Pairings: Jack/Irina, Irina/Cuvee, Sloane/Emily
Disclaimer: The characters you recognize do not belong to me. Everyone else is mine.
Summary: In October 1981, Jack doesn't return from his mission in North Korea . . .
A/N: The gorgeous dustjacket was made by natushka. Thank you!
Warnings: Character death, torture, violence, sex scenes. (Sounds likes a fun story, doesn't it?)
What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. – T.S. Eliot
A crash of thunder jolted Irina out of her reverie, and she realized she'd been staring at the same essay for ten minutes without actually reading the words. She took a sip of her now-cold tea and grimaced, then put the paper down and stood. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she let the frequent flashes of lightning illuminate her path to the kitchen. It was going to be a long night, and she needed something stronger than tea if she wanted to stay awake long enough to finish grading the papers.
And there was no question in her mind that they had to be finished tonight.
While she waited for the kettle to boil, she mentally compiled a list of all she needed to do before Jack's return tomorrow. She would order pizza for dinner (Jack's assignment was in North Korea; no doubt he'd want American food when he got back) and she could pick it up on the way back from the University. It had become tradition that she never cooked on Jack's first night home, and the three Bristows would eat takeout in front of the TV.
She also needed to confirm her TA could take her classes for the following day – she'd spent the last two weeks thinking of ways to welcome Jack home and intended to keep him in bed until Sydney got back from school. She thought about the scarves and candles she'd bought the day before, and smiled in anticipation.
The whistle of the kettle alerted her that the water was ready. She quickly made herself a cup of coffee and returned to the study.
Groceries, laundry, buy some more ice cream . . .
The phone was ringing. Glancing at her wristwatch, she frowned as she saw how late it was.
"Hello?"
"Laura? It's Arvin."
There was only one reason Arvin would phone at this time of night. Fear pierced through her, cold and sharp, and her fingers tightened around the receiver. Jack.
"Laura? Are you there?"
"Yes."
"Can I come over?"
If Jack had been injured, Arvin would tell her over the phone. If there'd been a small problem, or a delay, or anything as long as Jack would end up okay, Arvin would say it over the phone.
But he wanted to come over.
"Arvin, no—"
His tone was firm. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
Irina didn't know how long she stood listening to the dial tone. She felt numb as she replaced the phone in its cradle and slowly made her way to the living room to wait for Arvin.
Sydney's half-finished drawing was still on the coffee table, proclaiming Welcome Home Daddy in purple crayon. Everything Sydney drew these days was purple, which Irina had always preferred to the usual little girls' choice of pink.
She told herself she was over-reacting. Everything was fine. There was no reason to worry.
Except Jack was in North Korea and it was almost midnight and Arvin was on his way over to tell her something he couldn't say over the phone—
Light flooded the room as a car pulled into the driveway. Irina went to unlock the door, and watched Arvin run up to her. He stood in the rain and looked at her, his mouth opening and closing a few times before he shook his head.
"Laura, I don't know how to say this."
He didn't have to. She knew, had known since she picked up the phone. In a matter of minutes her life had come crumbling down around her, and it didn't once cross her mind that this was a life she'd never been supposed to have in the first place.
"When?" she asked.
"How much do you know already?"
"He led a team to North Korea." She realized she was leaning against the doorframe for support, but she couldn't let go, couldn't bring herself to do anything except look at Arvin and wait for him to tell her how her husband had died.
Arvin nodded. "He told me once that there were no secrets between you. I think he'd want you to know."
"Arvin."
"We heard the team had been captured and executed a few days ago."
A few days? Irina had been planning a reunion and Jack had already been dead. She sank to her knees and batted away Arvin's hands as he tried to help her up.
"I just got back from North Korea," Arvin continued. "The Agency sent me to bring back our men."
"I want to see him."
"No, you don't." Arvin knelt beside Irina, and this time she didn't push him away. "Laura – trust me. You don't."
"You don't get to tell me what I do or do not want to do!"
"He was tortured." Arvin's tone was gentle, but it didn't matter. News like that could never be delivered gently. "I'm sorry, Laura."
Tortured.
Irina knew exactly what the North Koreans were capable of. She'd spent two weeks there as part of her education. For all she knew, she'd trained with the people who'd killed Jack.
Something niggled at the back of her mind. Why hadn't her handlers informed her of Jack's death? Surely they knew before the CIA did.
"Someone from the Agency will be in touch tomorrow," Arvin was saying. "But I wanted to be the one to tell you. I –"
Irina knew that Arvin had to be in pain as well – he was Jack's best friend – but at the moment she was too numb to feel anything.
"Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to stay the night?"
She shook her head. "No, you can go. I need some time. I – This is surreal."
"If you need anything—"
"Thanks." Irina got to her feet. She said nothing else as Arvin returned to his car. Long after he'd driven off, she was still standing in the open doorway, watching the rain fall.
Jack was dead.
No matter how many times she repeated the words in her head, they still didn't make sense. Jack couldn't be dead. She needed him. Sydney needed him.
He wasn't allowed to be dead.
Even as she realized the futility of the thought, she felt the bile rise in her throat and rushed to the bathroom. Kneeling in front of the toilet, she retched until her stomach was empty. Then, her energy spent, she collapsed on the tile floor and sobbed.