The Perfect Weapon Chapter 9 part 4 section 1

[camillecarelli]

Chapter 9: Part 4

Jack sighed as the four of them entered the plane. What a long, strange trip this had been. Ending as it had begun, in the dimly-lit hold of a CIA cargo plane, filled with tension and anxiety. But what was that under the surface? Was it relief? Relief that they were still alive? Or was it tentative relief that certain goals might have been achieved? Was it anticipation of the future? Or was it fear? Was it disgust, dismay and desire all wrapped up in one package, like the baggage in the crates of this CIA cargo plane? Or was it four tired people who just wanted to go home?

"What, no inflight movie?" Irina had quipped as they entered the hold of the plane. The space had a row of large crates running down the length of middle. No cushions, no seats, nothing. Just baggage. They'd be sitting on the floor, using the boxes for backrests. With nothing to break the silence but the sound of their own voices or worse yet, their own thoughts.

Jack was the only one to respond, the only one who saw the humor in her comment, "Sorry, Irina, those of us who work in government service - you know, for the good guys - don't get to travel in the lap of luxury. So, no inflight movies, no beverage service…"

"Too bad," Irina muttered.

"No kidding," Sydney agreed, with a sideways glance at Vaughn, who had begun prowling around the space. Jack too began roaming around aimlessly.

Eventually Vaughn turned to Jack, as the two passed in their endless pacing to and fro and asked, "Just how long was the flight over - it was in the same type of plane, wasn't it?"

"How long? It felt like it took years off of my life. If you get the picture."

"Crystal clear," Vaughn sighed. "But, do you think anyone's smuggling back bottles in those crates?"

Jack nodded, "Let's find out."

A while later, the men admitted defeat and put down the crow bars. "This is going to be a long night," Jack said as they sat down resignedly.

"No shit."

"Jack, let's play a game," Irina said suddenly, her voice husky. If she was lucky, that sentence might win her a doubleplay, as Jack would say. First, anything to break the tension. From the sexual tension between her and Jack, to say nothing of Syd and Vaughn - although there was an avenue even she did not intend to visit - to the tension between and among each of them….This darkened cargo hold was starting to feel more claustrophobic than her cell. Was she the only one who felt it? Guess not, given how three heads jerked up at her words. Well, that wasn't true. Two heads jerked up - Sydney's and Vaughn's. Jack, Mr. Control Freak, now sitting next to her on the floor of the cargo plane, merely looked at her, though his eyes were intent. No doubt he saw it for what it was-- another ploy in the 'do you remember' game, her play number two. Assuming he remembered their first conversation. He must remember. Wait, was she being overconfident -- would he find that gambit too obvious?

Just how blatant could she be? Even for her, that open reference to the first time they had met was a little…obvious. But his little game had worked; apparently, she believed that she had won his trust and they were starting over. It was a little early for that level of confidence, though. But then again, the tension in the cargo hold of this CIA plane might have even begun to bother someone as hardened as Irina Derevko. Hell, he'd been in interrogation rooms and torture chambers with less tension! 
Could there be a worse combination than the four of them, stuck together for hours as they winged their way back to LA from Kashmir? Let's see. Who do we have here? We have a daughter, betrayed by her mother, neglected by her father - an orphan for all intents and purposes, who just wants to find her way home, to the home she had when she was five. We have a woman, a wife and mother and agent, who betrayed the people who loved her most, who was brilliant, brave and beautiful, but seemed to lack the most necessary ingredient of all, the empathy of the fully-evolved human heart. We have a man, in love with the daughter, whose father was killed by the mother, pretending to love another to protect his heart, and who more than anything else, needs courage. And then we have him. Jack Bristow. An older, supposedly-wiser man, betrayed by his wife, imprisoned and isolated physically and emotionally from his daughter, a man -- an idiot -- who looks at the woman responsible and often had trouble remembering that she was Irina and not Laura. Clearly he needed a brain. All they needed was the Great and Powerful Oz and they'd be set.

He shook his head. What the hell was wrong with him coming up with that analogy? Why was he thinking about that movie? Oh, right. That memory was why she had made that comment. She was good, he had to admit it.

For the first time he and Laura, Irina, whatever, had been on a long plane ride the stewardess had announced that the inflight movie was The Wizard of Oz. Everyone but Laura had groaned. She had asked, "What's the matter? Isn't that a classic?'

He had shrugged, "C'mon, you know -- It's on every year on tv at Halloween. Everyone's already seen it a million times." He pulled out books they had brought along and handed her one. But she never opened it. To his astonishment she had stared at the screen as if she had never seen the movie before in her life.

And she probably hadn't, he thought now. Then, he had not read his book, instead he had watched the delight on her face as she was drawn into the world of Oz. He had given her copies of the Baum books, but she had always preferred the movie. He remembered once that a local theater had shown a bunch of old movies and Laura had badgered him about going, she needed to see The Wizard of Oz and a few others - others she had also probably never seen before -- on the big screen. Finally he had given in and then been truly annoyed when she would not even make out at the movies. No, she had to watch this movie. Every time he tried to touch her, she would slap his hand away.

Eventually it became a fun little game, he would spend his time devising new, devious ways to touch her and she would push him away. He was having a great time. But finally she had grabbed his face, given him a deep, voracious kiss and then hissed at him, "Is that good enough for right now? You need to learn some patience, Bristow! I'm watching the movie!" When they had gotten home, they had gone to bed and he turned on his side away from her. He felt her watching him, trying to decide what to do. She had run her fingers down his spine, he wiggled away; she had wound her arm around his front and caressed his chest and he pushed her hand away; she had snuggled up against him, her front to his back, he had suppressed a groan at the feel of her breasts against him but knew she had heard it when she began inching her hand up his thigh. Finally, he turned over, pulled her under him and given her the twin to that kiss in the theater. Lifting his head, he had ostentatiously rubbed his eyes and said, "You need to learn some patience, Bristow! I'm tired." She had burst out laughing and pulling his head down to her had said, "I'll show you what you need!"

Clearly, what he really needed now was a drink or a nap or given the sexual tension between him and Irina ever since that moment when they had looked at each other and nodded, maybe what he really needed was a good…Well, that wasn't going to happen with the kids here. Although the bathroom…nah, too small and Laura had always made too much noise, anyway. Wait. Irina made too much noise. Irina. He wanted to clap himself right upside the head. Would anyone notice if he did so given how preoccupied they were with their own thoughts, their own fears, and in Irina's case, her own game strategy? But what had he been thinking to be contemplating sex with her? He hadn't been thinking with his head, well, the head above the neck anyway. And shouldn't he be disgusted by the thought…was it just the remnants of the power of the memory of the night they had conceived Sydney? At least he hadn't finished that memory, or he might be pulling her into that bathroom…Oh, for the love of god, man, distract yourself.

So, well, maybe Irina had the right idea. A game. And what should he say next, hmm, hmm, hmm. This was almost better than sex.

His eyes danced as he asked, "A game? Sure, I love games. How about you?" He smirked. She thought, shit. He had found that a little obvious. He continued, "But, why don't you all just rest? It's been a long day, hasn't it?" The words were gentle, concerned, but facing her he let his lips curve upward with amusement - was he actually trying to repress a grin? At her expense. Then, he raised an eyebrow. Honestly, the next time he fell asleep around her, she was going to shave his eyebrows off! As if he'd allow her to have a razor, she thought laughing at herself. But then she realized that maybe she had won - after all he actually remembered verbatim what she had said, didn't he? Point to her.

"A very long day," Sydney agreed. "It seems like a year ago that we were in that train eating crackers. But I'm too keyed up to sleep."

Seeing the circles under her eyes and the obvious exhaustion on her face, Jack said, too gruffly, he knew, "Sydney, you know you need to sleep whenever time is available---" 
"Don't lecture me, Dad! I've been on countless missions without you and I'm not dead yet!" Sydney sniped back.

Irina slapped the floor of the hold inbetween her seat and Sydney's. "Do NOT talk to your father like that! Apologize right now, young lady," she demanded. Honestly, that child needed a smack on the behind in the worst way.

"Sorry, Daddy," Sydney muttered and jumped up from her spot to stalk over to a window and look out at, well, nothing.

Irina turned to Jack, "What did I tell you about raising a spoiled brat?" Jack's mouth opened, but he shut it and the mask dropped into place. Too bad, she had been hoping to goad him into anger so he would inadvertently spit out some truth, any truth. She was not picky. What she would not give to know what he had been about to say. Instead he jumped up himself and paced around for a moment, before settling in front of the window nearest to Sydney.

"I do know how to clear a room, don't I?" Irina asked rhetorically, not surprised when Vaughn too stood up. Before he could leave she said quietly, as if to herself, "They are so much alike…" She was gratified when his head jerked up and he stared carefully at father and daughter, each looking out a window, arms crossed, identical looks of exasperation on their face, identical sidelong glances darting in each other's direction.

Irina rolled her eyes, watching the three of them, all in black, pace around the hold, walking in ellipses, circles, avoiding each other. Studying Jack, enjoying the sight of his long legs eating up the floor, his tall, strong body looking …very nice in the black, she noted absently that the hold was approximately forty paces long, twenty-five paces wide. No wonder they were all feeling claustrophobic. Their combined anxiety, fear, and anger easily filled the space. Finally, she called out, "We're all too restless, Jack. So get out the deck of cards in your pack and let's---"

"Dad, you have a deck of cards in your pack?" Sydney asked in surprise, as she slowly came over and sat down next to Irina. "How did you know that?" she asked her mother.

"I know because he always--" Irina began as Jack reached for his pack and unzipped it. He pulled out the deck and sauntered over.

He rolled his eyes and interrupted her to say dryly, "Really, Irina, don't pretend that you can see through the pack. Or me. You have many…talents, as I remember, or…hmmm…were they acquired skills…?"

Looking away from the surprise and then annoyance on her face, he glanced over at the kids' shocked faces and realized, belatedly, that he had said that in front of them. Oh great. Get some control, Bristow. And that had been unkind, he should….No, no, he would not show that weakness, would not mistake her for Laura, who could be too sensitive at times. She was Irina, she must have amazingly-thick skin by now. So, sighing, he finished, "Manipulation high among those talents, but as far as I know the ability to see through opaque objects is not one of them."

Ah, that was why he had shut his mouth before - he knew she had been manipulating them. That was Jack, her Jack, so controlled, so clever that it was not possible to trick him that way. She felt relieved at the additional evidence that they could start over, even though she would love to stick out her tongue at him. It was a good thing that she knew he had not been serious about that acquired skills comment or…. She looked inwardly, very briefly, wondering if he could hurt her feelings. But there was no reason to think about that. Jack was teasing, he was never deliberately unkind, to her at least. And if he said something in a fit of pique he had always apologized. So, since he did not apologize for that comment, he must have just been teasing. She was too sensitive on the matter.

Then he continued, addressing his daughter directly for the first time since their little spat, "Sydney, how do you think she knows? She looked through my pack and yours checking out the contents. She can probably list every item from the color of your lipstick to the size of my underwear." What a smartass.

"When?" Sydney asked, looking at her mother, who sat there, arms folded, glaring at her father. Jack sat down next to Irina, leaving an open space between Sydney and him.

"Remember when we got out of the train and you and I were talking, then she and I were arguing?"

"You---" Irina began. She began to raise her hand to slap at him and then pulled back. What else had he noticed that she did not know?

"Noticed? Of course, do you think I'm blind? Do you think I can't argue with you and still keep my head in the game?" He stared her down.

"Like you didn't look through my pack too!" Irina accused heatedly. Sydney rolled her eyes and turned to Vaughn, calling him over. Irina hissed, "I bet you know the size of my---"

"I don't need to fondle your …. lingerie to know what size you wear, Irina." Giving a quick glance over at his daughter to see that she was still engrossed in talking to Vaughn - or possibly just ignoring her parents - his eyes scanned up and down Irina's body, also clad in black. He sighed. "Although it looks to me like you've lost weight since the first time I saw you in a pretty little floral bra." He paused a moment to let that sink in, to allow her to grasp that he remembered the first time, as well as what she had been doing in that train car. Give with one hand, take with the other. Mix the messages, it always upset her applecart - her mind was too linear, or at least it had been. He raised an eyebrow, "Life on the run takes its toll, doesn't it? Hmm. I wonder -- perhaps that's why you turned yourself in - you wanted to rest at government expense? The accommodations are a little Spartan, however. Look at this plane. No inflight movie. And your cell? Tsk, tsk, the accommodations clearly not up to your usual standards, I'm sure. Not even a pillow for your weary head." He sighed and continued, "Perhaps a spa might have been more the thing?"

He was so good at sarcasm. Point to him, except for the fact that she found him amusing in this mood. In fact she had to look away or start laughing aloud. And what was he doing with the reference to the pretty bra both on this mission and so long ago? What message was he trying to send? He remembered but he knew she had been trying to manipulate his memories in the train car - which meant she was where in this game? Oh, move on, she told herself, told herself that she was still ahead, that it irritated him endlessly that he had not yet ascertained her game plan. He might have started to trust her, but he was still cautious. She still had work to do to win his complete trust, she knew. They stared at each other, each wondering what the next step would be, their eyes alight with anticipation. She felt her excitement begin to build, this was just like the past, just like all their little games, especially the foreplay games that could take minutes or hours or if he were in a particularly….irritating mood, days. Days, sometimes. How long would this game take?

Sydney interrupted their connection to ask, "So, you do have cards, Dad? I didn't know that. Why?"

He shrugged and looked at the cards, absent-mindedly turning them over and over in his hands. "Well, you know how it is. Sometimes there's too much to do, sometimes you're bored out of your mind. Sometimes---"

"Sometimes you play cards with your friends and sometimes you sit around and show off photographs of your daughter?" Irina asked archly, trying for a point. She was still pondering why he had cut off Mr. Zamir when he brought up Jack's pride in his daughter. She wondered at the origin of the occasional flash of...distance she felt between Jack and Sydney. She had felt it, used it already, but did not understand how it could be. Sometimes, she was embarrassed to admit that she had been envious of Sydney, of her relationship with her father. The only time her father had ever told her he was proud of her was when she had done her duty and left her family behind. She shook her head, remembering Jack and Sydney's relationship and how jealous she had been on occasion of the closeness between father and daughter. Was that why Jack was interested in recovering Sydney's memories -- did he want her to remember how close they had been?

What had happened? Was it something recent? Or had they grown apart during the teen years as happened so often - or so she heard from her employees. But Sydney was old enough to have overcome that. She should want to create a relationship with her father; honestly if she had had a father like Jack, so doting without being blind to her faults, so protective, she would be reaching out to him. Couldn't Syd see that Jack was lonely, his friends in the field regardless? Well, maybe not, Syd was somewhat...self-absorbed. Gee, can't guess from where she got that, she thought sardonically, unwillingly remembering a brief snippet of Dave's visit. Time to forget that and go back on the offensive, "Well, Jack, admit it already--"

"Yes, I show photos of my daughter to my friends," Jack admitted, looking down, then pulled the cards out of their box. Irina glanced at him but said nothing, knowing that to point out his shyness now would not be a good move. Later, maybe. Just to irritate him. Or, in all honesty, just to hear him say once again, "I was not shy! I was reserved. You and Dave….". Looking back up, he gave her a glare. She smiled mildly at him and watched his jaw clench. Ha, she could annoy him without even mentioning how adorable she had always found his shyness. And this was for a good cause. Clearly he and Syd needed to…talk. Something he hated to do and Syd would have to initiate. Should she say that to their daughter? Although this was not good game strategy - she would gain more by dividing them than by uniting them, she still felt…as if she should do something. Why was that? What was she feeling? Oh, did it matter? She just had to get on with the game plan, didn't she? The amorphous guilt she never acknowledged hung uneasily on her nonetheless and she squirmed around slightly, until Jack elbowed her and asked, "Do you need to use the bathroom or what?"

"Just deal the cards, Jack!" Irina exclaimed, drawing the kids' attention again.

"You haven't told me yet just what game you want to play, Irina," Jack said calmly as he shuffled the deck. He looked up at her from under his lashes. She had always been a…what was the English word? sucker for that look of his. And why did he have lashes like that, anyway? Unfair.

"Give me the deck - you're too slow!" Irina ground out in exasperation and were she honest, from the frustration that she knew had been building ever since that moment they had looked at each other while he sat in that cell, escalating almost out of control as she remembered that night. Hmm, perhaps she might not have to play Jack's game endlessly --- the bathrooms had locks on them…hmm. But no, she had always made too much noise with Jack and he was too tall anyway, damn him! Couldn't he devise an excuse for the kids go into the cockpit for some extended something or other? Jack had all the ideas and no inhibitions, as she knew, so if the kids were safely out of the way, hmm….She looked around the hold of the plane. Sighed in resignation. No, she did not want to have a quickie and neither would he. She would have to wait. Damn it.

In annoyance at, well, everything, she reached out, trying to grab the cards from his hand. And he thought she was too thin? Ha. We'll see. She deliberately overbalanced as she crouched forward on hands and knees to grab the cards and begin to tumble forward. As she expected, he caught her. His hands at her waist and on one shoulder ---mmm, they were so hot, she noted briefly - she looked up hoping….yes, he was looking down her shirt. She smirked, knowing the kids could not see her face and whispered, "Still think I'm too skinny, Jack?"

"I never said that, Irina. I just said you were thinner than the first time I saw you in a floral bra, thirty years ago. You still look--" He bit his words off, looked down and set her back.

She let it go. She had achieved what she wanted. He still found her attractive. Although the fact that she needed constant affirmation of that…was pathetic. She should be satisfied that he remembered that he knew she knew he remembered that time in her apartment when they had supposedly been discussing Pride and Prejudice and her floral bra that she had thought too 'pretty' to be enticing. The day she had been so ecstatic, using the bug and hearing the guys tease him over the fact that she was 'the one.' She had actually danced around her tiny little apartment in her excitement and delight, like any young woman discovering that her man belonged to her. 'Moya!' she had said in happiness and triumph. Hoping he would call to come over and visit her after the guys' night out. And then the phone had rung. It was almost….well, amazing how their minds had been in sync in those days. Then. And now, she knew. She knew he wanted her too, she had seen his face in that cell. The eyes could not lie.

Shuffling the cards, she looked over at the other non-couple. Sydney sat next to her, Vaughn was still circling the trio. She asked, "Jack and I know every game, but what do you two want to play?"

They shrugged. Vaughn came over again. Still standing, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down. Sydney asked him the same question. Then looking back up, he smiled, tightly. "Well, not poker. I'm never playing poker with Jack again. He bluffs too well." Irina laughed and nodded in agreement. Vaughn ignored her.

"When did you two play poker?" Sydney asked quizzically.

Vaughn cautiously sat down next to Sydney, Jack on the other side, as far from Irina as possible, as he said, "One night when he, Weiss, Kendall and I were sitting around the Op Center waiting for you to check in on an op." 
"You did fine, as I recall," Jack protested as he watched Irina shuffle the deck over and over, checking to see if she was going to palm any cards. "Certainly better than Weiss."

"Humph. The man can't bluff for shit," Vaughn quipped and then looking at Syd mumbled, "Sorry." Sydney rolled her eyes.

Jack nearly opened his mouth to say, 'Don't worry, Irina can't bluff either- at poker, anyway," but decided that was a mistake. He didn't need to give her pointers about fooling him again. Instead, he said, "Okay, not poker. How about rummy?"

One by one each of them suggested a game, one by one the person with the most animosity shot down an individual's ideas. Finally Sydney said in exasperation, "This is ridiculous. The only game left is --- Go Fish!"

Irina sighed, "Too bad you don't have a bridge or pinochle deck, Jack. If we partnered, we could have beat their pants off in those games, couldn't we? You were the best partner." His eyes opened fractionally wider. Hmm, she had surprised him with that reference

As Jack looked at her, he was amazed that she was trying these too-obvious ploys, such as that phony little tumble to encourage him to look down her shirt. Well, he had given her that little thrill and what the hell, he'd enjoyed it too. And then again, he thought, the business about his looking down and then up was obvious, but she fell for it every time, he could tell by the softening in her eyes when he would glance back up. The game had always been fun between them. All the games. As long as he ignored the pang in the region where someone with a heart might have felt pain at her ploys, her casual comments. He ignored it, pushed it down, forced himself to play the game, play the persona he had chosen or rather, pulled out of the past.

He forced his mouth to quirk up, "Well, since we don't have a bridge deck, I'm thinking…." He paused and looked at Irina.

They said simultaneously, "Screw Your Neighbor?" and smiled at each other. Jack rolled his eyes and began to say, "Not that I have a chance in hell of beating---"

Sydney asked, "Screw Your Neighbor? Wait, I…."

"Do you remember something?" Irina asked eagerly. Her face fell when Sydney shook her head. She might have memories of the cards. They had taught her card games early, although not this one. But many nights she had watched as they and their friends played this game. She looked over at Jack, he was looking at Sydney with an air of concentration. She relaxed. He had another idea. He always did and he knew Sydney best; she should stop worrying. 
Vaughn broke into the silence, looking over at Jack, he said, "So, I guess you'll have to teach us both. I don't know that game either."

"Oh, don't worry, Vaughn. Irina and I are experts at this game," Jack said dryly, watching Irina deal the cards.

"I am. Jack doesn't count cards as well as I do," Irina said smugly, remembering so many nights…This was good. She could not believe that he was going to play this game with all its memories, that had begun on their very first date. Was he actually allowing her to start them over? This mission must have accomplished just what she hoped - laying the foundation to building the trust between them again. Once again, the perfect combination of personal and professional goals all in one man. She wanted to dance around again, like she had done thirty years before. He was hers. Moya. He always had been, even when they were apart, the memories, the connection had been there. The memory book had kept her going, kept her spirit alive all these years, but now, for a brief while, she had the reality again. It required some deception, a well-thought out plan, and some inevitable pain at the parting, but it was worth it. She had made her decision.

"No, I don't cheat the way you do," Jack countered.

"Ha, ha. As if I need to cheat!" Irina protested, but with a slight smile, remembering the fun of the game when he would catch her cheating and make her pay. Did he remember too? He must.

"Just deal and prove it. If you can," Jack challenged.

A long while later, the game had ended. Vaughn had won to his great and apparent satisfaction, had actually smiled in Irina's presence. Elbowed Syd and said, "I cannot believe I beat the Bristows at a card game!" Syd and Irina had identical petulant looks on their faces. Jack rolled his eyes at them as he decided to forebear from pointing out to Vaughn that all the Bristows were a little preoccupied with the ending of their first family outing in twenty years. Give the kid a small moment to savor, trouncing Irina in this game. Hell, he had always been ecstatic when he could beat her too. And for Vaughn this was a tiny little payback, but better than nothing. Poor guy, this had to be torture. Saving Sydney meant he had had to save his father's killer as well. He could empathize. After all the only reason, he told himself, that he had saved Irina in Kashmir had been for Sydney's sake. I mean, she wasn't his wife or anything, the woman he had vowed to love, honor and cherish, had promised privately to protect from all harm. No, she was not that woman. She was Irina Derevko who could take care of herself and had been doing so quite well, apparently, for twenty years. Without his help. Or love.

After the game, everyone had gotten up, stretched, paced around, once again avoiding each other. Black figures making endless small circles in the gray light, never intersecting until Jack had sat down and begun to play solitaire. One by one, everyone had plopped down, leaning against the crates in the center of the plane, resting. Sydney and Vaughn were sitting next to each other, to one side of him, saying nothing. Jack rolled his eyes, knowing they could not see him. Honestly, so pathetic. But at least they were probably enjoying the casual touch of being arm to arm.

Meanwhile, he had Irina leaning against him, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his thigh, as she slept or rather pretended to sleep while he played solitaire. Every time he shoved her away, she landed right back on him. How…obvious, he had thought, but let it go. Told himself that allowing her to…ye, gods was the word 'cuddle'? Cuddle? Irina Derevko cuddle? Laura had been a cuddler, but…this was so confusing sometimes, trying to ascertain how much of her had been real, who she really was. But back to the game, Bristow. He was allowing her to…rest against him, yeah that was the ticket, rest against him because allowing that served his game plan, allowed her to think he was 'her' Jack who had loved cuddling her back. He wasn't going to examine, too closely, why he was letting her stay in that position as he dealt the cards for another round of solitaire. Nope. Leave that can of worms unopened for the moment.

Right now he had so much to think about. The mindless game would help him relax, help his mind find its way through the twists and turns of this mission, her possible game plan, his mess of a life. He'd like his life back, thank you very much. And maybe not his life pre-Irina-turning-herself-in-just-to-drive-him-crazy. Maybe he wanted his life before…What? When had his life been good enough? He did not want everything, or rather knew he could not have it. He had buried that idea long ago. What did he need? Besides revenge?

Well, to get what he needed, he had to concentrate right now on what she might want, what her game plan was, her strategies to achieve her goals. Where to start? As usual, he allowed his mind to wander, knowing it would invariably hit upon something, that the elliptical thought process - for him, anyway - allowed his brain to make connections that a linear, purely logical attempt might miss. Absently, he set up the row of cards for the game. Sighed as he dealt himself too many low cards on the top. Would have shuffled the deck one more time, if he had known.

He needed to know more about Irina. For example, what had that been, that comment about being held in that facility as a suspected traitor to the KGB?

He found it impossible to believe that it was true. Irina Derevko was never honest unless it suited her purposes. What could they be? Could it have been as simple as trying to draw a parallel to his life - if she knew that he had been imprisoned after she left? Possibly. And dropping that tidbit of information at that time had made her extraordinary knowledge seem more believable, had facilitated his acquiescence to her plans. Which resulted in their capture, which resulted in Irina's 'help', which resulted in his having to save her, which resulted in all of them sitting together in a cargo hold of a CIA plane on the way back home. One nice big, closed circle. With one significant difference: to someone less cynical, more willing to believe - say, Sydney or the old Jack - Irina might now appear trustworthy. So, yeah, that little bit of 'honesty' had a purpose.

Now, assuming it was true, her imprisonment seemed completely inexplicable. Hadn't she thrown everything, everything they had, away in order to further her goals, serve her country? So, why would she have betrayed …Could she have been trying to contact…No. NO. Stop it, don't even think that. Even if she had been caught then, she'd had decades to try again. Unless sheer stubbornness…No! Stop trying to find excuses, reasons. And personality flaws were not reasons, they were sorry excuses; there was a difference after all. And it was her job to explain, not his. Assuming it was true, had someone framed her, like, oh, he didn't know, someone had framed him? More likely, she had probably been caught trying to set up her own crime syndicate. Nothing more, nothing less than the game, the great game that she thought was the ultimate game. That was her mistake.

She was about to find out differently, as long as he could control his anger. Like that comment about his raising a spoiled brat. He had had to exercise more control in that moment than any of the times he'd been tortured for intel; it had been such an effort to not snap out, "Who the hell do you think you are to criticize my parenting? You, who abandoned her?" He could have gone on and on. And that comment about being a good bridge partner. That still…hurt. Looking inward he wondered how he did it - survived all of those excruciating jabs and still kept playing the game; his heart must have truly turned to stone, he thought. But then he remembered his anger, and his desire to do something nearly every time she opened her stinking mouth. Like oh, I don't know, throw her out of the damn plane with no parachute this time!

But that would have blown his cover, his persona. Such a shame. And Sydney, he sighed in resignation, would have been mad. Vaughn, though, Vaughn might have given her a push too. But, no, he had to appear hurt rather than angry. He had to mute the danger he posed. Even if it made his stomach burn and ache. He slapped the next card down on the pile with unnecessary force, caught Sydney's sharp glance on him. He looked over at her and shrugged, then tried to dislodge Irina once again. No luck this time either. He sighed and turned another set of three cards over.

Clearly Irina had extended herself to prove she was trustworthy. Which meant that her ultimate goal required his - and possibly - Sydney's trust. Which meant she would ask for something, ask for something risky, that would require a leap of faith on his or their part. Well, it would be his risk, not Sydney's. Not again, never again, would he allow his little girl to be in the position of extending that level of trust only to be betrayed. He had no choice but to allow her to interact with Irina - he had seen that trying to prevent it, trying to warn her had only made him look like a pouting, whining, distrustful naysayer in her eyes. Not good strategy. Sydney would learn a lesson, a hard lesson, an unfortunate lesson, that her mother could not be trusted. He had tried, with that idiotic plan in Madagascar, to control the nature of the lesson, knowing he had it all under control, that she would not be seriously harmed. But that had backfired. The weapon he had used had cut him, not Irina. He had to take care that did not happen again.

Shoot, he had lost that hand. He could have cheated to win, but had always been puzzled at the notion of cheating at solitaire. Who won when you cheated yourself? He reshuffled the deck. Laid the cards out again. Ah, that was better, starting with a king on top. He had a chance this time. Keep playing long enough and eventually you'd win. And if you were smart, then you stopped. You had to know when you had reached the end of the road.

This mission had been a journey. One step in a longer strategy, one leg of a longer trip. Relatively short in real time, but a decade's worth of memories, leading to now.

The question was, what destination had they reached?

He sat there in the dim light of the hold, putting the red 2 of hearts on the black 3 of clubs. He wondered where he was. In his life, in this plan? Why did he feel like…in some sense, that it was beginning all over again? Would he be wiser this time, would he get out? Alive? Healed? Why did he feel like this mission, his life, had just become another circle, like that necklace, that chain, leading back to the place he knew before? This journey had ended, like the first, in a cell. Last time, he thought his life had begun when he met and fell in love with Laura, extended his trust to her, hoping - having faith - that she would show him the way to light and warmth and the future. Last time, in a cell he had learned that he had been mistaken, that his wife was not his. This time, he had made a mistake in that cell, mistaking her for his wife, for his. Both times, his own foolishness had imprisoned him. Now he knew better. This time, however, that incarceration would be the beginning of his life again, not the end.

Out of nowhere came a song in his mind, a song they used to like, Sydney used to like….He had been trying to think of a song. This one would do.

Chapter 9 part 4 section 2