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Chapter Text

Sydney Bristow walked somewhat cheerfully into Dixon’s office. She wasn't sure why she'd been summoned, but suspected it had something to do with the excellent work she'd done in Moscow the previous week.

“Hey,” she smiled. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” he nodded, and the smile faded from her face at his curt tone. “Why don’t you sit down?”

Nothing good in Sydney's life had ever been directly preceded by her sitting down, and so she shook her head, taking another half step forward instead. “No, thanks.”

He sighed, looking down. “Sydney. I’m sorry to have to tell you this.“

She frowned sharply, deciding to sit after all. “Tell me what?”

“It’s your father, Syd.”

Her eyes widened as she wondered what could possibly have happened to her father-- as far as she knew he was attending a weekend conference in Washington DC. “What about my dad?”

“Sydney- I’m sorry- but he was captured in Berlin.”

Sydney wondered when she'd become too hardened to show any emotion at bad news as she felt her mouth twitch downward, just slightly, before righting itself. Dixon met her eyes. “We believe that Irina Derevko was behind it.”

Sydney paled, glad she'd decided to sit. “Where is Derevko holding him?”

Dixon looked down once more. “We don’t know.”

24 Hours Earlier

Jack Bristow carefully ducked around a corner before kicking open a door. He quickly scanned the room before rushing forward to kick open the next door and repeat the procedure.

“Jack?” Vaughn’s voice came over his headset. “Have you found anything yet?”

“Negative,” Jack replied, thinking briefly that he was really getting a bit old for field work. “Two more rooms on this floor.”

“Copy that. Check them and then get out of there-- it’s possible the maps have already been relocated to a new venue.”

Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes at the statement of obvious fact. “Thank you for that astute observation,” he ground out before kicking in the second to last door and coming face-to-face with a masked figure. “Drop it!” he barked, nodding to the maps she had securely tucked beneath one arm and the gun she welded in the other.

There was a small pause and the figure dropped the maps before reaching upwards in one fluid motion and yanking the mask from her face. “Hello, Jack.”

It was through a supreme act of will that Jack did not drop his own gun. “Irina.”

It was the last thing Vaughn heard before transmission went dead.

“Let me make this simple for you,” Irina said crisply, dispensing with pleasantries. “I have a gun. You have a gun. Neither of us has any intention of dropping their gun. That would make this a-- what’s the expression? Stalemate?”

“It would seem so,” Jack said quietly. “However, I will not hesitate to shoot you if you do not drop that gun.”

Before he even knew what was happening Irina had managed to kick the gun from his hand and across the room, dropping to the floor as she did so and thus avoiding the counter-blow he attempted to strike.

“It would seem I’ve effectively eliminated that possibility,” she said coolly, and Jack fought the simultaneous urges to scream as loudly as possible and to wring her neck as she pointed her gun coolly at him. Almost as an afterthought, she casually kicked his gun into the corner before sending the rolled-up maps in that direction as well.

“What do you want, Irina?” he questioned, deciding his only option was to cut to the chase.

She arched a brow. “I would have thought that was obvious.” His brow furrowed as she didn’t order him to fall to his knees, hands behind his head, but nothing could have prepared him for what she did say. “How have you been, Jack?”

He stared at her unblinkingly and she let out a small laugh. At his questioning look she smiled. “I never understood the fools who couldn’t read your poker face. It’s all there-- just like on the maps. You just need to know where to look.”

Just like that, any limited patience he may have had was gone. “Stop playing games, Irina.”

She arched an eyebrow once more and he truly hated the smug smirk that appeared on her face. “Am I?” She followed his eyes to her gun and her smirk grew slightly larger. “How foolish of me.” She seemed to truly contemplate for a long moment, then added, “It does seem rather pointless to continue pointing this at you when we both know I would never use it.”

Jack in fact felt absolutely no doubt that she would shoot him dead at the slightest provocation and so he said nothing, simply continuing to stare at her. 

“And now your face is saying ‘oh, really?’” she informed him lightly as she tossed her gun to join his. “But whatever you may think of me I never wanted your death. In fact, contrary to common belief I’ve gone to great lengths to prevent it on more than one occasion.” She smiled again, but this time there was something devious about the expression on her face. “I prefer the simple pleasure of hand-to-hand combat.”

He looked at her for a long moment, unsure if she could possibly be suggesting what she seemed to be suggesting. “Irina, don’t do this.”

She surveyed him critically. “You have no intention of leaving without the maps.”

He saw no point in denying it. “I do not.”

She shrugged. “Then it doesn’t seem I have much of a choice,” she shrugged before crouching down into a defensive position. “To the winner go the spoils.”

Jack steeled himself before landing the first blow.

“This is boy scout. Come in red woods. Repeat, come in red woods.”

“Agent Vaughn? What do you need?” an unfarmiliar but oddly comforting voice asked him softly.

“I have reason to believe that Agent Jack Bristow is trapped inside the museum with Irina Derevko. Repeat, Bristow is trapped in the museum with Derevko.”

“Just one moment-- we’ll send in a team.”

“Where are they?”

“A full team? About ten minutes away.”

“We don’t have ten minutes.”

There was a short sound that might almost have been a snort. “Having heard the rumors of how those two go at it? I’d venture a guess that we have far more than ten minutes.”

Eight minutes later Irina landed a roundhouse kick to Jack’s hip, literally diving to the floor to avoid the punch he attempted to deliver in retaliation. As she wend down, she hit him behind the knees in a successful attempt to get his legs to buckle.

Jack fell to the floor with a thud and she seized the moment, rolling on top of him and pinning his hands behind his head, hesitating the merest fraction of a second before raising her fist to render him unconscious.

Easily anticipating her, Jack used the moment to roll over, effectively pinning her under him, and she smiled. “Are you ready for the kid gloves to come off?” she purred, looking far more comfortable than anyone in her position had any right to be.

He looked at her dubiously. “It’s over, Irina.”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she questioned causally as she arched backward with all her strength and managed to deliver a semi-effective kick to his shoulder. His momentary recoil was all she needed to roll out from under him, jumping to her feet before he fully realized she was gone. He sprang up as well, frank respect in his eyes.

“Impressive,” he acknowledged as they warily circled one another, both breathing heavily.

“As are you,” she nodded. “Even during our marriage, I used to wonder who would win in hand-to-hand combat. I thought that your strength paired against my agility and speed would prove very-- interesting.”

He nodded curtly, wondering how it was that every word that came out of her mouth always seemed to drip with sexual inuendo. “How satisfactory for you to be proven right,” he muttered as he landed a blow to her upper arm. For her part, she took advantage of the movement to kick him squarely in the gut. “Why do you want the maps?” he gasped, readying himself for the next onslaught.

She smiled ever-so-slightly. “I was wondering when you would ask.”

Nondescript vehicles screeched to a halt outside the museum and Vaughn jumped out of his car. “Third floor!” he screamed. “Make sure Bristow is unharmed, and GET DEREVKO. She must not be allowed to escape!”

Irina stiffened at the almost imperceptible sound of screeching tires. “I’m sorry, Jack,” she said softly.

His confused pause gave her the opportunity she needed.

“Boy scout? Come in, boy scout.”

“I’m here. Do you have Bristow?”

“Sir- they’re not here.”

“Check the whole building! Secure the perimeter! They must be in there somewhere!” Vaughn screamed.

His heart sank at the sound of a helicopter lifting off from the roof.

Chapter Text

Jack cringed as he attempted to open his eyes, partly because of the light that was inexplicably streaming onto his face, and partly because one of those eyes was swollen uncomfortably shut. He looked around quickly, and cringed at the dull aches resonating through his body as he pulled himself into an upright position. “I am definitely getting to old for this,” he muttered, noting the fact that his hands and feet were bound tightly together and that he was sitting in what appeared to be a dirty prison cell.

He shook his head, trying to remember how he had gotten there. Berlin. Vaughn. The Ägyptisches Museum und Papyrussammlung. The maps.

He cringed. The maps. “Irina,” he muttered venomously, a feeling that he wished he could attribute to hatred overwhelming him.

Irina casually walked into the well-lit office, willing a complacent expression onto her face.

“Irina, darling,” the man sitting behind the desk smiled, rising to greet her. “I trust you’ve returned with what I requested?”

She smiled easily, extending her right hand, which was full of carefully rolled up maps. “Surely you didn’t believe I would return without them?”

He grinned and took the maps before setting them down and grasping her hands. “I knew you could be counted on.”

She shivered slightly, hoping the shiver might pass for arousal instead of for what it really was. “Of course, Gregory.”

“But then, you always did know how to repay a debt,”  he continued, as she gazed at him questioningly. “Surely you’ve not forgotten your training?" he smiled. "I’ll always remember — it was Moscow in 1967. You retrieved—“

“I don’t like to think of those days,” she cut him off, but it was more of a purr than anything else as she leaned forward, pressing her lips against his.

He pulled her toward him with a gentle hand on her waist before pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "If you want to talk about something else, did you make any progress deciphering the codes?”

She shook her head in the negative, looking down. “They’ve proved — more difficult than anticipated.” Her eyes flashed up to meet his, then, and she smiled. “But I’ve bought you a gift.” She licked her lips slightly. “A sign of my good faith, if you will.”

He gazed at her with frank curiosity, stroking a hand down her hip. “Really? And what might that be?’

She smirked. “Bristow.”

Jack opened his eyes warily what might have been seconds or days later for all his traitorous mind could discern. He gingerly sat up, then swallowed hard at the tight leather pants inches from his eyes. He hated that she didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to move.

He would know those legs anywhere.

Irina took a step back and crouched down, meeting his gaze and staring at him contemplatively. “How is Sydney?” At his stony silence she shrugged, surveying his face closely. “I see.” She paused, seeming to weigh her next words carefully. “What were you doing retrieving the maps?” she finally questioned, so casually he had to blink a few times to process it as he stared at her in silence.

“I see you’ve misunderstood me,” she said, finally, in a voice that he recognized as being deceptively gentle — the calm before the storm. “I’m not asking what you wanted the maps for — surely you don’t think I’m such a fool that I’d believe you would divulge that to me at this juncture. I’ll rephrase. Shouldn’t you be taking early retirement about now?” At his continued silence she rolled her eyes. “All right. I was told you gave up field work 18 months ago. Why were you in that building?”

“Contrary to what you seem to believe, Irina, this is not a garden party,” he spat at her. “Stop asking your innocuous questions as though you actually care. You would do better,” he continued bitterly, “to question me frankly.”

“I am not questioning you,” she spat back, glaring at him. “When I question you, you will know.” She stood up and paced back and forth just once, not taking her eyes off him. “What I am doing,” she hissed, “is berating you for being such a goddamned fool as to get yourself into this situation.”

“I doubt you care what ‘situation’ I’m in,” Jack said defiantly, “as you’re responsible for it.”

She shook her head briefly, once. “You should understand by now how things work in this life. Responsible is an inept word.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and smiled slightly. “Had you won I’d be in CIA custody right now. I wouldn’t feel that you were responsible for that.”

“The difference being that you’re a terrorist and I’m—“

She smiled amusedly. “What? An American?” She rolled her eyes. “You used to follow the news Jack. That’s no longer something to be excessively proud of.”

He flushed. “What are you implying? Or shall we talk about the Motherland?”

She looked surprised for the merest fraction of a second, then laughed heartily. “I assume you mean Russia?” She laughed again. “You really are quite amusing when you let yourself be,” she continued blandly, expression sobering. “In any case, I’m loyal to no country and haven’t been for over 30 years.”

His brow furrowed at her faulty math, but he chose to file that away for later, resorting again to silence.

She shrugged, scrutinizing his face, and he was throw for a loop again as she changed the topic entirely. “I thought you might win, you know.” She gazed at him contemplatively. “It’s the longest I’ve ever gone against someone when both of us wanted to defeat the other without there being a clear winner. I was impressed.” He glared at her in continued silence, and she shrugged. “Don’t you want to know what I want?”

He looked at her blankly. “I don’t understand.”

She arched a brow. “Not the top of your class anymore, are you Jack? We agreed, did we not? To the winner go the spoils.”

“You got the maps,” he said, forehead creasing slightly

She looked at him contemplatively. “Clearly you have a very narrow definition of ‘spoils.’”

“Okay, people,” Dixon said, looking around the table in the briefing room. “Here’s the situation. We tracked Derevko’s helicopter to Paris, where we’re currently sweeping it for prints, bugs, and DNA.” He looked down. “However, as most of you know, we lost track of her there, though we believe that she headed for a safehouse of some kind in Southern France. All the airports are being surveyed closely, as are the borders into Germany, Spain, Italy, Hungary, and Poland. They won’t slip by us.”

“Dixon, what’s being done to find them?” Sydney questioned impatiently and Dixon shot her a sharp but sympathetic look.

“Agent Bristow, please contain yourself. I’m coming to that.”

“Sorry,” she muttered, forcing herself to pay attention.

“The helicopter was registered to this man,” Dixon continued, clicking a button as a face appeared on everyone’s screen. “Gregory Lazaray, international arms dealer.”

“Wait — Sark’s Uncle?” Marshall enquired and Dixon looked at him sharply.

“How did you know?”

Marshall blushed. “Photographic memory.”

“Right,” Dixon said, shaking his head as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. “He was one of Derevko’s principle contacts in the mid 90’s. It would appear they’ve reunited in their quest for the maps we were in the process of extracting from the museum when Agent Jack Bristow encountered Derevko.”

“Why do they want the maps?” Vaughn questioned.

Dixon shrugged. “We believe that in addition to the intel we were seeking to retrieve, there is intelligence hidden in those maps regarding the locations of several burial sites where a great deal of gold could be found. It’s an open secret that Lazaray’s run out of funds.”

“That doesn’t explain Derevko’s interest,” Sydney said, genuine confusion on her face.

Dixon sighed. “No. It doesn’t. As we knew before we set out to get the maps, there are codes hidden on them that would be of enormous interest to the Covenant. It would appear that Derevko is working with them.”

“Spoils?” Jack echoed, swallowing past the lump in his throat and Irina bit her lip.

“Of course. We want to know everything the CIA knows about the content of the maps.”

“Oh,” he said dully and he hated the fact that she looked like she knew exactly what he’d been unwillingly thinking.

“Out of respect for our daughter I’m appealing to your reason,” she continued, crouching down once more. “I give you my word you won’t be harmed. Just tell me the codes.”

He gulped. If they already knew there were codes... much as he hated to admit it, Irina was a master of decoding. With or without his help it would be done it 24 hours.

He forced himself to gaze at her blankly. “Codes?”

A small flash of respect flickered in her eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Jack. We have audio of you discussing them.”

There seemed to him to be no point in further discussion. “Go to hell, Irina.”

Her eyes flashed again, but dangerously now. “Don’t be a fool, Jack. All you need to do is tell me.” Her eyes met his. “You know my word is good.”

“You appeal to me using Sydney. If you really cared about her you would let me go,” he growled.

“So your answer is no.”

He did not design to reply. She looked at him for a long moment as she rose, then abruptly kicked him underneath the chin, sending him sprawling backwards, sure his jaw was broken. He heard the echo of her boots as she slid the door closed once more. “Think about it.”

Chapter Text

24 Hours Later

Jack winced as another sharp kick rammed into his stomach, then distantly registered a concerned voice muttering, “You better stop, Vin. You know what Derevko said.”

The kicking abruptly halted, and Jack opened his eyes slightly to look at the men hovering over him. “Maybe now you’re ready to talk,” the one who had been addressed as Vin said menacingly, spitting onto the floor inches from Jack’s head.

“I’ll get Derevko,” the other offered and Jack’s eyes shut once more. Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, he was going to need to deal with Irina again?

Though he would almost rather die than admit it, even to himself, he didn’t think he could handle it in his current state. It quickly became clear to him that he didn’t have a choice, however, as he heard the soft click of heels approaching the door.

“Thank you,” he heard her silky voice say gently. “Mister Lazaray and I won’t be requiring your further services today.”

“Thank you, Ms. Derevko,” the men nodded, just this side of formally, and walked out the door.

Jack could feel her gaze upon him as they left, burning into his skin. He refused to give her the satisfaction of opening his eyes. The silence extended over several moments and was finally broken by her soft “Hello Jack.”

His eyes whipped open in outrage at that. He was aghast that she would continue playing at this game of casual conversation, as if they were meeting to go out for lunch instead of — well, whatever this was. As he thought it, Irina bit her lip, a frown flitting briefly across her face. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly and Jack hated that her face, her voice, were actually creating the impression that she cared what the answer was.

The master manipulator knew what her audience wanted to see, and she always delivered.

“Never better,” he hissed.

The frown quickly disappeared, replaced with an expression of total indifference, and Jack was glad that at least she was going to stop pretending to be concerned. However, he quickly discovered that, as usual, he was mistaken in his attempts to anticipate her as she continued, still in that unnaturally calm tone, “I gave orders that nothing was to be broken.” He did not answer her implied question and her gaze hardened slightly as she continued, “I trust I was not disobeyed?” He remained silent, and she scrutinized him closely before giving a small, satisfied nod. “Good.”

He looked determinedly away from her as she crouched down next to him, gently brushing a finger along his jawline. “And I trust you’ve recovered from when I— “

“Don’t push me, Irina,” he spat out and she removed her hand. From her satisfied expression he knew she'd noted the slight trembling of his lips.

“Jack, I know you don’t believe me, but I get no pleasure from this,” she resumed calmly after several moments of silence, continuing to stare at him in that unnerving way as he refused to meet her gaze. “All I want are the codes.” There was a small pause, and then she shrugged, amended, “That’s a lie.”

“Shocking,” he snapped.

“I also want to let you go,” she cut him off sharply. “They’re not mutually exclusive, Jack. All you need to do is tell me and I’ll make sure that you’re delivered safely to our daughter.”

”My daughter,” he corrected bitingly.

She raised an eyebrow lazily. “All these years and you’ve never told me that you have another child?” she inquired innocently, and he wondered if she knew the effect she had on him as he wished he could strangle her right there, knowing he would attempt it if his hands weren’t tied tightly behind his back.

Of course she knows, you idiot, a small voice in his head protested. That’s why she does it.

Even with that knowledge, however, he couldn’t stop himself from retorting, “Not only would I not be talking about hidden children if I were you, Irina, but you have no children. You’ve been no mother. It’s an insult to decent women everywhere to call yourself one.”

An expression like hurt flitted across her face, quickly erased. “Perhaps that’s true,” she replied calmly. “But there’s still the matter of the codes.” She touched his arm lightly and in spite of himself his eyes finally snapped to hers. “Jack, if I had wanted you dead I would have finished the job in Berlin. If you’ll just tell me what I need to know I’ll make sure no harm comes to you.”

“I would rather die than tell you anything,” he said with quiet certainty.

She smirked, rising, and he braced himself for a blow that didn’t come. “Think about it.”

Vaughn’s car screeched to a halt in the deserted parking lot Sydney had asked him to meet her in. She stood leaning calmly against her car, and as he scrutinized the scene closely he was relatively certain that he saw a suitcase in the backseat.

“What’s going on?” he inquired softly.

“Lazaray owns a factory in France. If that’s really where my parents landed my father is probably being held there.”

Vaughn’s brow furrowed. “Have you told the CIA?”

She nodded briefly. “They want twenty-four hours to appraise the situation.” Her eyes met his. “I’ve seen my mom work. My dad might not have twenty-four hours.”

Vaughn shook his head. “Syd, you can’t really think she would—“

Sydney snorted briefly. “Why can't I? She deceived my dad for 10 years, betrayed him again with Sloane, who, coincidentally, is the father of my sister who I didn’t know about for some twenty years after her birth. I’m not at all surprised that she took my dad. She doesn’t care about anything but herself. And frankly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to kill him.”

Vaughn appraised her, then asked the only question that remained. “What are you going to do?”

“Go to France.” She looked down slightly, then forced herself to meet his eyes. “I want you to come with me.”

“The CIA will never approve—“

“No,” she cut him off sharply. “They won’t.”

Vaughn scrutinized her, then sighed. “When do we leave?”

Gregory entered the room softly, wrapping his arms around Irina’s waist. “Bristow still won’t talk.”

Irina let out a small sound of disgust. “How typical.”

“It seems to me that the risk of keeping him is beginning to outweigh the potential of future rewards. The CIA suspects where we’re keeping him.” She turned to look up at him questioningly and he smiled at her. “In spite of my respect for your- rather uncanny- ability to play him like a cheap violin, we’ve run out of time. I’ve ordered his execution. You can break the codes yourself at your leisure.”

She nodded briefly, a calm smile on her face. “As you wish.” She looked lazily at her watch. “It’s getting late. I should get changed for later.” She looked at him seductively. “Do you prefer the red or the black?”

He smiled lecherously. “The black.”

Chapter Text

Irina turned around once, slowly. She hated the look Lazaray gave her as he surveyed her skimpy black dress, but kept a placid smile on her face as his hand drifted to her waist.

“You look good enough to eat,” he growled and she smiled slightly, indulgently kissing his cheek.

“I’m afraid that will have to come later,” she purred. She slipped gently away from him to don a pair of stilettos before coyly brushing one leg against his.

“Nothing in life is perfect,” he conceded, pushing a strand of hair gently from her face and pausing briefly as she pressed her cheek into his hand.

“You have to go,” she said, and her eyes were full of regret. “You wouldn’t want to be late.”

“No,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’ll see you at the party?’

She smiled easily. “I wouldn’t miss it. There are just a few loose ends I need to tie up first.”

He nodded his understanding and stepped reluctantly away from her before pausing at the door. “Maybe later tonight you can wear the red.”

She shot him a lazy smile as he stepped from the room.

Ten minutes later, certain that Lazaray wouldn’t be returning, Irina walked calmly down the main stairs of his mansion, mindful of the cameras. As she stepped outside she carefully shut the door behind her and walked just briskly enough to her car.

Once inside she casually opened a tube of lipstick to block the transmitter signals from any bugs that may have been planted there. As she applied it she pulled out her cell phone, then placed the lipstick back into her purse without closing it. That done, she threw the car into gear, the tires squealing the only sign that anything might be any different than any other night as she drove away from Gregory’s house and began to speak into the phone.

“This is Derevko. I need to speak to your boss immediately. I’m sure I don’t need to remind either of you how — cranky — I get when I’m left waiting.”

She smiled grimly as she was greeted by a calm voice on the line not ten seconds later. “Irina. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure?“

“I’m collecting on a debt,” she cut him off sharply, turning the wheel of the car sharply to the left and barely flinching as the tires squealed again, this time in protest at her insane speed.

“But of course,” he replied at once. “I’ve not forgotten your great assistance to my family. What can I do?”

Irina slammed on the brakes of her car as she approached the warehouse where Lazaray’s men had brought Jack after she had captured him. She jumped from the car, throwing the flimsy dress she had worn so as not to arouse Lazaray’s suspicions over her head and grabbing sweats pants and a loose shirt out of the backseat as she kicked off her heels and pulled on sneakers with all possible speed. She quickly walked a good 50 yards from the car before pressing a button on her keychain. She only winced only slightly as the Mercedes blew up in her face. She tossed the keys toward the wreckage and put her cell phone to her ear.

“It’s me. I’ve ensured that Gregory will think I was ambushed and killed on my way to the function we were supposed to attend. I should be at the warehouse in ten minutes. Wait for my call.”

Jack felt the explosion above him before he heard it and he prepared himself to die, offering a brief prayer to a God he didn’t believe in that Sydney would never know how it had happened. What her mother had done…

However, not even God could have prepared him for what happened next, and when he tried to recall it later it was little more than a frantic blur of — well, Irina.

She came bursting in with speed and agility that belied her age, making quick work of the ropes that bound him and yanking him to his feet. As Jack gazed at her in amazement, he admitted to himself that, whatever Irina’s shortcomings, bland entrances weren’t one of them. “We have to get out,” she said softly, hurrying to the door before looking back in surprise at his failure to follow her.

“Do I strike you as a COMPLETE idiot?” he demanded. “I like my chances better here.”

She looked at him with real alarm and he had a sickening feeling that perhaps he didn’t like his chances better here after all. “You must be joking.”

“Do you take me for a fool, Irina? I knew it was a mistake to ever trust you. Our relationship is nothing but a series of betrayals — all of them by you. Well, it ends here. And if it takes my death to end it..." he stopped, letting the words sink in as she surveyed him frantically.

“Jack,” she murmured, and the word was a question, a plea. He turned his face away.

“Leave, Irina.”

“No.” His head snapped up at the commanding air in her voice. “Don’t you understand? We have at most five minutes. This whole building is going to be an inferno." she looked at him with real panic and he wondered if it was just possible that she might be telling the truth. “Jack!” she snapped, breaking his reverie. “You have to come with me NOW.”

“Us? We have at most five minutes?” he demanded, and his voice was disbelieving, laced with bitterness. “There IS no us. You’re a scheming sociopath who couldn’t care less about anyone else. I don’t understand your endgame, but you must need those codes pretty badly to come to retrieve me before making your escape. If that's even what you’re doing. After all, I seem to be expected to take your word that this building is going to explode, and quite frankly—“

“Jack, punish me later,” she snapped, and her voice was quiet. “Think of Sydney. You really want to leave her fatherless?”

He cringed, and she took a step toward him, eyes pleading, though for what he couldn’t tell. “Should — something happen to me, Vaughn would-“

Irina snorted indignantly, tossing her head. “Michael Vaughn? I wouldn’t trust him with Sydney as far as I can throw him.”

He glared at her. “Don’t play the devoted mother to me, Irina. You’re nothing but—"

“What?” she demanded, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor as her hands went to her hips. “A malicious, duplicitous, manipulative, lying bitch? Someone who destroyed your life on top of being a wanted terrorist and a probable psychopathic sociopath? Someone who deserves to die? Does that about cover it?”

Irina rolled her eyes and he was silenced, able only to gape at her. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, biting the lower corner of her lip ever-so-slightly as she walked to the door once more.

“As you may or may not have noticed in our thirty-five year acquaintance,” she continued angrily, “Self-sacrifice has never been my strong suit. Either you are coming with me, or you are not.”

“I’ll find my own way out, thank you,” he snapped.

She snorted. “In two minutes seven seconds? Not likely. Is death really preferable to me?”

“I like my chances of living through the night better without your brand of trust, Irina,” he bit out.

“God damn you!” she screamed, slamming her fist against the wall, and Jack was vaguely and disturbingly reminded of a time right before Sydney’s first birthday when that tone had spelled death to his grandmother’s antique vase. “I will not leave you to die!” She suddenly smiled with an eerie sort of calm and Jack felt vaguely dizzy at her abrupt change of tactics. Was it physically possible for someone to be a better manipulator than the devil?

She calmly sat down, closing her eyes. “It will hit Sydney hard to realize we both perished here. It may strike her as oddly fitting though. At least we know that irony is alive and well,” she said softly. “Besides,” she continued with a slightly teasing note to her voice, “I always said you’d be the death of me, and—“ she gasped, eyes flashing open as he yanked her to her feet.

“How do you know the building is about to explode?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Because I arranged for it.”

“Explain,” he barked.

“Later,” she retorted just as sharply. “As you may or may not have noticed, time is no small concern here.”

”These are the rules,” he ground out. “You will lead us out of here and to safety. You will not talk to me. You will not look at me. You will not make any heart wrenching explanations full of lies. You will not—"

Irina stepped easily out of his grasp. “Having a baseline level of intelligence, I follow your general idea,” she murmured, appraising him keenly. “I hope you’ve stayed in shape.”

With that, they began to sprint down the corridor.

Irina breathed a sigh of relief as she hoisted herself through a window, leaping down into some bushes. She waited for barely two seconds before Jack jumped to stand beside her.

“What now?” he demanded roughly.

Wordlessly she began to sprint to the East, confident that he would follow her. He did so, but they were both thrown to the ground seconds later as the building behind them rocked with an explosion.

“Now,” she gasped, “in the best case scenario, we’re both presumed dead.” Almost before the words had left her mouth, however, tires screeched loudly just to their left, and Irina jumped to her feet.

“Worst case scenario?” he questioned, not sure he really wanted to know.

“We both actually die,” she replied tonelessly, yanking Jack to his feet. Again without waiting to see if he would follow, she sprinted toward the thicket of trees fifty feet away.

“Freeze!” someone screamed as Irina dove into the cover of the trees, aware of Jack following suit as gunshots rang out behind them.

Chapter Text

“Are you all right?” Irina gasped as Jack dove into the trees beside her. Bullets continued to fly over their heads.

“I’m not injured, if that’s what you mean,” he retorted and she nodded, once.

“Good.” Irina began to crawl quickly forward, inclining her head slightly to signal him to follow her. She was stopped, however, by a firm grip on her arm. She whipped her head around impatiently. “Jack, this is really not the time to—“

“We should veer to the left or the right so that when they come in after us it’s not immediately apparent where we are.”

Irina nodded wordlessly, somewhat ashamed to have overlooked that herself, then began crawling on an angle to the left. “I am sorry about this, Jack—“

“Save it,” he barked as the gunfire abruptly ceased.

Irina jumped to her feet.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jack hissed.

“They’re coming in after us, and they’re not going to be crawling on their knees,” she snapped. “This would be the part where we run.”

It was Jack’s turn to be ashamed he hadn’t thought of something as he quickly rose and began sprinting away from the factory with her.

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” Sydney murmured as she and Vaughn disembarked from the plane. “I’ll go and scope out the factory for possible entrances while you—" 

She screeched to a halt as she gazed, in horror, at the television screen in front of her.

“We believe that close to fifty workers were killed in the two explosions that decimated Gregory Lazaray’s factory three hours ago. The explosions have been attributed to faulty wiring, and it would seem that one set off the other minutes later,” an announcer reported, in French. “The fire has been contained, but firefighters are still working on completely extinguishing it.”

“Syd?” Vaughn questioned, confused at her total stillness.

“I — that’s where I think they were holding my dad,” she whispered, and he pulled her toward him, crushing her in a hug as she let out a muffled cry.

“So,” Irina began somewhat breathlessly as they jogged side-by-side through dark and — to Jack — unidentifiable roads, “I assume that your charming outburst before we escaped the warehouse means that you didn’t manage to pick up any of the Morse code I was blinking at you over the past two days?”

He turned his head sharply toward her and instantly regretted it as his neck gave a painful stab of protest. The pain was the only reminder that he needed of her treachery, and he stubbornly looked forward. “That would have been difficult as you were not actually employing that technique.”

She rolled her eyes and said nothing. Her silence unnerved him in spite of himself and he continued, bitterly, “A mere fabrication, now, though of course a very clever one. Surely you didn’t miss the fact that I’ve deliberately avoided eye contact in our recent history. Why on earth would you try to blink Morse code at someone who wasn’t looking at you?”

“My mistake,” she ground out. “I assumed you were still as intelligent as you used to be. In fact, I actually believed you were pretending not to look at me to throw off the security cameras. Obviously, as usual, I’ve given you far too much credit.”

He could feel himself flush slightly and was intensely grateful for the darkness as he changed the subject. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you actually know where we’re going?”

To his surprise, she laughed lightly. “I suppose, Jack, that you’ll just have to trust me. But aren’t you forgetting your rules? I’m not supposed to talk,” she hissed conspiratorially. She looked unsurprised as he gripped her arms tightly, whipping her around to face him.

“One more question,” he bit out, inordinately angered by the fact that she had now arched an eyebrow in what was clearly amusement. “Who is chasing us?”

She shrugged, wrenching herself free of his grip before continuing to jog forward. Without other good options, he joined her a few seconds later. “Best case scenario, the local authorities.”

For the second time that day he asked, sure he didn’t want to know, “Worst case?”

She didn’t answer for a moment, then seemed to hold herself a little more upright. “We might have been made by Gregory Lazaray’s men. If they realized it was us—“ she shook her head as though to clear it. “We need to lose them.”

“Well,” he replied shortly, “The good news is I think we may have.”

Her lips turned upward. “The bad news?”

“It’s hard to be sure.”

“Sir, we lost them,” a man admitted reluctantly.

“What do you mean you lost them?” Lazaray snapped angrily.

“I — they went into the woods, sir. We followed them, but we were unsuccessful in retrieving them. We’ve secured the perimeter, but it’s possible they left the woods hours ago.”

“FIND THEM!” Lazaray thundered. “Whoever it was killed Irina and blew up my factory. Bring them to me.”

“And — what then, sir?”

His reply was simple. “I’ll kill them. Slowly.”

An hour of utter silence later Jack forced himself to keep up with Irina’s rather rapid pace, unwilling to be the one who called for a stop despite the fact that his aching body was crying out for one. She seemed to anticipate his wish, however, as she abruptly came to a stop. She looked around carefully, then held up a hand to silence him. Satisfied with what she did or did not hear, Irina turned to Jack, saying simply, “We’ll rest here for a minute.”

“Where are we?” Jack demanded as she sat down casually at the side of the road.

“I wish we had some water,” she muttered, ignoring his question completely. A small frown crossed her face. “I shouldn’t have lost my cell phone in the commotion. I’m sorry.”

His brow furrowed at the fact that she could possibly care about a phone at a moment like this, even considering how much it could potentially have helped them. He bit back his instinctive words of reassurance, muttering instead, “It’s good to know you’re sorry about something.”

She looked up at him with an inscrutable expression but didn’t choose to say anything more, and he sighed. “Tell me where we are, Irina,” he requested again, with a much gentler edge to his voice than he’d intended.

“I don’t know,” Irina retorted sharply, standing to face him. “How has Sydney been?”

He stared at her in bewilderment. “You’re trying to exchange what country we’re in for a synopsis on Sydney’s life? You’re slipping, Irina. I would have expected you to at least ask for the codes.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Codes?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, the codes. On the maps. Perhaps you remember,” he bit out sarcastically.

“Oh, please,” she snorted, rolling her own eyes. “Those pathetically easy to break codes? I figured them out in the first fifteen minutes after the helicopter had lifted off the roof of the museum. It wasn’t exactly rocket science, Jack. The first number is really the last number cubed, and when the middle three numbers are then multiplied by two and the remaining numbers are disregarded the numbers give the coordinates of fifteen locations in Egypt.” She shook her head at his surprised expression. “What do you take me for? A total idiot?

Jack gaped at her. “What was that all about, then?” he demanded angrily.

She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “What was what all about?”

“What was WHAT?” he roared. “Surely you haven’t forgotten my imprisonment and torture, ostensibly to get the codes, which you HAD ALL ALONG!”

She snorted. “Like I was about to admit it to that pig Lazaray? I knew he’d be suspicious when I couldn’t deliver them, though, so I had to produce you. I knew you’d never give up the codes, but then they were going to kill you, creating a whole new set of problems for me — as witnessed by the fact that we’re here. That's also why I blew up the building, losing, by the way, one of the biggest favors anyone has owed me in order to save your ungrateful ass. Questions?” she bit out sharply.

Jack forced his mouth not to drop open, staring at her for a long moment in silence. “Then why give Lazaray the maps in the first place?” he finally demanded.

She shrugged, casually. “I owed a favor.”

He looked at her in stunned silence. “You had me tortured for three days, for intel you didn’t need, because you OWED A FAVOR?” he demanded incredulously, trying and failing to control the volume of his voice.

“I haven’t had the luxury of making decisions based on — impractical concerns — for some time, Jack,” she said, softly. “In fact, I’ve never had that luxury. You never understood me because you never understood that.” She began walking forward again at a rapid pace. “Now come on. It should be only about ten miles to my contact. If we hurry, we can make it by morning.”

He grabbed her roughly and turned her to face him. “Where. Are. We?” He demanded through clenched teeth.

“How. Is. Sydney?” she retorted just as determinedly, staring him down. He sighed.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s doing well. She’s thinking of leaving the CIA to start law school, actually.”

Irina smiled slightly. “I think she’d like that.”

He gave a small return smile. “I think so too.”

She turned from him, beginning to walk forward again. “We’re fifty miles outside of Paris. Now I suggest we get moving.” As she heard him following her she threw a glance over her shoulder. “You know, Jack, for all your pretty speeches about not wanting me to speak, it would certainly seem that if one of us is having a hard time not addressing the other, it would be you.”

Chapter Text

Irina appraised Jack keenly as she came to a halt in front of a pair of elaborately carved gates. He hadn’t spoken to her since she had told him where they were and she had returned the favor, remaining completely silent. It reminded her more than she liked to admit of their marriage. They had fought often, baiting one another shamelessly and sometimes scaring their friends by the passion with which they would debate, but their few really serious fights — those had been wars of silence, not words. She sighed, and forced herself to emerge from her unwanted reflections.

“How’s your Russian?” she inquired in English.

He rolled his eyes, then spat back “Never better,” in her native tongue. She nodded, satisfied.

“You will agree with whatever I say to this man,” she informed him curtly. He didn't answer, and she sighed before raising her hand to open the gate.

“Where do I fit into your plan?” he suddenly inquired sharply and she debated whether to answer him or not for a long moment.

“You don’t,” she finally shrugged, amused by the endless conflict in his eyes over whether to believe her or not. Really though, she couldn't blame him — sometimes she didn’t know whether to believe herself.

“Excuse me?”

She wasn't sure whether to feel slightly sympathetic, or entirely amused. “I have no desire to hold you hostage. You’ll notice that you’re not in chains. My plan is to get you to Paris and the American Embassy. You’ll be safe from Lazaray, then.”

“And you?”

Again she debated whether to tell him, and finally just shrugged. “I can take care of myself.” With no further pause she swung open the gate, walking as though she were a queen in spite of her dirty clothing and ragged appearance. The rather expansive property radiated light as the early morning sun began to illuminate the house.

Well before they had reached it, however, a man stepped onto the porch, squinting at them blearily. “Irina?” he questioned in disbelief.

“Hello, Yuri,” she replied quickly in Russian, walking forward and kissing him warmly on the cheek before gesturing to Jack. “My uncle, Viktor.”

Jack’s jaw dropped without his consent and he blinked in amazement as the older man turned from Irina and embraced him. 

“Uh- a pleasure to meet you,” Jack said in Russian, trying with some success to mask his confusion.

“May we come in?” Irina asked politely, smiling brightly at Charles as she elbowed Jack sharply, warning in her eyes. Yuri smiled.

“But of course. Have you eaten?”

“Actually we’re starving,” Irina beamed. “And — do you have any water? I’m afraid my uncle is getting on in years and needs to be kept well hydrated.”

”Say it,” Irina taunted as Jack glared at some indeterminable spot on the road in front of them from the passenger seat of the car. Silence was her only response.

“You don’t need to say it,” she allowed, after a moments pause. “I know what you’re thinking. I just think it might make you feel better to say it.”

“I have nothing to say,” he retorted with thinly manufactured calm, and she smirked.

“Of course not,” she murmured, then turned sharply off the road. Jack's his brow furrowed in confusion, but not five minutes later she pulled into a small clearing where a modest home stood. He wavered between his silence and his desire to know what was going on, and curiosity won out so quickly that he was ashamed of himself.

“Why are we here?”

“I’m tired, do you mind?” she inquired, calmly stepping out of the car. “We’re going to sleep for a few hours.”

“Yes, frankly, I do mind!” he snapped. “We’re 60 miles from Paris. Sleep there.”

“Jack, I’ve been awake for thirty-six hours. I convinced an innocent man to aid and abet me by giving me his car. I saved you from an exploding building and people who wanted to kill you. God only knows when I’ll be able to sleep after this, since it’s not as though I can just go sightseeing in Paris after I drop you off. All things considered, I think I’m entitled to a gooddamned nap.”

Jack nodded reluctantly, a frown on his face. “How do you know him?”

Her brow furrowed. “Who?”

“That man. Yuri.”

“Oh.” She looked down briefly, then glanced at him. “He knew my mother.”

Jack said nothing, reflecting on the way in which she had effectively twisted Yuri around her little finger, all the time playing the devoted niece to Jack. She'd effortlessly concocted some story about their car breaking down miles from his home, how their clothes had become dirty as a car drove by splashing mud on them. She’d even managed to get both new clothes and a car handed over within thirty minutes, convincing the man that Jack was in desperate need of medical attention in Paris and that they couldn’t afford the time necessary to have their car repaired.

She was good. He’d give her that. “Fine,” he said reluctantly through clenched teeth. “Two hours. That’s all.”

“You really would feel better if you would just say it,” she smiled deviously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Irina.”

“It must really bother you if you’re really so reluctant to mention it,” she mused as though he weren’t there, causing him to ball one fist in fury as she casually walked up to the house.

“What exactly are you so convinced I want to say?” he demanded in a hiss, reluctantly following her.

She shrugged, then smiled knowingly. “I suppose it was a bit of a stretch for me to say you were my uncle. I didn’t expect you to be quite this upset that he believed it, though.”

Jack glared at her. “I am not— “

“And no,” she continued, licking her lips slightly as she turned her head to look at him, pushing the wooden door open. “I personally don’t think you look old enough to be my uncle. At least— " she smiled wickedly, lowering her eyes as she took a step closer to him, brushing a leg against his so quickly that if he hadn’t known her better he would have believed it to be unintentional before she whispered breathlessly, “not most of the time.”

He fought the urge to either kiss or kill her as she slammed the door behind them.

Sydney turned tear-streaked eyes up to Vaughn from her spot on the bed as he emerged from the bathroom. He hesitantly perched next to her, then put an arm around her.

“Syd, there’s no way we can know that your father was in that building,” he began, but she shook her head as another tear fell.

“I always thought there would be time,” she whispered, then seemed to catch herself, shaking her head. “Never mind,” she muttered, pulling away from him and going to stare out the window at the unnaturally bright lights of the Champs-Élysées

Vaughn came to stand behind her, catching himself just before he put a hand on her shoulder. Instead he shook his head, and let his hand fall uselessly to his side.

“Syd, there’s a flight leaving for home in three hours. I think we should consider—"

She whipped around to face him angrily. “No. You can go home if you want. I’m going to find my mother.”

His brow furrowed. “And then what?”

“I’ll kill her like she killed my dad,” Sydney declared as a small cry escaped her before she began to sob openly, her knees giving out from under her. “I’ll kill her like she killed my dad.”

Vaughn caught her in his arms and didn’t let go.

“Bathroom is that way, bedroom is here, some food should be in there,” Irina said, gesturing casually around the spacious flat. “You can have the bed,” she added as an afterthought. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Your generosity overwhelms me, but I won’t be sleeping,” Jack shot back.

She opened her mouth to protest, and then shrugged, heading back toward the bedroom. “Suit yourself. If you want some clothes that actually fit, check the hall closet. I think they’re in your size — he was very like you.”

“Who?” Jack demanded more on instinct than anything else, not really sure he wanted to know.

“The previous owner,” she called cryptically from the bedroom and he sighed, fully aware that she had shared all the information she was going to.

“Enjoy your rest!” he snapped, looking around him, hoping against hope to find a phone and wishing he’d thought to grab the car keys from her when she’d brushed against him. But then, no one had ever claimed he was rational where that woman was concerned. “We’re leaving in two hours,” he added sharply, before wondering if he could somehow manage to hotwire the car without her hearing him. Resigning himself to the fact that it didn’t seem likely he sat down on the couch, wondering how to spend the next two hours.

Lazaray turned anxiously as the door to his suite opened, then smiled widely as he saw who it was.

“Good. You’ve arrived,” he stated warmly.

“What can I do?”

“I need you to find two people for me. A man and a woman, most probably somewhere in the countryside, south of Paris.”

“Not a problem,” the man replied casually. “After your recent services toward me, I’m sure it can be arranged.”

Lazaray grinned. “You always were the best.”

“Mmmm, what is it?” Irina murmured drowsily, obviously more than a little disoriented as Jack shook her roughly awake. “Come back to bed.”

Jack froze, overcome by an emotion he wouldn’t allow himself to identify which he quickly stifled. Only Irina could possibly try to throw someone off guard seconds after waking up. That is, if she was even sleeping—

He grabbed her harshly, yanking her to her feet, ignoring her small cry of protest. “We need to get going,” he snapped abruptly.

She stumbled slightly, falling into him, and he acutely regretted his impulsive action as her hips rubbed against his as she righted herself, looking up at him with the wide eyes he’d never in his life been successful at resisting. “What time is it?”

“Later than intended,” he replied cryptically and she rolled her eyes, pushing away from him.

“What happened, Jack?’ she taunted lightly, reaching down to pull on her boots. “Surely you didn’t fall asleep?” He glared at her menacingly and she laughed. “Don’t tell me I’m now going to be deprived of your scintillating conversation,” she chortled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She arched an eyebrow in surprise as he advanced toward her suddenly, then stepped backward until she felt her legs hit the edge of the bed.

“If you must know, it’s YOUR scintillating conversation that I’m tired of,” he hissed, pleased to note that she looked slightly disconcerted. He barely had time to  feel a flash of triumph, however, before she straightened her spine and lifted her chin defiantly.

“Really, Jack?” she inquired, but it wasn’t a question so much as a purr as she angled her head toward his. “And what are you going to do to about it?”

His jaw dropped and she grinned triumphantly as he felt extreme anger at her getting the better of him once more, though he would rather die than admit that she’d done so. “I don’t think you want to find out,” he barked sharply after an endless second, stepping away from her as she laughed throatily.

“Let’s go, then.”

Chapter Text

Irina tapped her fingernails impatiently against the steering wheel as Jack let a curse word fly from where his head was located, somewhere under the hood of the car. Letting out a breath sharply, Irina stuck her head out the window, inquiring testily, “Any luck yet?”

Silence was the only response, and Irina reflected briefly on the irony of claiming your car had broken down in order to convince someone to give you a car, only to have that car actually break down with no help in sight. “Try it now,” Jack barked through the window, and Irina jumped slightly at the closeness of his voice. She turned the key in the ignition and was rewarded with… silence.

Jack looked at her in genuine confusion as she shook her head, then finally inquired, roughly, “Are you sure you have the key in properly?”

Her eyes flashed. “Quite sure, thank you.” At the continued confusion on his face she threw up her hands and exited the car, heedless of the fact that the door slammed into his side as she threw it open. He let another expletive fly, which gave her some perverse satisfaction. “Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate your superior key-insertion skills,” she suggested snappily, gesturing vaguely toward the inside of the car and angered as he actually slid into the drivers seat, reinserting the key as though there was a viable possibility she had done it incorrectly. As the car stayed silent he exited, slamming the door behind him.

“Well, I don’t know what you did,” he quipped resentfully, glaring at her.

“What I did?” she inquired, incredulous. “I didn’t do anything.” She suddenly shook her head. ‘Unbelievable. You’re still angry that Charles thought you were my uncle.”

He glared menacingly at her. “Some of us haven’t had multiple face lifts,” he ground out, but she merely smirked at his statement.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t had any work done.” She lowered her eyes, smiling mischievously as she licked her lips. “At least — not on my face.”

His eyes flashed downward before he could stop himself and she laughed delightedly.

“Honestly, Jack. All these years and you still can’t tell when I’m joking?”

She was almost sure that he was blushing, but it was impossible to tell in the darkness. He turned back to the car and she sighed, glancing at the open hood.

“Clearly I need to do everything myself,” she muttered, stepping around him to look at the engine. Within seconds she had disconnected several wires and begun to reconfigure them.

“STOP!” Jack thundered. She looked up at him blankly, at a genuine loss.

“Stop what?”

“How do I know you’re not going to blow us both up?”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. "I know what I’m doing.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

It took her a few moments to understand his meaning and when his implication hit her she felt sharp anger. She stood and advanced toward him menacingly, shaking with the sheer force of the effort not to strike him.

“You really are a fool,” she hissed. “Are you really so stupid that you don’t realize I could have had you killed twenty thousand times over the years if I’d only been able to— "

She stopped herself. Jack opened his mouth, then shut it, evidently at a complete loss. She felt a small flash of triumph, but it was empty. At a loss herself, she turned back to reconnecting the wires.

She gasped in shock as Jack pulled her away from the hood, and she whipped around to face him, anger evident on her face. “What?” she challenged dangerously but his anger was equal to hers and he retorted in kind.

“Why would you bother to have me killed? Who’s to say that you haven’t been waiting all this time to finish the job yourself?”

She scoffed. “You’re right, Jack. This is all a part of my elaborate plan to kill you. I certainly never expected to be found out so easily, but as usual your brilliance is too much for me.” At his recoil she smiled, and decided to get in another blow before he had time to react to that one. “You know, your reflexes are getting slow in your old age. There was a time you were able to respond to me in one second flat. Over the past few days you’ve been a miserable excuse for a sparring partner.”

“I’d avoid talking about age, Irina,” he retorted quickly and the fire in his eyes excited her more than she would ever admit. “You’re not getting any younger yourself.”

She smiled delightedly, to his vast annoyance. “That’s better,” she murmured, gazing at him as though she was ready to—

Jack quickly shoved any wayward thoughts from his mind. “What?” he demanded harshly.

He immediately regretted the question as Irina swayed closer to him, running a soft, lingering hand down his chest. He gulped, trying to maintain a stoic demeanor as her hand snaked slightly lower before coming to a halt as she inquired, breathlessly, “Do I look — old — to you, Jack?”

He struggled to maintain his composure. “Frankly, yes,” he lied convincingly. “You’ve really gone to hell over the past few years.”

Seeming unaffected, she laughed breathily, then stepped away from him and gazed at him speculatively, eyes full of fire. “As have you.”

That caused his mouth to snap definitively shut, and he saw a surge of triumph flash across her face. He longed to slap it off.

“I look old to you, Irina?” he challenged. He grabbed her wrist roughly and yanked her forward, then pulled her flush against him. To his chagrin she showed no degree of discomfort, merely smirked up at him.

“Charles certainly believed you were my uncle.”

“And you?” he demanded softly, trailing a hand deliberately up her bare arm, resolving that two could play at this game. “I look old to you?”

She licked her lips slowly as his hand caressed her collarbone. “You’re reasonably intelligent, Jack. You should realize that all those pesky wrinkles and your — rather dramatically — receding hairline are far more visible at this—" and to his dismay she moved her hips ever-so-slightly, “close proximity.”

“My- my hairline is not-“ Jack began, struggling to regain control and realizing suddenly that this was a game he was going to lose — and that he didn’t care nearly as much about that fact as he should have.

“But you’re mistaken if you think I was referring to your — rather lackluster — physical appearance when I said you’d gone to hell,” she continued softly.

“Oh? And do tell me what you WERE referring to, since I’m sure I couldn’t sleep tonight otherwise,” he tried to bark harshly, but it came out as little more than a whisper as he slipped a hand under the back of her shirt, trailing a finger up her spine.

She bit her lower lip and pressed tightly against him, not hindered by the fact that he still had her wrists captured tightly with one hand from brushing her leg slowly, deliberately, against his. He trembled involuntarily and cursed his weakness, expecting her to laugh and flash a triumphant smile. However, she did neither, just bit her lip tantalizingly.

“How ironic that you mention sleeping, since I was referring to your actions in the bedroom with my sister,” she replied in a breathless whisper. “Really, Jack,” she purred, continuing her work with her leg, “You used to have better taste.”

He fought against the almost irrepressible urge to show her exactly what he’d done with her sister right there on the ground. Instead he shoved her roughly from him, bitterly resenting his body’s weakness. “Of course,” he snapped. “I used to go for internationally renowned terrorists, whereas now—“

“Tell me, Jack,” Irina interrupted in that same deceptively calm voice, leaning forward and kissing his ear gently before whispering, “Is she as good as I am at knowing what you want? Does she know that you like it when—“

They both froze as they heard the sound of a car in the distance. Their eyes met in a moment of silent understanding as they rapidly evaluated the situation.

“You’re sure you can fix the car?” Jack inquired rapidly.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Then we can’t risk asking for help. It might be—"

She nodded in understanding. ‘And we’re — what’s the expression? Sitting ducks?” She turned from him, and seemed about to recommence fixing the car when he  slammed the hood down, nearly talking off her head. She whirled back toward him angrily. “What do you think you’re—"

She stopped as her eyes met his and he grabbed her, pulling her tightly toward him.

Irina moaned as their lips collided and opened, both battling for domination as her legs collided with the car. Jack lifted her onto the hood that had so recently been open and she greedily yanked him toward her, wrapping her legs around him. Seconds later she was in a nearly horizontal position, and she gasped for breath as Jack’s hand slipped underneath her shirt and he caressed her breasts slowly. She bit down on his lip gently, then pulled her mouth away and began to work on his neck. After another moment she roughly popped open a few buttons on his shirt, heedless of the fact that he might need them later.

She was distantly aware of a car pulling up beside them and registered the fact that it was probably one of Lazaray’s men and she was likely about to die with an odd detachment. It suddenly seemed unimportant. She knew from Jack’s sudden stiffness, though, that he had realized who the new car likely belonged to, too. Despite herself she let out a small moan as he began to pull away from her.

“Please,” she gasped breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”

Their eyes met for an endless second as he pushed a strand of hair out of her face. She was burning, flying as she pulled his face toward hers, and frantically arched toward him.

“Ahem,” they heard as someone exited the car. Irina gasped as Jack pulled away from her what appeared to be reluctantly, caressing her thigh as he did so. She shook her head, trying to clear it, wondering what had come over her a moment ago before shoving the unpleasant thought away. “You can stop the touching display now. I know who you are and this — rather disgusting — cover isn’t helping your case,” the uncannily familiar voice continued.

Irina blinked blankly at the words, and as Jack abruptly shoved completely away from her she suddenly and unexpectedly wanted to sob.

“Hello, Irina,” the voice continued, and she pushed all feeling away as the man paused. “Jack.” She snapped back to reality, determined to deal with the situation at hand — a world where she was about to die and Jack didn’t love her.

She sat up regally, not bothering to move from the hood of the car, and turned to face the man with the gun defiantly, face blank. Upon registering who it was, however, her jaw dropped and she felt almost speechless.

“Sark,” Jack barked.

Chapter Text

“Irina?” Sark demanded incredulously, completely ignoring Jack.

“Julian?” she replied in the same tone, forcing her mind off of Jack’s lips and onto the situation at hand and how to live through it. She could seduce her ex-husband later, provided they were both still alive. “What are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same question,” he replied, carefully, and Irina saw Jack’s gaze flicker to the gun Sark was still training on them. She met Jack's eye sharply, trying to warn him without words not to attempt anything foolish. Hoping he understood, she carefully evaluated her options and slid smoothly off the roof of the car. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack’s incredulous expression and fought against the urge to roll her eyes and scream at him that if anyone understood how Julian Sark worked it was her.

“I hadn’t heard that you were extracted,” she smiled softly, gazing at Sark with genuine affection. “Congratulations.” Seeing that he was about to warn her not to come any closer she quickly took three steps forward so that she was standing within five feet of him, continuing to look at him lovingly, confident that he wouldn’t shoot her.

“Irina,” Sark said, his voice low and dangerous, “I must warn you that—“

“Julian, if you could only know how long I’ve waited for this moment,” she cut him off, gently. “Surely warnings can come later. I’m well aware of the dangers Jack and I are facing at the moment but—“ she allowed a small furrow of confusion to flit across her brow, hoping that it looked real. “Surely I have nothing to fear from you?”

Sark opened his mouth to respond to Irina and was stopped in his tracks as Irina took the remaining two steps forward, embracing him as Jack looked on in total shock. Jack was, however, moderately amused to note that Sark’s expression must closely mirror his own. He quickly debated the merits of leaping forward and disarming Sark and decided against it, instead moving slightly closer to ensure that Sark didn’t hurt Irina. As Sark awkwardly returned her embrace with one arm, though, using the other to somehow keep his weapon trained on Jack, Jack was forced to admit to himself that the possibility of Irina being hurt seemed increasingly unlikely.

“Irina,” Sark began once more, and she pulled back slightly, a concerned — almost motherly, Jack noted with no small amount of resentment — look on her face.

“Julian, you’re much too thin,” she interrupted gently, reaching a hand up to caress his face. “I heard the CIA had captured you. I’ve been so concerned but I didn’t dare try to extract you until I had all the relevant information, and it was slow in coming. I commend your extractors on their acquisition. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their debt.”

Jack shook his head, completely baffled as to what she was attempting to do, and even more baffled by the fact that it seemed to be working.

“Irina, this is complicated,” Sark said, but his voice had taken on a conflicted note and he had lowered the gun.

She smiled sympathetically at him. “Our lives so often are. I remember my first interactions with you. You had just celebrated your 14th birthday. I knew even then what an extraordinary agent you would be. Do you remember Cairo?”

Sark smiled almost shyly, looking downward. “Yes.”

“I almost told you something then that I’ve been longing to say to you ever since, but—“ she looked down, a pretty picture of conflicted confusion and something else Jack couldn’t quite identify — but then he realized it was embarrassment.

She was good, he would give her that.

“Realizing now how close I was to never seeing you again after your capture, I realized I would need to tell you if I were to be fortunate enough to see you again. In fact, in trying to plan your extraction it was always in my head how I would tell you— you’ve been like a son to me, Julian. And I just wanted to — thank you,” she whispered, a single tear streaking down her cheek.

Sark turned away from her, clearly deeply conflicted as he ran a hand through his hair, muttering something that sounded remarkably like “goddamn it all to bloody hell.” Jack rolled his eyes but moved forward, ready to render the younger man unconscious.  Irina held up a hand warningly, though, shaking her head, and for some bizarre reason Jack decided to defer to her judgment, fearing he was making yet another mistake even as he stepped back.

Sark turned to face Irina and his face was blank again, which would have worried Jack had Irina appeared to be anything other than blissfully unconcerned.

“I assume from the fact that you’re still alive it was you who set the explosives in my Uncle’s factory,” Sark quipped quickly.

Irina nodded. “I would never deny it to you.”

“He thinks your dead, Irina. Both of you. When he finds out—"

“If he finds out,” she corrected lightly. Sark let out a tortured breath.

“Irina, it was my uncle who extracted me.”

“I suspected as much,” she replied after a small pause. “He mentioned his plans to me when I was working with him. I gave him the codes necessary to override the alarm system in the vaults.”

Sark closed his eyes, seeming to try to absorb the situation. “Well, I’m in a rather difficult position,” he stated calmly.

“Yes,” she replied, and he looked at her in surprise. “I won’t insult your intelligence by not pretending to understand what you’re talking about,” she continued quickly, quietly. “You’re working for your uncle. He sent you to find the person who killed me and blew up his factory. Doubtless you’re to return us to him so that he can kill us slowly.”

Sark gazed at her with respect. “I’ve always admired your deductive powers.”

Irina nodded slowly. “I do care about you, Julian. If you feel that you need to deliver us to your uncle, I won’t try to stop you.”

Jack gave an involuntary jerk and she turned her head to meet his gaze for a split second, warning him sharply with her eyes that he must do nothing.

Sark sighed, shaking his head. “I have a safehouse in Switzerland. I can take you there.”

“We’re trying to get to Paris,” Irina interjected and Jack wondered where she got the gall to bargain.

Sark shook his head vehemently. “That would be a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“My uncle is currently based in Paris. He has every man on his team scavenging France. You’ll never make it to Paris without being found. It’s a tribute to you both that you’ve made it this long,” he said, acknowledging Jack with a brief nod. “Let me take you to Switzerland, but — after that I can’t help you, regardless of —“

She nodded. “I understand.”

Sark gestured to the truck he’d pulled up in. “Get in the back. There should be some food and water. I’ll let you out when we get there.”

Jack weighed his options carefully.

He got into the truck.

“Okay,” Sydney mused aloud, tapping her fingers on the table at the restaurant impatiently. “We have to assume that my mother and Lazaray are still in France and that they’re most likely together in hiding. So the logical thing would be for one of us to go to Paris and the other to go to the South of France and check everywhere within a fifty mile radius of his destroyed factory.”

Vaughn nodded. “Sounds reasonable. Which would you like to take?”

Her eyes flashed lightly. “Paris.”

Irina sighed, rolling her eyes toward the rather high roof of the truck as Jack continued to gaze at her intently. Finally deciding that she'd had enough, she turned to him and demanded “What?” much more harshly than she’d intended.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, looking away, and she sighed again, making sure that the sound was audible this time. His eyes snapped back up to meet hers and she stared him down before grasping at his hand.

“Jack, you’ve been staring me for three hours straight. I asked you a question.”

He fought an internal debate before her eyes whether to tell her or not, and she fought back a smirk as she noted that he was using what he probably believed to be an indecipherable poker face. “I was marvelling at how you do it,” he finally replied shortly, pulling his hand away, and she blinked in surprise.

“Do what?” she questioned blankly and he fought the urge to shake her senseless.

“Twist everyone you meet around your little finger.”

“Oh,” she said, given pause momentarily. “A — gift.”

He gazed at her intently. “Yes, I imagine so.”

She angled her head slightly and felt the moment shift, almost imperceptibly. “It can be useful.”

“Very,” he replied, angling his head as well without seeming to realize he was doing so, and she seized her moment, grabbing his hand again.

“By the car — when I asked you not to stop, I had forgotten all about the danger,” she said bluntly, deciding to take a risk. “All I could focus on was how you felt against me.”

He looked down but did not pull his hand away. “Irina, stop this,” he said sharply, but she found some hope in his hand in hers, and, decided to continue.

“Jack,” she said, and her voice was compelling, causing his eyes up to come up and meet hers once more. “I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. It’s likely that I won’t. That being the case, I have nothing to lose. I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past thirty years, and—“

He scoffed, yanking his had away once more and sliding backward. “You’re hardly the only one, Irina.”

“And I always wonder how it might have been if—“ she continued softly, ignoring his outburst and inching toward him slightly as he continued to gaze at her blankly.

“If?” he heard himself asking and was surprised at how his voice, his body, seemed to be currently, suddenly, working independent of his mind as her hand came up to caress his cheek.

“If we had just been two people, Jack. If I had had the luxury of—“

“Of?” he heard himself asking and was astounded by the guttural tone in his voice as his head inched ever-so-slightly closer to hers.

“Choice,” came the whisper, and in spite of the fact that he felt quite certain he had no idea what she was even saying anymore, he didn’t care as her hand slowly, gently inched up his leg. Didn’t care and furthermore could barely breath—

“Kiss me, Jack.” He hesitated and she sighed, leaning back ever-so-slightly and closing her eyes as she whispered, “It has to be your choice. I can’t make you.”

Before he even knew what was happening his lips had slammed against hers and she was moaning against him, her hands caressing his back as his hand trailed down her leg. Impatiently she slipped her hands under his shirt, and he decided that they had already waited far, far too long for this moment-

The truck suddenly screeched to a halt and she cursed softly in Russian as Jack pulled away from her, a stunned expression on his face. “I apologize,” he muttered tersely. “That won’t happen again.”

“Jack, I-”

“Save it!” he barked sharply, and he was alarmed to notice that he was shaking, though whether from fury or something entirely different was momentarily unclear. “I truly do marvel at your abilities though. You’re so dangerous because you make people want to believe. That’s how you got to Sark and it's how you got to me.” He shook his head, and then repeated, “It won’t happen again.”

Chapter Text

Irina slid out of the back of the truck gracefully, grabbing Sark’s offered hand and allowing him to help her down. She squinted in surprise at the blinding sunlight before she turned her back to Jack dismissively. Instead, she focused her attention on the younger man, not removing her hand from his.

“Where, precisely, are we?” she questioned quickly and Jack fought the urge to roll his eyes at the fact that she seemed to believe Sark would answer her.

“Fifty-five miles to the south of Geneva, Switzerland,” Sark retorted unblinkingly and Irina smirked as Jack’s mouth dropped open. She quickly checked the expression however, as she continued to meet Sark’s gaze.

“What else should I know?” she inquired gently and Jack again fought the urge to roll his eyes at the idea that the young man would tell them anything pertinent.

To his shock, however, Sark seemed about to speak again, but then he snapped his mouth shut, gazing warily at Jack. “Could we perhaps—“

She nodded shortly. “Of course.’ She sighed almost imperceptibly as Jack made no move to give them space, then shrugged. “Shall we walk?”

Sark led her several feet away from Jack, who stood staring at them and feeling completely out of his element. He wondered if the sleep deprivation might not be getting to him, as things were making increasingly less sense. He gazed at Irina, who was leaning slightly forward, nodding intently at something Sark was saying in hushed, frantic tones.

“I understand,” he heard clearly before the dull and indecipherable murmuring resumed. Suddenly Sark reacted violently to something that Irina whispered, shaking his head as she continued to speak frantically.

Far sooner than Jack expected they were back beside him and Sark was opening the door to a modest two-story home. On taking a moment to actually notice his surroundings, Jack was forced to admit that it was beautiful, with flowering shrubbery surrounding the white home. It looked welcoming — almost like the house he and Laura had almost burned down so many years ago—

Jack quickly banished the unwanted thought, but as Irina caught his gaze, a small smirk on her face as her eyes laughed, he had the unpleasant feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Does it seem familiar, Jack?” she taunted lightly, and his suspicions were confirmed. He balled his hands into fists, resisting the urge to hit her only by thinking about what Sark would most likely do to him if he so much as tried.

“Don’t start,” he muttered warningly, and Sark smirked as he opened the door.

“I fear I’ve never told you both what a lovely couple you make,” Sark deadpanned lightly. Irina’s barked a small laugh, and Jack decided he had had enough. He grabbed Irina and shoved her into the nearest room with a door.

“Thank you so much for your help,” he barked sarcastically in Sark’s general direction, and the man's smirk intensified.

“Well — if you two can’t even wait for me to leave, who am I to judge?” Sark questioned cheerfully as Jack slammed the door shut. Whirling around to face Irina he was amazed to see her struggling not to laugh.

“What is so damn funny?” he bit out through clenched teeth.

“You,” she replied, allowing a very un-Derevko giggle to escape her.

“I fail to see—"

“Come now, Jack,” she interrupted him lightly, expression transforming into one of bored amusement. “Surely your vast powers of perception haven’t so deserted you that you don’t realize that you’ve just locked us in the bedroom? What must Julian think?”

Chapter Text

Jack flushed, though whether from anger or embarrassment, Irina was not entirely sure. “Where we find ourselves is irrelevant, as is what that— “ he paused, seeming to search for a savage enough word. “Boy thinks. I have questions for you, and you are GOING to answer them.”

Irina lifted her chin and smiled. “With pleasure.”

Jack seemed unprepared for her acquiescence. He blinked, just once, as she purred, ‘Surely I don’t surprise you?”

“Not at all,” he retorted sharply. “I’m just not certain where to start.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Your comebacks are improving.”

A half smile flickered across his face. “You always did bring out the best in me.”

A genuine smile flitted across her face without her permission. “And you in me.”

The air between them was suddenly charged, and Jack fought against the instinct to take a physical step backward, unwilling to give her even that small victory.  He shook his head to clear it, then returned to the subject at hand. “We should have just taken Sark out. I could have easily rendered him unconscious. Why did you stop me?”

The expression on her face was one of polite, mild confusion, but something lurked in her eyes that didn't quite match it. “I didn’t stop you.”

He looked at her sharply. “Oh, really? And what would you call it?”

“There wasn’t any time for us to discuss a plan of action as you may or may not have noticed,” she bit out sarcastically. “I certainly said nothing to stop you from taking any action you deemed necessary.”

“You know as well as I do that you didn’t need to speak to stop me,” he snapped, without thinking, and he was punished for it by the flash of triumph in her eyes.

“Really?” she questioned in a tone of manufactured confusion. “I was unaware of my vast influence.”

“You are many things, Irina,” he bit out dangerously, “but unaware in not one of them.”

She flashed him another brief but genuine smile. “I really must say that I find you very attractive when you’re all worked up, Jack. We used to know how to release tension quite productively.“

“That. Will. Do,” he thundered menacingly and she smirked, taking a step closer to him.

“Will it?” she murmured softly, gazing up at him with wide eyes. He cursed his weakness as he fought the definite urge to slam her onto the bed — the bed which he had been studiously ignoring.

“Yes,” he replied, hating how unsure his voice sounded.

She shrugged easily and stepped back, while Jack's mind whirled at her abrupt about-face. “Very well, then. I accept your thanks. Next question?”

“What are you talking about,” he sputtered.

She rolled her eyes. “Come now, Jack,” she replied shortly. “Surely you aren’t pretending that Sark didn’t help us?”

“That remains to be seen,” Jack retorted.

“Without him we’d be in Paris now, Lazaray’s prisoners or dead. So I accept your thanks for not allowing you to render Sark unconscious. Next question?” she repeated, gazing at him innocently.

He opened his mouth to retort, and was furious as he realized that he had completely forgotten his carefully thought out questions. Instead, he settled for barking the first thing that came to mind. “What did you and Sark discuss?”

Irina's expression instantly became guarded, but she answered him readily enough. “He’s returning to Paris now. It appears that Lazaray has no intentions of leaving his headquarters there, and so we need to find another way to get you to an American Embassy. For now, it would seem to be prudent for us to lie low here for a few days, since Lazaray currently has people in all major western Euopean cities. Julian is going to attempt to convince him of the futility of that and so we should be able to depart safely in about 48 hours. I'd personally suggest making for Italy; if all goes well we can part at the border. Other questions?”

“Only one,” Jack replied, and she smiled easily.

“By all means.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Her smile faded and she glared at him. “I’ve told you everything that concerns you. That is enough.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, Irina.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know what your problem is?” she questioned abruptly.

He rolled his own eyes. “I have no doubt of the fact that you’re about to enlighten me.”

“You’re too predictable. Do you know how many people would pay to be allowed to question me, and how much? And all you can come up with are ridiculous inquiries into an irrelevant conversation I had with Julian Sark? You should be ashamed.”

“I long ago ceased being ashamed of anything having to do with you,” he snapped.

“Oh?” she inquired breathily, and he stiffened as she walked up to him. She met his eye before she grabbed his hand and placing it, shamelessly, just above her breast. “Everything?”

‘Everything,” he replied at once, hoping that the slight tremor in his voice would escape her, even as he knew there was no hope of that whatsoever.

“Even your desire for me?” she whispered, stepping closer to him. He shuddered as her breath coursed hotly past his ear.

“I have no desire for you,” he proclaimed, through what could only be described as a heroic effort.

She looked pointedly downward. “Perhaps your mind should inform your body of that fact,” she smirked, then gasped as he suddenly, violently slammed her against the door of the room.

“Honestly, Jack,” she whispered demurely, fighting to hide both the small shivers of fear coursing through her and how thoroughly aroused they were making her feel. “There’s a perfectly good bed—“

“You WILL be silent!” he barked and she fought not to whimper as his grip on her tightened to the point of pain. Instead, she kept a defiant smirk on her face.

“You have a very strange way of expressing your attraction—“ she began, then cried out sharply as his hold tightened further. "That’s enough,” she said forcefully, abruptly changing her tone to one of command. “Let go of me or you will be sorry.”

He snorted in disbelief. “As though you could hurt me more?”

“Well, Jack, I certainly wouldn’t underestimate my ability to—“

“Save it, Irina,” he snapped, before, incredibly, tightening his hold further. “You think physical pain means anything to me, now? It’s nothing. It never was. Not compared to what you’ve done.“

“I never—“ she began, passionately, and was unable to suppress a small sound of alarm as he released her briefly, only to slam her roughly against the door once more, his eyes smouldering.

“You ALWAYS!” he thundered. “Not that I can complain,” he continued bitterly, years of pent up rage seeming to overtake his thinly manufactured control. “After all, it’s what made me such a good agent all these years. Pain means nothing.”

“Jack, please,” she whimpered. “You’re—“

“What? Hurting you? I hope I’m hurting you, you deserve to hurt. You—"

“You’re scaring me,” she cried out. “You’re scaring me! Do you think I care if you hurt me? You’re not the only one who is past feeling hurt. Don’t you realize that I could have stopped you already if I cared that you were hurting me? I want you to hurt me! I want you to be a human being again, but not like this! I never wanted this. Are you still such a child that you believe you’re the only one who has suffered? Don’t you understand that I-"

“I understand NOTHING about you!” he thundered. “NOTHING. And I don’t want to! I don’t want to, Irina, do YOU understand? My greatest dream is to never need to see you or listen to your lies ever again. You took away the only thing I ever loved, and it wasn’t enough for you to do it once, twice — you had to do it three times. I could almost — I was almost — and then I found out about Nadia.“

“Nadia?” Irina questioned in true disbelief. “What on Earth?“

“I can’t stand any more betrayal,” he hissed, suddenly loosening his hold on her, and a chill went through Irina at the deadly calm that had suddenly overtaken him. “I just want—“

“I know. I want it too,” she whispered, despite knowing it would only anger him more. She was stunned at how weak her voice sounded as she allowed her knees to give out, and began sinking toward the floor.

And suddenly he grabbed her once more, sinking down beside her. He searched her face desperately, though neither of them was completely sure what he was looking for. “Do you?” he demanded, and though his tone was harsh his hands were gentle, where they came around her, as he continued to search her face.

She nodded tearfully, and reached a hand toward him in a futile and incomplete gesture. She almost felt as though she was reaching for a life she might have had, if things had been different. “Yes,” she whispered passionately, a feral gleam overtaking her eyes. “I want it. There have been so many days — so many nights — and I’ve wanted so badly—”

Suddenly his eyes seemed to find what he sought, and his lips were upon hers roughly. His tongue duelled hers in an ageless battle,  and she felt herself falling downward into a spiral of pleasure. Jack's teeth bit her lower lip roughly and she let out a cry of pleasure, of pain, hardly able to separate the two. He lifted her up and deposited her with little grace onto the bed, tearing her shirt off her body as she moaned his name.

Chapter Text

Irina’s eyes flickered open, and for once she bitterly resented her ability to assess situations immediately. She was unable to even enjoy the weight of Jack’s arm splayed across her hipbone, as she knew, with a dreadful certainty, that things were going to be much, much worse when he awoke.

Reluctantly, fully aware that her slightest movement was likely to wake him, Irina attempted to slide away from the warmth of his arms. She nearly groaned in both pleasure and frustration as he reacted by pulling her closer. She waited for his grip to loosen once more and was rewarded far sooner than she would have liked for her patience as he released her, turning away. She slid soundlessly from the bed and began to grope for her clothing in the moonlight.

Her shirt was located quickly, and she fought the simultaneous urges to laugh and to scream as she digested the fact that it had been effectively torn to shreds in the heat of the moment. She threw it back down, and tried not to remember just how the shirt had come to that point. Think, Irina, she berated herself harshly. Think of something ELSE. Like what you plan to wear now—

She sighed in relief as she saw Jack’s shirt, and determined that, given the circumstances, she needed it far more than he did. She pulled it on quickly, then flushed at the realization that more than half the buttons had been popped off as she had torn the fabric off of him.

Irina sharply shoved all thoughts of what had taken place from her mind as she buttoned the shirt as far as she was able and grabbed her panties, relieved to see that they seemed relatively intact.

She tugged impatiently at his shirt and hated how her hands refused to stop trembling as she tried to navigate buttons which were suddenly far, far too small. Jack sucked roughly on her neck and she moaned, writhing against him, hardly registering her actions as she ripped the shirt open and splayed her hands across his chest, stroking, caressing as he trailed kisses downward, pausing for the merest fraction of a second before—

“Stop it,” Irina muttered aloud harshly, pulling the panties on and beginning to search for her pants, stunned to find them in a state of disarray rivalling that of her shirt. “How did we...“ she began incredulously, then flushed, fighting again to suppress the memories.

His tongue trailed slowly up her bare thigh and she shuddered in anticipation.  She couldn’t remember being divested of her pants and found she didn't care.  Jack's hand hovered at the waistband of her panties before sliding gently beneath the silky fabric... and suddenly he was gentle, so gentle, in sharp contrast to the bruising need of moments earlier. She whimpered his name, and as his hand slid lower she let out a low moan.

“Please,” she murmured throatily, her nails scratching roughly across his back as—

Irina jumped as the bed creaked suddenly and she resigned herself to the fact that Jack was awake, sensing it even in the absence of any visual confirmation. She picked up his khaki's from the floor tossed them onto the bed. She didn't turn to face him as she heard him pull them on.

“My shirt?” he inquired shortly.

“Mine...“ she began, and then stopped, at a total loss regarding how to phrase what must be said. “Has been rendered somewhat ineffectual,” she finished carefully. “I was forced to make do with yours.” She steeled herself for anything and turned to face him, unable to resist baiting him slightly. “Though, naturally, if you really need it—“

“No!” he replied at once in a horrified tone, and she fought not to laugh at the shocked expression that he couldn’t quite hide. “That is,” he amended, gaining control of himself once more, “I wouldn’t dream of depriving you of it.”

Irina wondered briefly if it was good or bad that he seemed to be taking this all so calmly, but didn’t need to wonder for long as he appraised her coolly.

“We both needed this,” he said roughly, pushing past her. “It means nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I could use a shower.”