June, Los Angeles

Irina woke with the certainty that she was not alone in the bedroom. Keeping her eyes closed, she concentrated on breathing evenly as she feigned sleep. She heard the other person move slowly across the room, heard the soft rustle of clothing, the swish of fabric as the bed sheets were pulled back. She felt the mattress dip slightly, and then there was a warm hand curving over her hip.

"This is a nice surprise."

She smiled at the sound of his voice, then rolled over to face her husband. "Hello, Jack."

His hand stroked the expanse of bare skin at her waist. He frowned thoughtfully. "There's a beautiful woman in my bed; I'm not quite sure what to do with her."

"I have a couple of suggestions."

He smiled, then kissed her gently. "If you'd told me you were coming, I'd have left the office earlier."

"That would have spoiled the surprise." They kissed again; Irina found that she'd missed being in Jack's arms more than she'd realized before. It was always easier to lie to herself when they weren't together. But now, like this, she couldn't.

"I thought we couldn't meet," Jack said.

"I changed my mind."

He nipped at her throat. "I'm glad."

Irina let him kiss her for a moment longer, then she shifted away from him slightly. He didn't look pleased, but didn't say anything. Irina ran her fingers over his face, his shoulders, his chest. "How are you?" she asked.

"Fine." He caught her hand and raised it to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles.

"Jack, you were in prison for a year—"

"I'm okay, Irina."

"Don't pretend it doesn't matter, Jack."

He sat up, scowling. "I don't want to talk about it."

She sat up too. "I tried to get you out."

He looked at her, and she wondered if he believed her. Then he nodded, and she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her, one she hadn't even realized she was carrying.

"How is Sydney?" she asked.

"She lost two years of her life. It's been – difficult." Jack's expression changed slightly. "How much do you know about what happened to her?"

Irina told him about seeing Sydney in Rome, and the months following that meeting. "She wanted the procedure done, Jack. She said it was the only way to get her life back."

Jack took her hand again. "I'm glad you had that time with her," was all he said, and pulled her closer so he could kiss her.

"Wait, Jack." She'd spent months agonizing over whether or not to do this, and in the end she'd decided she had to. Twenty years earlier she had made the mistake of not trusting her husband, of trying to do things on her own. It was not a mistake worth repeating. She would give him this secret, the one she'd carried for far too long. "There's something I need to tell you."

He nodded for her to continue.

She took a deep breath. "When I was extracted in 1981 – I was pregnant, Jack. I gave birth to our daughter in that prison in Kashmir."

His fingers tightened on hers. "Our daughter?"

She nodded, fighting back tears. "She was so small, smaller than Sydney. I held her for just a moment, before she was taken away."

The muscles in Jack's face tightened and he said nothing for a long time. Irina couldn't bear to guess at what he was thinking. When he spoke again, his tone was gentle. "Irina, why didn't you tell me before?"

"You didn't need another reason to hate me."

"I don't—" Jack stared at her. "Were you alone? Was it difficult?"

"My sister was with me. Elena. She took Nadia away."

"Nadia." Jack whispered the name almost reverently.

"Jack, there's more." This was the part she least wanted to tell. "A few weeks before my extraction, I was ordered to seduce Arvin Sloane."

Almost immediately, his expression darkened. "And did you follow these orders?"

She nodded once.

"So Nadia might not be my child after all." He let go of her hand.

"She is yours! I knew I was pregnant before—"

"Before you fucked my best friend."

"They were concerned about my loyalty. I would have done whatever they asked—"

"So you could prove yourself the good little KGB agent?"

"So I could stay with you and Sydney!" She climbed off the bed and began to get dressed. "I was wrong to come here."

"Wait," Jack said.

Irina didn't look at him, but continued dressing, pulling a sweater over her head. Jack got out of bed and grabbed her arm.

"You can't just say that and expect me not to react," he said.

"I know." She looked at him now, and felt a sharp ache in her chest as she registered the betrayal in his eyes. Was there anything she could do that wouldn't hurt him? They'd come so far in that year of working together, and now she'd ruined it. "I'm sorry," she said eventually, well aware that the apology was far too inadequate, but it was all she could offer.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"When, Jack? When we thought we'd lost Sydney?" She shook her head.

"So why now?"

His grip on her arm was tight, and Irina wanted nothing more than to rewind and start the evening over.

"Irina?"

"She's in danger. I don't know anymore if it's better to just leave her wherever she is, or if the only way to keep her safe is to start looking for her again." She shrugged weakly. "Sloane's trying to find her."

"There's your answer then."

"He won't find her. Only you can do that."

"Me?" His tone was skeptical.

She thought of the stone slab in the desert, saw the words that had been written on it as clearly as if they were in front of her now. Could she trust him with this secret too? Yes, she decided; she had no other choice.

"Rambaldi wrote that only the Passenger's father could find her—"

"Rambaldi again?"

"Jack, please, just listen."

He released her arm and sat on the edge of the bed.

"There's a prophecy about the Passenger – Nadia – and the Chosen One. They'll fight, and one of them will die." Irina shivered, though not from cold. "But not until after we – you and I, Jack – not until after we destroy each other."

Jack just stared at her, incredulous. "You believe this prophecy?"

"Jack, Rambaldi saw things—"

"Not all prophecies come true." He looked at her a moment longer, then stood again. When he touched her this time, he was gentle. "Irina."

She said nothing.

His lips brushed her cheek. "We're not going to destroy each other. I'm not going to pretend I'm not mad about – about Sloane – but I love you."

She met his gaze. Yes, there was pain in his eyes, but there was love too. Irina blinked back sudden tears.

"Now, it was a really lonely year," he continued. He slipped his hands underneath her sweater. "I've missed you."

"Jack—"

"I know. We have a minefield of things to work through, Irina, but surely they can wait until the morning?"

"Yes." She smiled, breathing out a relieved sigh. "I've missed you, too."

"And?" He pulled her closer.

"And I love you."

"Really? Prove it."

Laughing, she pushed him back onto the bed.

A long time later, she lay with her head pillowed on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. He was running his fingers slowly through her hair.

"Do you think we can resume our monthly meetings?" he asked.

"It's too dangerous. I don't want you in prison again."

"I won't get caught."

"I've heard that before." She propped herself up on her elbow. "And to be completely honest, meeting once a month isn't good enough for me."

She could see he was trying hard not to smile. "I see. Did you have something else in mind?"

"Well, I know Sydney already likes the house in Vladivostok."

Jack's hand trailed over her thigh. "I've always wanted to go to Vladivostok."

Things were not perfect, Irina thought; things would probably never be perfect, but Irina felt strangely at peace. She had not lost everything she thought she had.

For the first time since seeing that stone slab in Tehran, she felt something she could only describe as faith. Not in Rambaldi, but in her family.

"I love you," she said again.

"I know," Jack replied, and she could see in his eyes that he did.

The End.