Hope
Irina POV, companion piece to Redemption
"He is my hope." Irina POV, companion piece to "Redemption."
~*~*~
He'll never forgive me. Never.
There's no reason why he should. A few months of cooperating with the CIA, living in a sunless cell, isn't nearly enough penance for all the pain he suffered at my hand. I could apologize until the world comes to an end, but that still wouldn't negate the fact that he doesn't trust me, quite probably hates me.
It's over between us, has been over since the day I left him and Sydney in the wake of all my deception. He had loved me then, loved me with a passion and intensity that often left me breathless. But deceitful double agents don't deserve a love like that. He figured that out when I left him, though I'd known it long before. And now, even though the attraction is still there, no amount of reminiscing about past love and happiness that we shared could bring us back together.
I know this, and most days I can almost accept it, accept that the one man I ever truly wanted, needed, is out of reach forever. And yet, on days when the tension lessens and those brown eyes relax, almost revealing the Jack who knew how to laugh, how to be happy, I have a hard time reminding myself of those facts.
He smiles, just a little, and all of my guilt is swept away by something far more dangerous-hope.
Irina the KGB agent doesn't know the meaning of the word. She's seen too much, done too much, to understand anything but pain and lies. But Irina the woman is well acquainted with hope.
He is my hope.
No matter how much I was required to deceive him, I never lied about my feelings for him. At times it was damn near impossible to remember which part of my life was real, and which was just an act I was forced to play, as part of my assignment. But then Jack would take me in his arms, kiss me gently, and I'd allow myself to believe that someday, I wouldn't have to hide anything from anyone. Especially him. I dared to hope that things would change, could change.
But you can't change reality.
The first, and last, time I saw Jack cry was on the day of my "funeral." He held Sydney in his arms, looking down at the headstone with "Laura Bristow" engraved in it, and wept as though his reason for living was gone. At that moment, I felt hope as I'd never felt it before. If he loved me that much, he would sense my presence, turn, see me from my hiding spot. He'd take me in his arms, I'd explain, and everything would be all right.
But it wasn't all right. Nothing has been all right since.
I can't change what I've done, or who I am. I can't change the fact that I took Jack's heart and tore it to pieces as part of my "job." All that has past can't be undone, no matter how much I hope. I must live with my actions and their consequences. I must watch him every day without being able to touch him, to hold him, give us both the comfort we've been missing without each other.
But when he looks at me, with that unique Jack mix of loathing and longing in his eyes, I begin to let myself hope again. Hope that one of these days, he'll just look up and see me, the real me, not the façade that he's remembered for so long. He'll truly see me, and for the first time in what seems like eternity, I'll know how it feels to be all right. Truly all right.
end
Posted by Carrie on 12:38 PM