles on her lower abdomen.

“Forget what you hide. You do it so well. Then you do this and…”

“And you like it. But I know where to draw the line. If you don’t want to do it, fine. Then I’ll do it,” he said firmly and cupped her. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull it away.

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh? Too bad. That’s how I’m taking it,” Jack said with a small smile. She gasped as his fingers moved. “All the way home, that’s how I’m taking it.”

As the drove through the kiosk, Jack murmured, “I bet you’re glad we paid on the way in, aren’t you?”

“I’m just glad you insisted on these smoked windows for the car,” Laura groaned and wiggled around in her seat.

For a long while, Jack said nothing, just listening to her breathing and her moans. Eventually he said, when they were stopped at a red light, “But you know, these smoked windows are not opaque, if someone really looked in….”
She choked on a laugh, “I swear I’ll pay you back for this, I swear.”

“I think I already made payments on this torture earlier tonight, Laura.”

Later, “Hurry, Jack, please,” she moaned.

“Hurry home or hurry here?” he asked, pressing his index finger into her. “Mmm, I’m not going to hurry here,” he said with a another soft press, “I’m going to keep you on the edge, just like you did to me all night.” She moaned. He asked softly, looking at her face out of the corner of his eye, “Pleasure or pain, Laura? Pleasure or pain?”

“Both,” she gasped.

“At a certain point, though,” he pointed out calmly, “the pleasure would become too painful, wouldn’t it?”

“Damn you! You know it would, you’re getting close---“

“I’m getting close to that point? Is that what you’re saying?” he asked and flicked his nail again.

She groaned, “Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Oh, so I’d better stop,” he said with a hint of a smile in his voice and pulled his hand away.

“I’m going to kill you!” she growled and then moaned as he brushed against her breast.

“We’re home,” he replied. She looked up startled, she hadn’t even realized it.

He backed the car into the garage and hit the remote to close the door. As it descended, he came around to her side of the car and opened the door. Bending in, he gave her a smile and asked, “Planning on spending all night in there? Because, I think you’d be more comfortable for what I have in mind---“

“Damn you!” she growled, nearly sobbing in frustration. She stomped out of the car and slammed the door behind her.

“Hold on a minute,” he said and held her hands and looked at her. “What a picture, a picture for that memory book you always talk about,” he breathed. “Beautiful.” She straightened and then gasped when he slid one hand between her legs and added, “Too warm, too wet, too beautiful to wait to get inside.” Grasping her by the waist, he picked her up and sat her down on the trunk of the car. She looked up at him, stunned, as he unzipped his pants. Then her head snapped forward as she watched him open his pants, “Jack, you’re not wearing---?”

“No, I figured if you weren’t, well, we should match,” he said evenly and watched her eyes open wider.

“So, all night, you weren’t wearing--- God, if I had known….“ she moaned.

“What? What would you have done differently, what could you have done differently? You had me right where you wanted me as it was.” He noted as he pulled her forward.

“Jack, my heels, I’ll scratch the car,” she said irrelevantly as she watched their bodies meet.

“Who gives a shit? I want the heels on,” he growled as he moved his body forward. She gasped. “And every time I see a scratch, I’ll remember tonight, this. That won’t be a bad thing. Remembering this.” If only he had known. Remembering this was one of the worst things…If only.

“Yes, I’ll always remember this too,” she said and nodded her head in agreement. Leaning back on her elbows on the cold trunk of the car, she wrapped her legs around his waist. Jack whispered, “See, the heels aren’t a problem now, are they? So, stop worrying about the damn car and move for me. Now.”

“How did you get this idea?” Laura asked later, after he had carried her in and placed her gently on the bed.

She watched him remove his clothes and drop them on the chair, as he replied nonchalantly, “Oh, when that woman asked her husband to go start the car and get it warmed up for her.”

“You got this whole plan from that comment?”

“Sure,” he shrugged and reached out to pull her shoes off and then peel down her stockings. He tossed them on the floor next to the bed and looked at her. Shaking his head, he said, “You look beautiful wearing just that necklace. Just as I imagined.” He climbed onto the bed with her and pulled her close.

She put her hand on his chest and looked at him with wide eyes. “No, wait. You amaze me. Just give you the slightest idea, the merest hint, and you produce a whole game out of it.”

“You amaze me. Most women would be enjoying the compliment I just gave you and you are asking me about game theory? Why, are you complaining?” he smiled. Remembering, he winced. He’d almost had her right there.

“The only thing I’m complaining about, is wondering when it will be my turn again?”

“Anytime, honey, anytime. You have me every time you lift your hair like that. You didn’t even need to tease me with the lack of lingerie, you know.”

“I know. But it was fun, wasn’t it? Even though I was a little scared for a moment or two,” she admitted while smoothing his hair, trying to pat down some of the waviness.

“Mmm. But not too scared. You never asked me to stop and you know I would-“

“I know. I trust you, that’s why I didn’t ask you to stop. Sometimes I forget, like I said, the depths you have, the darkness. But I know you’d never hurt me. And it was exciting the way you were losing, just barely holding on.”

“But why did you do that? You know when you do that kind of thing, I’ll lose control.”

“Liar. You never lost control. It was just more explosive than you might have expected. You did just what you wanted, got what you wanted.”

“Hmm, maybe,” he teased, but then pressed again, “But why?”

“Because you’ve been preoccupied, withdrawn. I was jealous of your work. I wanted your attention. I want it all. That’s what I want, everything. Everything you can give me, nothing held back.”

He stared at her for a moment, slightly shaken by her intensity, not understanding it. Another mistake. Hers. And his. A matched set. “Did you get what you wanted?” he asked, trying to lighten the mood with a soft smile.

She smiled in return, apparently willing to allow him to change the tone and agreed. “Mmm. Everything I wanted. And more. I admit, I never expected, really, how you’d turn the tables on me, though. I’ll have to remember that next time. The game cuts both ways, doesn’t it? Now, it’s my turn,” she said with a smile. “Let’s test the limits of your control again.” And rolling over on the bed, she reached down to the floor and pulled up the stockings. “Lie down and hold out your arms for me, Jack.”

When he hesitated, she chuckled and lightly rubbed the silky stockings along his body, “Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t hurt you.”

Chapter 2: Part 4

Staring into her eyes now, seeing her remember his vulnerability, the man he had been, he swallowed. His mouth was so dry, it was hard to swallow. So, he threatened her, then swallowed down the bile, the bile of his own foolishness that threatened to engulf him. Swallowed down the regrets for the man he had been, the self-deluded man that had trusted her implicitly not to hurt him. Swallowed down the memory that he had thought her words were comical, a joke. That he had actually laughed when she said that, that she would not hurt him.
He wasn’t laughing now.

He hadn’t been for quite some time. Twenty years in fact.

Then he had laughed often, smiled often. All she’d had to do was walk in a room and he would feel himself warm, change. Then, she had known just what she was doing, pulling him back towards her when he had been about to get lost in his work, likely to become more suspicious, more cynical, more careful, more critical. Good strategy. Excellent, really. That’s what he thought afterwards, on nights at 3am when he stared at the ceiling or watched Sydney sleep her innocent dreams. When he tried to understand the memories, when he tried to be objective, tried to analyze the game theory. Then not understanding, knowing he was missing something, something critical, but refusing to dig deep enough he realized now, he had just tried to forget that night.

Staring into her eyes, he wondered again as the memories passed between them, what he might be missing even now. Her eyes - could it be, was that - desire? Had his initial thought walking toward her with the jewelry been correct? Had he found a trail to follow?

He had picked up the scent when she had lifted her hair so that he could place the explosive jewelry around her neck. Before that, he had thought he was misreading the signs or that she was deliberately trying to confuse him. But when she lifted her hair and stared up in his eyes, he knew. She wanted him. Still. Or again. Whichever. It made no difference, did it?

What made all the difference was which him she wanted. Because he knew he was not the man he had been. The question was, did she?

Clearly she thought the old tactics would still work. That hair lift had been a signal she would use often, especially when they were in public, when she wanted to leave to go home and have sex. Sometimes, they had not even made it home. She always had laughed about the fact that the big Agency sedans were perfect for such occasions. She had once even suggested, jokingly, that they had conceived Sydney in the back seat of his Buick. Later, he thought she had probably orchestrated every encounter to plant another bug in his vehicle.

And that stopped him. Perhaps she was playing a game of her own now, trying to steal his trust again. Using one of the ties that had bound them so tightly together, the tie of desire. Unfortunately, for her, it was not going to be that easy this time. This time, he understood the game a little better. He might not have it all figured out yet, but…he would.

He just needed a little time. And opportunity to test his theory, find answers to his questions. Did she think she could have it all, again, with so little effort, after all the lies, the endless silence, the lack of remorse? Did she think she could have everything, without giving it herself? Was she insane? Delusional? Or… just needy?

Suddenly, he realized that his hands still rested on her. He stepped away, forced himself to resist the need, the temptation that stood before him. The temptation to strangle her, he told himself, the need to let the rage overwhelm him. He could strangle her now. He was capable of it. It might be worth it. It really might. He had been willing to go to prison after Madagascar, he’d be willing now if it eradicated her from their lives. But Sydney…so, perhaps that wasn’t a viable option.

Then again, he mused, there were other options in the game, as long as one was wise enough to see them, use them, create them. Maybe she would not return from this mission. There were all sorts of hazards in the field, after all. Landmines, gunfire, parachutes that did not open…. Or maybe, he’d get to use the watch. But, in those scenarios, Sydney would mourn her mother. Possibly blame him for killing her mother at worst, or failing to protect her at least. None of those were acceptable outcomes. Too bad, he liked the watch.

So, the best option was to go back to his original idea of using this mission to test his theory, nascent as it was.

He thought as he stepped away from her. He thought as they walked down the hallway with Sydney, changed clothes, got in the transport plane. Thought. What was the key to this game? Why did his thoughts keep returning, circling around that night of the necklace? Could the key be found there? It must, or else his mind would not lead him down that path. Unless, it was his own weakness leading him there. He counseled himself to caution and honesty, at least with himself.

Forced himself, finally, with great reluctance, to turn his assumptions around, look at them in a new light. To listen to his instincts, his bone-deep knowledge that she wanted something. Then. And now. He wanted to kick himself for not realizing that his hurt, his fear, his anger, might be blinding him to the something necessary, from pursuing that niggling notion that he was missing something critical about that night, the night of the necklace.

He should have done it before, paid more attention to…was it the truth?

Could it be…could it be that night had actually been a series of mistakes on her part? Why had he never seen it before? That night had been near the end - had she grown complacent? Started to get sloppy? Become afraid that the end of a beloved game was near? Had she just gotten lost in the game? Or…had she allowed the real person to appear, the needy person?

Had the game become the truth?

He thought again about her words that night. And what she had said, done, revealed since she had walked back into his life, Sydney’s life. What did she need? Then and now? Sydney? Then he shied away from that thought and moved onto something safer, the danger to himself. Did she want “her” Jack, the man she thought was the real man? The man beneath the cold, calculating, threatening game theorist that he had only been on the edge of becoming at the time she left. The man that had needed his wife, his daughter, his family, their love to keep him from growing so cold that nothing could warm him. That man, the man he had been, the man she thought he was, the man she remembered, was that who she wanted?

He compelled himself to ask, who was that man? That man -- and it was easier to think about himself that way -- that man had loved her, needed her, wanted her. That man had a quick temper sometimes, a deep anger, a darkness. A darkness she admitted she forgot about because he hid it from her, had always been in enough control for the two of them, controlled enough….Wait, this was critical, he mused. The man he had been was someone she had always trusted to know when to stop, to protect her from himself and herself. All she’d ever had to do was ask for something she really wanted and he gave it to her, he spoiled her, he took care of her even when she would never admit to needing it.

His head jerked up, he stared out the window over the Pacific Ocean, into the blackness of night. Is that why she gave in so readily over Madagascar - had she thought that, in the end, he would save her? That he would never hurt her? Did she actually…trust him, or rather the man she thought he was?

And then he had another insight. She had trusted him then. Relied on him. Especially that night. Had she actually been vulnerable that night? Wait a minute…His mind circled back to that night, the night of the necklace. That night, it all kept going back to that night…

She had been intense in her need for him to tell her, show her, how he needed her, wanted her, loved her. Why? Although he had cherished her, knowing her own truth, had she sometimes felt like a whore, especially when he made little jokes about “making it worth his while?” He had pushed her that night. To the edge? And what had he gotten from that pushing? Had she told him truths that night? Is that what he had been missing all these years?

Truths about her own needs and desires? The need, the human need, the need that makes us vulnerable? The need to love, to trust?

Trusting her that night, he had laughed, taken a deep breath, raised his arms to her and allowed her to tie, loosely, the stockings around his wrists. Had allowed her to restrain him, even though it made him feel slightly panicked after the number of times he had been tied down and tortured. Later, during other tortures, he would find the focus, the resolve, to withstand whatever was done to him by reflecting that nothing could be worse than the torture of this particular memory. The memory of what he had done to himself, by giving her the gift of his own vulnerability. But then, he had wanted to be fair, to give her “her turn”. And in the end, much later that night, he had moaned, whispered, “Please, Laura,” just when he knew she wanted to hear it.

Watching her now, he wondered whose vulnerability she remembered from that night. Hers or his?

Swallowing his pride, he knew he needed her to remember his.

He needed her to remember the man he had been, who had not been a threat to her game, who had participated willingly, if unknowingly, in his own deception. She needed to believe he was that man.

He needed her to remember the trust. She needed to trust him.

He needed her to forget how that night he had reversed the game on her, could when he wanted. She needed to remember his “please.” Not hers.

He needed her to become confused as to what he wanted. She needed to focus on her own desires.

He needed her to believe that this game, the parameters of which were just beginning to form in his mind, was just a continuation of their old games, the basic game of the ebb and flow of power between them. She needed to believe she had some power. She needed to feel like she was in control.

Even if that control was as soft, as flimsy, as insubstantial as those stockings. Stockings, as everyone knew, could be ripped, shredded, snagged at the merest flick of a nail. He still knew how to do that, in fact, knew more ways than ever before how to do that. He just needed the right place and the right time.

He looked over at her, lost in her own thoughts. He smiled wryly into the darkness, acknowledging that that he and Irina were probably engaged in the same thought process: how to manipulate the other one. Again, a matched set. Their minds had always...He stopped the thought.

He rubbed his stomach without awareness as he wondered what she would try next. He wondered what he should do next. How he could take all the little beads of information he possessed and string them together into a necklace that she would use to strangle herself. And free him.

Maybe then the ache would finally disappear.

But, pain was relative. Something else he had learned in the aftermath. Funny, wasn’t it, when she was tying him up how he had never thought to wonder if she would hurt him. And honestly, that had not hurt. Giving up his control had, in fact, not been as hard as he had expected. Not when the prize was worth it. Then any cost, any hurt, could be borne.
It was the truth that hurt. The truth that had been a lie.

But he had survived that. He would survive this. Correct that, he would not only survive. He would win. It was his turn.

And he vowed to himself that the next time he raised his arms over his head, it would be because he had the upper hand.

The next time she would be the one choosing to say “please,” to give her trust. To give everything. Only she would be getting nothing in return.

Because now, thanks to her, he had nothing to give. And that was the truth.

Wasn’t it?

Chapter 3