The Perfect Weapon Chapter 9 Part 1

[camillecarelli]

Chapter 9: Part 1

Mmm. He always tasted so good. She licked her lips, then his.  Laughed softly when he asked, "Thirsty? I could get up and get us some more wine." His next chuckle was swallowed by her mouth as she growled teasingly, "Shut up and kiss me."

Laughed again, when he whispered, "Don't you mean, open up and kiss me?"

Mmm. Maybe, maybe this idea of his was a good one, Irina thought a long while later, as Jack lifted his head to realign their mouths. She was completely, totally aroused, but felt no urgency to do anything other than enjoy the moment, to revel in the slow burn between them. How could she feel so aroused and yet so  utterly boneless, fully relaxed for the first time in….so, so long?  Before he could meld their lips again, she asked lazily, "How long have we been doing this?"

"I don't know. Why? Does it matter?" he answered as they lay side by side.

"I remember when we could spend ages doing this…" she whispered and then lost her train of thought as he took her mouth again in a deep kiss, using his lips and tongue and teeth until she felt as if she was falling. But this time the fall was not scary, not at all, because she could feel him with her….Or was that just wishful thinking?  No, she could…She circled his biceps with her hands, squeezed, pulled him toward her, dug her nails into his skin. Stopped herself from saying, 'mine' or 'moya'. Then wondered why she bothered to stop herself.  Maybe, maybe honesty…But maybe she did not need to say it, for with his next words she realized that he had felt her anxiety anyway.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm right here," he murmured and she nodded.  He could always pick up every cue. How she had missed that - being with someone who just…understood.

She whispered back, "So am I. Right here." She kissed his neck, licked the artery there that was beating, beating; began to swish her tongue in rhythm to the beating of his heart. He arched his head back.  She paused for a moment, stunned, before she moved her mouth, her fingers over it, giving him what he wanted.  He had just given her…trust?

"I need you," she whispered against his throat, the words just pouring out without volition.  She felt herself freeze internally, wondering at his reaction. She could feel him still at her words, at the honesty he had to feel in those words, in her, in their every touch since he had laid her down on the bed, telling her they should just make out as they had so many times before.  She continued,  "Need this.  I haven't…"  He said nothing in response, so she rubbed her leg along his, slowly, as sensuously as she could, stroked her hands across his chest until she could feel his heartbeat, gauge his response, as she asked, "Have you?"

She had not even known how hungry she was for this gentle loving until he had begun it.  As he fitted his arm around her to more tightly pull her against him, she snuggled as close to him as she could get, heard his sigh, felt the smile on his lips.  Yes, a good idea in more than one way, she mused as she teased his tongue with hers, then began sucking on it. Feeling his pulse speed up against her hand around his neck, she pulled him closer still. How close could they get?

She knew he had intended these kisses, these touches to distract her, to steer her, to spin her away from what he did not want her to know, from what he was hiding, from finding that key to the connection between him.  That had been a mistake on his part. She had to use all, any mistakes, any resources she could find in this game. And this opportunity was golden.  For she had not felt this close to him since….that moment with the poem. But then she had made an error, asked the wrong question, had pressed verbally. Jack was always so sensitive to words, it had been too much what with the intensity of that connection snapping into place between them. This, this slowly-developing tether between them that was gradually spinning them closer and closer together, this, this was more subtle…That was always more effective with Jack; with him you had to be careful to skim under the overly-developed and all too accurate radar.

Well, subtlety worked except when he was angry. But then again, his anger could be exciting too. Very…Sometimes….She smiled in her mind as she kneaded the muscles in his back, then reached lower to curve around his buttocks, felt him smile against her.  She stopped cold, bit her bottom lip, when he asked, "Planting another bug?"

She hissed, "I told you before…"

He chuckled, softly, nibbled her bottom lip, "I know, just teasing."

Teasing? He was teasing about the bugs? What game was he playing? Or was he telling the truth? Had he truly relinquished his anger about the bugs?  Good….if so.  Dealing with an angry Jack required different strategies, not subtlety.  When he was angry, then big gestures, loud voices, throwing things, directness - they were the way to go. But the only book she had to throw right now was that Rambaldi manuscript…so…it had been better to take this strategy…to pour the love she felt for him into her kisses, her touches.

Liar, she told herself  -- she had not planned this strategy. She had never planned any strategy once he began touching her. Then and now. It had always been just love, desire, and instinct.  All of it true. Then and now. And they had worked, being herself had worked, the truth had worked. This was the best way to go, the easiest…. She could feel him respond, not just physically, but…Her head tilted back as he kissed his way to the base of her throat and began to speak against her skin, saying, "You like this, don't you?"  She arched her back, offering herself to him. He swept his hands around her back to her chest, as she held her breath as he touched her, gently plucked at her nipples.  He whispered, "Breathe, or you'll get dizzy." Rolling slightly, he pulled her on top of him. Her heart began to pound. He had said he did not want her to be on top of him - what was going on?  Then she stopped thinking when he pulled her head down to his and began kissing her again.

This kissing, touching like this, like they had when they were courting…He was right, it was just…pleasure, pure pleasure, no pressure.  They both moaned as he caressed her breasts with gentle hands, when she began to stroke his chest with her hands, kneading the muscles, scraping the nipples with her nails.  He shifted his head slightly to groan, "Oh, honey…"  Yes, yes. She could do this forever, with him, she thought as she rubbed her lips against his and pressed his head back into the pillows. Caressing his chest the way she knew he enjoyed, she then cupped his face in her hands to kiss him in a way he had always liked before. Felt her hair fall around them.  His hands tunneled into it, spreading it evenly, then stroked her back as they kissed, held her close, shifted his leg until it nudged upwards between hers.

As if she were hearing, feeling, sensing as if she were swimming underwater the reverberations if not the actual sounds from the surface, slowly, slowly, his words registered, their position registered. She had to be careful.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, against his lips.

Looking into his suddenly-open eyes, she held her breath again. Would this work or would she be drowned in the aftermath?  They both remembered, she knew, the last time she had asked that question in this position, when she had been a young woman, unsure of herself, her own sexual powers. Unsure of what he wanted, unsure enough to ask questions, the right questions. Too bad she had grown so confident, so dependent upon the bugs for her knowledge, so enamored of the gifts he was giving, that she had stopped asking, allowed him to hide.  But she would not think of that right now, instead concentrate on this moment and the dangers in this memory.

They had been in her apartment, in her bed, for once. Not her choice, since she had not swept earlier for bugs her case officer might have placed in recompense for her recalcitrance in having them in her bedroom. But she could not devise an excuse to leave for his apartment when they had spent the evening here, so…

So, she had whispered, "Is this okay?" as she straddled him.

"Okay?" he had asked, whispering too, taking his cue from her.  God, what a partner he had been.

"Me on--" She gestured at their position.

"Honey," he smiled, pulled her down to him. Then purred slowly, so slowly in her ear, "I could care less who's on top, who's on bottom, as long as I'm…" he pressed upwards, "As long as I'm inside you."

She had shivered, then felt herself begin to melt inside at his words, then at his movements insider her. "Oh," she had said softly and raised herself up, resting her hands, her weight against his shoulders. "It doesn't matter to you?" she asked again.

"No, not at all. I have my….priorities straight," he said with a smirk as he moved his body.

She groaned and then murmured with a smile, "So you do."

"Besides, this way, I can feel all of you," he said, running his hands across her body until she moaned softly again when he caressed the crease between her thighs and pelvis with his thumbs, gradually moving inward. "And I get to see you. All of you."

"You like that?" she asked, leaning back and arching her body, eliciting a groan from him as his gaze roved up and down her body. Feeling brave, basking in the approval she knew she would receive, she ran her fingers along the chain at her waist. "Do you like this? Glad you got it?"

"Mmm. So beautiful. You, I mean. Unbelievable, especially with that waist chain on. God that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he whispered, caressing her. Then shaking his head, smiling, he added,  "So, yeah, I like this position for what I can see…And too, I can lie back and you can do all the work. I'm lazy."

"Liar. You are not lazy. You are the most intense person I know. You have more energy in one finger than most people have ….Ooh!" she giggled at his game as he reached out one finger and began to touch her until she moaned and shifted her body forward.

He immediately put his hands behind his head, raised his eyebrow and grinned at the look of consternation her face.  "Hmm. My work is done." When she gasped, he added with a smile, "For now. It's your turn. You are always demanding your turn, Laura, so go ahead. It's your game now. Take it."

Then he had groaned when she had done just that. Unaware of what she was doing, she used those lessons from the academy for a good purpose - to bring pleasure to the man she loved -and  thereby eradicated their origin from her mind and replaced it with the memory of his face, his words, his love for her.  Then he groaned some more when afterwards she took his hand and put it where she wanted it. Something he had taught her to do, by rewarding her when she was aggressive.  Like then, when she could not help but moan when he told her softly in the voice she loved, "That's it. Tell me, show me what you want. I'll do it. Just let me know. Anything, anything. I love you, Laura."

"So…" she had gasped  later as she fell forward on top of him.

"So, you can be on top of me any time you want, honey," he said with a breathless chuckle as he wrapped his arms around her and held her as close to his heart as he could. Then slid one hand down to rest his fingers inside the chain. She smiled and shifted her muscles against his hand, enjoying feeling it and the chain holding her tightly against him.

She had asked against his cheek, "So are you glad we left the card party early tonight?"

He had laughed, "Mmm. I like this game best. With you. You are the best partner I've ever had, will ever have."

Did he remember all of that? She wondered as she looked into his face. Did he remember how she had kissed him when he said that? How they had kissed and touched each other that night, gently, endlessly with no pressure, just enjoying loving each other, until they had fallen asleep entwined around each other? He seemed to still enjoy that - making out like that.  He must, he had suggested it, even if part of his goal had been to distract her. She slid her body slowly off his, so that he was not bearing all of her weight. Sometimes the best offense was a very slight strategic retreat. That in this case, showed for once, her sensitivity to his needs. She reached up and kissed him, felt his hands tighten on her back. She relaxed.  Good, good, she could feel in his kiss, in his touch that tether between them. She had not lost it.

Mmm. The kissing was still the way….Tonight, with no pressure, paradoxically, every kiss, every caress seemed to effortlessly tighten the connection between them again. But she should not assume. What was it someone had said when they were a teenager, "To assume makes an ass out of you and me"? Good advice. She should have remembered it earlier. She felt that connection, that all the memories of the past were combining with the chemistry that had always been between them. Did he? She listened, with all her senses.  She could tell, under her hands, that his shoulder muscles were relaxed. Was he - his mind - relaxed, receptive?  She pulled back a little, took a tiny bite out of his bottom lip, then his chin.  Opening her eyes, she was startled to see that his were open too.  Then relieved to see that they were…warm, she smiled and nuzzling into his neck, whispered, "You always loved this didn't you?"

"Hmm. With--" he stopped. She felt his heart speed up slightly under her hands.

"With you, too, Jack. With you," she said softly, honestly, and felt, inside, the relief that went through him. Or was it through her?

Maybe, it would work, maybe making out like this would keep reminding him of the past when it had been so perfect between them …help…Maybe…she lost her train of thought as he delved into her mouth, stroked her tongue with his….When she eventually pushed back slightly for a breath, she said, "Always one of my favorite memories was making out with you. Remember - you had no inhibitions, you'd do it anywhere - on the campus quadrangle, at the movies, on the sidewalk in front of my apartment, in the kitchen while everyone else was in the living room…"

"Hmm, so I did," he said softly, as he refitted their lips together.

Eventually she had a thought and pulled back to whisper, "Why is that? Most men are always in a hurry to get to the end…"

He shrugged, "I enjoy it….I never understood the point of hurrying. If you like something, why rush through it? Why not make it last as long as possible?"

"That's because you have the control to do so," she added with a smile and then a kiss to deflect him from that stupid comment of hers. She did not want to be compared to other women, so she should not have compared him, even favorably, to other men.  Especially after that little scene with Cuvee in Kashmir - although Jack had landed a good pop on him. That annoying little worm. She smiled, remembering.  "You had the control. Unlike me."

He smiled, she relaxed, as he said teasingly, "Oh, I don't know. I don't remember you being in a rush when we were making out. Then or…now. As long as you knew the parameters, you tended to follow them. Play the game. Except when--

"I didn't. When I'd set the rules. And you liked that too, as I recall." He looked at her with an innocent expression that made her laugh. She continued with a sly smile, "Like the first time on the night we made Sydney?"

"Geez," he said, smiling himself. "Did I ever tell you I had to go back the next day to pull that security tape from the parking garage?"

"What? No, you know you didn't tell me that! Why didn't you tell me? Was there anything…." She asked with trepidation.

"I didn't tell Laura because I thought it might upset her. Apparently it upsets you as well. Hmm. Oh and the final answer was, Uh-huh," he said, quickly holding up his arms before she could hit him.

"I swear to God, Jack Bristow, if you don't tell me…And I was, am Laura. You know that! Tell me. Now. I'm getting really ticked off!" she warned him.

"Wow, really? I'm shivering in my shoes. Oops, don't have any on, do I?"

She growled at him. Honestly, he was the only person in the entire world who could irritate her like this. He grabbed her close and whispered, "Oh, calm down, there was nothing on that tape except you pulling me into the car. Well, and the fight that preceded it…"

"And the kiss."

"And the kiss. Nothing any of our friends had not seen us do anyway, so…don't get your knickers in a twist."

She laughed in relief and amusement, "Oops, not wearing any knickers am I?"

"As I recall you weren't wearing them for long that night either," he smiled at her.  Then asked suddenly, "You used to tease…. But do you really think we conceived Sydney in the car that night?"

"It's possible. You know that."

"I hope she never asks anything about that. I don't want to have to say the truth, 'Sweetheart, your mother and I could not make it home, so it's likely that you were conceived in the back of my agency Buick.' God, it was bad enough the time I walked in on her and her high school boyfriend making out on the couch."

"Yuck."

"You're not kidding. I think I was scarred for life."

"Hmm. I don't know about that…I think you're making out skills are still intact," she whispered slyly and reached for him again.

Maybe, it would work, maybe making out like this, talking like this would remind him of the past when it had been so perfect between them …help…Maybe…she lost her train of thought as he delved into her mouth, stroked her tongue with his….When she eventually pushed back slightly for a breath, she urged, "Let's turn the tv on with no volume - make it really like when we were kids at the movies."

"Sure," he kissed her forehead and gently set her aside to get up off the bed, but she held onto him. "Where's the remote?" He would do anything to get up.  He had made one mistake after another tonight.  She was good, damn good. What had he told Barnett? Extraordinary.  She had just been…herself.  That was all it had taken. Then and now. He had felt it, felt her pulling him into her emotionally and had gone willingly, wanting to feel, more one time, well, something, something real. It had been so long….She had said she needed him…which was good, he was getting her right where he wanted her… Being herself had confused him even more. But to pull her on top of him while they were making out? What was wrong with him?  He knew this woman was Irina…why…He moved again, but she held onto him for the moment, rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel her mind whirring, what was she thinking?

He had told her, told himself, that he did not want her on top of him tonight. At least for sex. It was bad enough when she had draped herself on top of him to warm him up after his nightmare. But he could handle that, had handled that. Could tell himself that the caring of the gesture was just part of her plan to find that connection. But sexually…no, there was too much power in the position.  So, why had he done this? It was totally his own fault, he had pulled her on top of him, she had not climbed on him that first time. He had done it to himself.  Then and now.

What an idiot.  He stood up.

Had one part of his brain thought it was safe --- that since they were not having sex, per se, that he could have her in the position he had always loved? He could see in her eyes that she had remembered that scene in her apartment when he had told her he did not care what position they were in, as long as…. But, what a fool he was. He had touched her so she would stop talking, now he wanted to talk so she would stop touching him….What they were doing…and it had been his idea, for the love of God! It had been his plan to use touch to distract her but …the weapon he had thought to wield had turned against him.  For this, this touching, --was more tempting, more intimate than sex. Much more dangerous.

That was why he decided to talk. Talking right now was the least dangerous option. And soon enough, she might realize that she was hearing tidbits of intel she might have acquired earlier had he not hid them from her. She might lose a little of that confidence if she realized how he had been able to hide.

She laughed, "The remote? Some things never change. I don't know where it is.  Just go over and turn it on with your hand! Remember how to do that?"

Without stopping his prowling looking for the remote, he said lightly, "I know how to turn certain things on with my hand, Irina. Haven't forgotten that, as---"

"Oh stop it!" she laughed, but was curious about his mood.  "I meant that box, you idiot! You could have had it on already!"

"Yes, I could," he said with a leer, interrupting her.

She laughed again, "Seriously, just go over and--"

"But…" he protested, still looking.

"Men and gadgets. Fine, I'll do it." She stood up.

He sat down. "Okay," he said, obviously suppressing a smile. He knew he was making her wonder what game he was playing now when she stared at him quizzically.  She laughed as she saw his eyes scan her body as she walked toward the tv.

"Did you just con me?"

"Who? Me? Never," he said with mock innocence, playing the man-woman game, which he knew she thought was no big deal. She was probably having a great time.

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him and then smiled, shook her head.  "You're a piece of work, Bristow."  That was his cue…

"I know a piece of yours I'd like to get my hands--"

"Jack!" she squealed, just as she always had.  She turned her back, ostensibly to turn the tv onto some old movie, but no doubt to hide her triumph at turning his attention back to the past. Seeing what movie it was, he knew she was not paying attention to which movie it was. She laughed as he said, "Nice view that way too."

She shook her head and reached for the wine bottle. "Want some?" As he opened his mouth, she waved the bottle at him, "Of the wine!"

"One glass?" he commented as she sat down next to him and handed him a glass. One glass? Was this his nightmare come to life?

"Why?" clearly wondering what he was thinking now. "Do you want a separate glass? Worried about my germs after everything we've done tonight?"

He looked down and smiled. "You're right. Don't mind me." Lifting the glass to his lips and then handing it to her, he commented, "Well, that's something we never did when we were kids…brought booze into the theater,"

"Remember how our friends would not sit with us after a while?" She took a long sip and then topped off the glass again. Wasn't this…ever so nostalgic too? All those welcome homes complete with alcohol and her questions.  She knew he would not become tipsy from the wine, but was probably hoping it would help relax him even more….She handed the glass back to him.

"Yeah, we embarrassed them."

"Well, we didn't always make out at the movies. When it was some stupid spy movie, then you'd want to watch. I never understood it - didn't you get enough of that at work?"

"But you couldn't ask in those days, so…"

"No," she said carefully, probably knowing she was on thin ice. Then asked  -- good ploy -- "But remember how I'd win your attention back to me?"

He smiled, "Yeah. You and my hair."

She breathed a sigh of relief, then wondered if he was only allowing her to think he was distracted.  Why would he do that? What was he trying to hide? Was he hiding his intentions to…what? She realized that feeling that connection pull between them again had increased her confidence.  Her mind was clicking along in a more analytical, productive mode. He had made a huge mistake.  She could have him if she could just maintain…He interrupted her chain of thoughts by picking up her hand and licking the palm. "You always had great hands. I remember Dave teasing me more than once about how we could not keep our hands off of each other, even in public."

She gave a him a joking, warning glance as she pulled her hand back. She could not allow him to distract her like that. "Well, I got teased too. But actually, some of the women were…jealous of how you still would be content to just kiss like that."

"Really? Hmm…which ones?" he asked with a sideways glance.

She slapped him, almost knocking the full glass of wine out of his hand. "Oops." Then she glanced down, saw that some of the wind had spilled onto his hip and torso and bent her head to lick it off. Smiling when she heard his indrawn hiss of breath, she gave his hip a sharp little nip with her teeth. Then sitting back up, she commented, "Which ones, my ass. Very funny. I warned them all off."

"I bet. What'd you do, threaten to strangle them, break their wrists like you almost did that one time?" he asked as he took a sip of the wine.

"Oh, with that woman? Bimbo. I heard her…"

He stared at her for a moment and then nodded, "Ah, that explains that amazingly-well timed phone call when she had just asked me out. I wondered at the time if you had ESP, but it was really just a bug. You and your bugs." He tilted his head back and drained the glass in one gulp.

Quickly, misdirect. Or tell the truth? She filled the glass, knowing he was watching, waiting. Tipping it back, she was startled when he touched her hand, said, "Just spit it out."

She sighed.  Reaching out a hand, she stroked his arm, wanting that physical connection again as she told him. "Well, I liked those bugs because I could hear you all day.  I could hear how you interacted with your coworkers, your arguments…that's how I got to know you so fast. It cut down on the time wasted by that worthless KGB profile of you.  And I also got to hear all those off-color jokes you told them, that you never told me!"  She had just thrown a lot at him, what would he pick off?

He smiled and said, "Those jokes were disgusting. I would never tell my wife those jokes! Don't tell me you got pissed off about that!"

"Yeah, I did."

"You are so weird. Okay, I'll tell you one right now.  So, a drug runner, a munitions dealer and Martha Stewart walk into a bar…"

She stared at him when he finished, then burst into laughter. "That was, without doubt, the filthiest, dirtiest joke I have ever heard in my entire life. In any language."

"You wanted to hear one," he said, shrugging although his eyes were dancing.

"I think I'd rather make out some more than hear other jokes like that. Even my ears are too innocent for that….tripe." She laughed. Then tracing his mouth with her hand, she decided to dive back in, see if surprise would net her results. She knew that his sexuality had always been a key to understanding him. Then and now. And she had this feeling that he was trying to avoid something….  "So, before….I know, from first hand experience, how much you enjoy this - making out, and I know how lucky I was, am…it's just different. Why do you think that is? And again, I'm not complaining. I am..lucky because you know, you know, how much I love kissing you, touching you like this." She leaned forward and kissed him, stroked his hair. Lifting her lips, she rubbed her nose against his cheek, then licked his ear lobe. Heard him chuckle.

He looked at her then shrugged. "Well, I guess you could say…"

"Well, what? Tell me," she urged, kissing his jaw.

"I didn't really get to do that as a teenager."

"Oh." She stared at his profile, thinking of the dry facts in his biography she had memorized so long ago. Thinking of how she had never delved too deeply into his past when he seemed to not want to speak of it. Understanding the need for privacy, fearful that if he told her everything, she would have to come up with a more detailed backstory that would match…herself, not the persona she had originally invented. And of course, there was her self-absorption when they had been young and then later, it seemed too late, his reserve about the past too painful to broach. His reticence had served both of them, but at this point….. "I never thought of that - you went to college, were recruited so young and…."

"Yeah, I finished high school so early and then went off to college when I was only sixteen.  So immature - boys are always less mature than girls. I thought it was going to be great - that I could start over -- shed the person I had been at home - the too-smart geek that wanted to talk about topics in which no one else had an interest.  The kid who always had the answer first, ruined the bell curve for the grades…you know."

"I see." They stared at each other.  Nodded. He looked away. She tentatively put her hand on his thigh and breathed a sigh of relief when he covered her hand with his.  She added, "So we went off to college, thinking we'd find friends…but instead just found competitors?"

"Hmm. Sometimes until…. I was disappointed…."

"Disappointed? In what way?"

"I thought I'd at least meet more people like me at college…that I would not feel like…"

"Like what?" she asked, although a part of her was incredulous. Why was he telling her now? And more importantly why hadn't he told her before? Wait a minute, why….

"Why are we talking about this? Are you analyzing me again?" he asked, but without real heat.

"But I know what you felt…you felt like a loner. But a loner who did not choose it, had it thrust upon you?"

When he looked away, she slid her  body next to his again, hoping to warm him, to prevent him from withdrawing.  Nuzzling into his neck, she asked teasingly, "And I bet you hoped you would meet girls?"

"Ha. I was the young, skinny, tall, too-smart kid in every class. So, no way was I going to ask one of those coeds out - they would have definitely turned me down and no one was asking me out either. Especially in those days, the dark ages…Later, of course…" he teased. Huh. He still knew her weaknesses, including that possessiveness. Why was he trying to distract her with that gambit?

"Poor baby," she said with mock sympathy.  Then with real empathy, she knew what it was like to feel isolated and alone, different, she commented, running her hand through his too-short hair, "Lonely, though, I know. And when your mind does not work the way everyone else's seems to…."

"I survived," he said blandly.

She stared at him, hearing the echo of her own long-ago words to Natasha.  Leaning forward she gave him a gentle kiss. "I know, I know.  But is that one reason why you accepted the Agency's offer?"

He shrugged. She looked at him, then said suddenly, "Wait - I never understood before, this explains it though…."

"Explains what?" he asked cautiously, even as his hands stroked her back.  Was he feeling for tenseness in her muscles, signals and signs too?  What a pair.

"Your shyness.." she said slyly, waiting for the explosion.

"That again! I was not shy. Never. That's ridiculous. I was…reserved. You and Dave…." He growled.

She laughed, then reached up to kiss him.  She felt him relax again and decided to continue speaking.  "You are so easy, Bristow. You rise to that bait so well." He rolled his eyes and she continued, "But you did not answer my question - is your…reserve, let us say, your feeling of isolation one of the reasons you accepted the Agency's offer?"

"Yes." He stared at her for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision and explained, "It gave me a sense of belonging to a community, I was with people whose minds I could understand…I had friends and the work, it gave me a chance to gain ---"

"Confidence.  As you succeeded each time… you became who you are…I knew that, that's why when you threatened to resign those two times, I was so incredulous that you'd give it up."

"Two? Oh, you heard that first argument with my idiot boss. Well, I would have, too."

"I know that, know you were not bluffing. Thank you." This conversation was becoming too serious, she needed to direct it…he would probably find this amusing and it was the truth. So…."But that explains why you did not fit your profile."

"My profile? What, the one you had from the KGB?" He smiled suddenly. "Tell me what was in it."

"Well, your profile never said anything about you being shy. It said you were cold, suspicious, brilliant, ruthless…and then the interviews I did…"

"With whom?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him she could tell.

"With agents who had worked against you, contacts, with one woman on whom you'd done an in and out--"

He laughed. "In and out? Oh, I had forgotten that's what the Soviets called it. We - Dave and I ---"

"I remember, screw and skedaddle. I don't know which one is worse. But, my point is…"

"What? I'm lost at this point…"

"Oh, shut up. Anyway, nothing anyone told me was really of any use. I should have just taken all those notes and…flushed them down the toilet, especially from the woman in Paris, Natasha…I don't remember her last name, do you?" Part of her was incredulous that she was testing him about this, thirty years later.

He looked at her like she was insane. "Why in the world would I remember her name? I didn't even remember her first name. If you tell me it was Natasha, I'd have to believe you.  It could have been Boris - the name, not the person - I think I would have remembered starting to screw a Natasha only to find out it was a Boris." She smiled and shook her head.  He continued, "Screwing some woman more than thirty years ago --  I don't even remember her face, her name, or frankly, the op."

"You don't?"

"No! Why would I? It does not matter. You only remember the things, the people, that matter. But…wait a minute…this explains…" he trailed off with a smile.

"Explains what?" she asked sullenly.

"Part of your irrational jealousy," he laughed and laughed again when she pinched him. She flipped over and turned her back to him as he said.  "You had the memory of hearing this woman describe what I was like in bed and…."

"Shut up. I don't want to even talk about it."

Reaching around her, he handed her the glass, "Here have a drink." She stared at him warily over her shoulder. He smiled at her, bent his head and kissed her shoulder, while snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her against him, her back to his front.  She drained the glass and set it down on the nightstand as she remembered something important. The morning after their first night together. After she had made him toast  -- Jack and his toast - and gone back to bed again.

He had been nuzzling the back of her neck, no doubt feeling the shivers under her skin as his lips touched her, both of them feeling the slowly-fading tremors under his hand low on her abdomen. "Have you ever experienced anything like what we have together?" he had asked, softly and clearly with some trepidation.

"No," she said softly, honestly. "Never. I never even knew that anything like this--" she waved a languid hand over their entwined bodies, "existed. If someone had told me…"

"You would not have believed them? Me either," he agreed, his hands petting her curves. "If someone had told me what I was missing, I would not have understood."  Under his hands he must have felt her muscles tense. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, levering himself up onto one elbow to look at her, but she shook her hair over her face.

"I wish I did not know the difference," she whispered so softly he had to strain to hear her.  With gentle hands, he wiped the hair away from her face and turned her onto her back. Watching her intently, he slowly inserted his thigh between her legs, rubbing his hair-roughened skin along her smooth thighs. She moved her legs against his in response; even upset as she was, she had sought his touch.  They had always, always, sought physical connections with each other, it had been like an itch under the skin. They could not sit together without touching, could not be in the same room without wanting to be next to each other.  Their friends would tease them mercilessly about it for years.

Now, she began to wonder if the itch he had clearly felt to strangle her at various times since she had waltzed back into his life was really just another itch.  If the slap she had tried to give him, the kiss in customs, the hand through the arm in the train corridor, the slaps, all of those touches she had given him had been her way of handling that itch.

Then, he kissed her cheek, ran his hands along her skin, sensing her need to connect with him. "What do you mean?" he asked perplexed, when she said nothing more.

"Jack, I…." She trailed off, looking at him with open eyes.

"Just say it, Laura. There's nothing so…scary whirling around your head that you cannot tell me," he said softly.

"Do you wish, I mean, are you upset that I was not a virgin?" she asked.

"Well, honey, neither was I. Does that bother you?" He began to smile at how ridiculous she was being, then saw the fierce look on her face. "That's carrying the competitive, possessive streak inside you a little too far, to be worrying about what happened before, though, after what we just found together?"

When she just continued glaring at him, he said carefully, "It seems to me that the critical issue is what happens between us. What came before us is irrelevant to me. What difference does it make?"

How wrong he had been, he knew now, when the issue was not sexual experience, but life itself.  He knew now what came before makes a huge difference. He knew now that what came before is what makes us who we are.  Well, that and the choices we make.  But he was prepared to ignore his own complicity in his withdrawal as necessary to build the walls around his heart to protect it.

"Laura, do you trust me? I trust you. I made …"

"Of course," she said, smiling, throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly. "How could I not? I love you so."

"Exactly. You love someone, you either trust them naturally or you make a choice to trust them. Whichever. Love cannot exist without trust."

Now, he wondered if he was right. Now, he wondered if you could love someone and still not trust them. And if so, what kind of love was that? Maybe he had been right - that the love you felt without trust was such a pale imitation of the love you felt when you trusted,  that it was not worthy of the name 'love.'  Maybe. Maybe not.  He did not know. How could he? Irina had taught him many lessons, but the nature of love? No. That was a lesson he thought he had learned, but later discovered he had been…misled.  No, this was a lesson he would have to learn, relearn on his own, he feared.  And it was a Catch-22: how could you learn about love when you did not trust? How could you trust when you feared love?

But then, he had pressed the point about trust, because it was so difficult for him to trust. He had needed her, desperately, to trust him because he had already given her that gift, which for him was a sacrificial gift. He had always felt as if he were sacrificing some part of himself every time he trusted another person, always.  And wasn't it just some horrible twist of fate that the one time he made the most tremendous leap of faith, that he had chosen the wrong person to catch him? But how could he have known that the one person in his life that he had loved so completely, trusted so utterly, would be the person who would betray him? That the sacrifice of trust, had been in the end, the sacrifice of his soul?

"You're right, Jack. I'm being ridiculous. I do trust you, Jack. Don't ever think that. The problem is…me." Truer words were never spoken, he snorted to himself.  "It's just….I don't like it thinking of you with anyone else. I don't like it at all."

"Well, first of all, don't think about it. And secondly, since neither of us have access to HG Wells' time machine, we can't change the past." He said, referring to a book they had recently read together. He thought for a moment and laughed, "You can only live with it. Cast it in the best possible light, try and find an advantage to it. If you choose to do so."

Remembering now, he thought about choices.  About his life. About the choices he had made, by commission or omission.   About the choices before him now.  About her choices, then and now. And felt the cold core inside him harden slightly as his determination grew in direct proportion to the betrayal of trust she had chosen to impose upon him. And Sydney.

She had just rolled her eyes at his words, "Advantage. Okay, I'm dying to hear this spin.  What's the advantage of having known other people before each other?"

"Just look at it, what came before, as practice," he smirked.

"Practice!" she shrieked.

"Yeah, you know how you have to prepare, train, practice for the real game, for the real stakes?" he laughed.

"Jack, you are so sick," she said shaking her head, but smiling now. "You and the games."

"This is no game, Laura. I love you. This, between us, is the real thing. Trust me, trust us. I see our whole future before us, so what difference does the past make?"

"You're right," she whispered slowly, looked away and bit her lip.

But then she had reached her face up and had kissed him passionately, fervently, desperately and with such tremendous heat that it was not until much, so much later that he had caught the bluff.  The past - her instructions - had sent her to him. And that past meant that they did not have their whole future before them. That past made a huge difference. The difference between enough and everything.

He shook his head, wondering if she had remembered the same moment, hearing the fool he had been in his mind. Then he asked softly, unable to help himself, "So the first time we made love, was I different than you expected?"

"It was all different than I expected, Jack. It was….better, so much better," she said softly, turning back to face him, looking into his eyes.  Smiling, she added, "I had to throw out the damn profile once I met you, the persona I had developed, everything….Then, then, it was perfect." She reached up and pulled his head down to hers.

Suddenly, she bit his lip. Hard. He winced. His eyes widened as she sat up. He sat up too, waiting. Ah, it had taken her a while but….1, 2, 3

"Jack Bristow! You son of a bitch! All that…background you were giving me tonight - you never gave me any of that before!"

He burst out laughing. "No, I didn't.  Took you long enough to figure it out. Want to make something of it now?" he dared her.

She launched herself at him.  He only laughed harder.  Then asked, "Let me get this straight - you are angry because I didn't tell you everything about myself? Do you see what's wrong with this picture?"

"Don't dissemble with me! You thought I was who I said I was - there was no reason for you to keep your…fears from me, from Laura."

"Of course there was." He held her away by the arms, rubbed his thumbs up and down her biceps.  Hmm, they should work out together, she could give him pointers. Oh, that's right, he thought sarcastically - there was no time, she was going to betray them in the morning.  Then his thoughts stopped completely, frozen in time, when she continued.

"No, there was not! For godssakes, Jack, I loved you, you loved me. I was, am your wife. How could you keep that from me? What possible reason could be good enough…."

She continued, but he stopped listening. There was no blood running to his brain, let alone his ears.

A few times in his life he had felt his heart stop.  When Laura had told him she loved him on that ice rink, when he had realized Laura was pregnant, when he accepted the truth about his beloved wife, when he learned that Sloane had recruited Sydney, when Sydney convinced him that Irina was likely still alive…

And now he could add this moment to the list.

The moment Irina told him, actually used the words, that she had loved him when she was Laura.

He could not think of a single word to say, a single action to take. This, this is what it felt like to be frozen alive. This is what it felt like when the coldness within took over. By rights, he should have felt elated that he had confirmation that he was correct.

But in reality, the confirmation only confused him more, made him wonder again, again, just how you convince yourself that your priorities are not the people you profess to love. Made him wonder about the nature of love.  Made him afraid to open his mouth, afraid to hear what might come out.

Would it just be a soundless cry of pain?

God, think, think, he needed to do something. He could not betray this vulnerability. He had not then - instinctively hiding his fears, his insecurities - and he would not now. But what should he do?

Luckily, leave it to Irina, she knew just what to do. She hit him. Hard in the shoulder. "Pay attention to me! I'm talking to you!"

Forcing himself to smile, he said, "You've been talking all night. I'm a little tired. How about we sleep for a while?"

"Oh. No. You. Don't." She pushed him back, he let her and she straddled his hips, grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him.  "Talk to me. Now."

He shifted, loosening her hold, said placatingly, "Honey. You may not have known the details. But you knew me, didn't you?"

"I don't know. I thought I did. But this -" She was too close.  She knew him too well. He held his breath. She looked at him thoughtfully. "You twit.  You didn't have to protect yourself from me. I would have protected you, your secrets from anyone…I would have loved you regardless of your fears, your insecurities. Don't you know that?"

He said, honestly, "I do now."  Now that he knew the woman in front of him was Irina Derevko, secret-keeper extraordinaire.

"That's a lie. You knew it then. You loved me in spite of all my flaws, didn't you?  Remember--"

"I know. Pride and Prejudice." He smiled.  "We got a lot of mileage out of that book, didn't we?"

"Don't distract me!" She said, angrily.

He felt his own ire, that he had been keeping at bay for so long, rise. He sat up, forcing her to reposition herself or risk falling. Not even realizing what he was doing, he grabbed her by the waist to steady her, while thinking, what a dissembling…"Let me tell you something, Irina - I don't think you have any cause to complain. Let's review. Yes, let's review, why don't we? Who lied from beginning to end about who they were? Who--"

She leaned forward. "Let me tell you something, Jack! I only lied about two things. First, my name. Which became my own! Didn't I ask you earlier tonight to call me Laura? Didn't I? Have you done that yet? No! Jerk! And the other thing - was my…job.  It was like we were competitors, working in the same business and---"

"Are you out of your mind?!" he hissed, leaning forward as well.

"NO! You are. You hid your fears from me because you were afraid that I would not love you if I knew them, if they did not conform to this persona of your own. You son of a bitch!"

"Shut up. Right now." He warned.

"Or what?" They stared at each other, both breathing heavily.

"Or this!" he said, furious that she had seen into him. Damn her! He grabbed her by the back of the neck and hauled her forward and fastened his mouth to hers.  She reached up and held him by his neck as their anger began to transform into the passion that had always lain so close to the surface.

Suddenly, she reared back and rasped out, "But I never lied about the important things - about myself. I was always myself with you right from the beginning!"

"True. Or so you say.  But the only reason you were yourself was that the persona you had developed would not work.  So your fallback was yourself. You didn't do it because--" he accused.

She hissed, "You want to know why I did it? Fine. I'll tell you. Although why you don't already know this, I don't know. Are you the blindest man alive or what?  Deep down, it was because I wanted to be myself with you. Because I…liked you. I liked the man you were. Are. Sweet, kind, almost shy, protective, strong, tough when he had to be, demanding and giving at the same time."

"I think we've had this conversation before. Drop it. It's boring."

"I know we've had it before -- on the ice rink. But here's my point---"

"Finally. Before the next ice age."

"Shut up." She leaned forward and bit his shoulder. Heard his intake of breath and looked at his face sharply. "You like that, don't you?"  She smiled.

"I've always liked it when you get…fierce. It's exciting...." he said huskily and shifted his body against her.

"You like this position, don't you?" she asked, feeling his flesh harden against her.

"Mmm. Like the view," he said with a smile.

"The view---" she repeated, then looked down and gasped at the fact that her legs were spread wide open. Without thinking, she put a hand down to cover herself.

He raised an eyebrow - he knew she still hated that - and said dryly, "Oh, right. Like seeing your fingers on yourself is going to diminish my libido. Uh-huh. Why don't you move them around a little more and---"

"Jack!" she said, gasping with laughter and fell forward on him. He wrapped both arms around her.

"Well, that spoiled my view," he said dryly.

"That was my intent, you…."

"I swear to God, Irina, if you call me one more name tonight…"

"What, what will you do?"

"This," he said and bent his head to her neck. "You always liked this, didn't you?"

She moaned as he nipped at her skin. "God, those bites of yours… But I want to talk some more about what you were hiding from me…"

"Oh, drop it. It doesn't matter right now. Does it?" he asked as he took her lips again. "I have my priorities straight," he said huskily as he thrust upward. "How about you?"

Chapter 9 part 2