July 24, 2002

near the Saltos de Petrohue, Chile

Over the phone's speaker, Irina could hear shooting - faraway and tinny and more terrifying than if it had been aimed at her. She clicked the transmit button. "Bluebird, what's happening?"

Her only answer was static. Irina raised her eyes to Jack's; his face was still and almost unreadable, a sign that he was having trouble controlling his emotions. But he remained motionless, positioned at the doorway of the Llanqinue laboratory's basement, his hands on his weapon.

She tried once more. "Can you report?"

A few more seconds of silence followed, during which Irina could hear nothing but her pounding heart and one short indrawn breath from Jack. Then the speaker squealed back into life, speaking in Sydney's voice. "The control center is clear. You guys can move."

Irina breathed out, giving in to her smile. "Done."

"And stop worrying!" This unofficial communication was obviously meant to be the last for a while.

"The control center has twelve guards instead of two, but we're not supposed to worry," Jack muttered, slinging his weapon over his shoulder.

"She can handle herself," Irina said, but what would have been an argument two months ago was different now; Jack nodded, acknowledging Sydney's skill, and Irina had made no attempt to disguise her own fear.

They moved through the cinderblock hallway to the storage facility they sought. Their mission was, in Irina's opinion, simple almost to the point of dullness: set C4 charges on the Triad's stockpile of viral weapons, get clear and detonate. None of the viruses were airborne, so the heat of the explosion would provide an effective, if low-tech, means of destroying them all. Supposedly, this was to prevent biological warfare by terrorist groups; in reality, of course, it was simply designed to prevent the Triad from challenging the Alliance's power.

Meanwhile Sydney - Irina was growing accustomed to the name - had to try to use the lab's network links to the Triad in an attempt to download an incredibly ambitious array of information. Too ambitious, in Irina's opinion. Jack would no doubt be surprised to learn that she'd spent an hour trying to talk Sloane out of the plan, convinced that her daughter would have trouble completing her mission and evacuating the facility before the explosives would need to be detonated. Sloane had simply smiled and nodded and made polite chit-chat while insisting that he was certain Sydney wouldn't fail.

The plan Irina had evolved had an endgame, simple to the point of purity: Reunite with her daughter; bring her into the SD-6 fold in order to simultaneously win Sloane's trust and get both her daughter and herself closer to the collected works of Milo Rambaldi; then subvert Sloane's authority and claim SD-6's power for herself. But this plan - unlike almost any other in Irina's life - had failed. Sloane anticipated her efforts to a degree nobody else ever had; his ability to find Irina's sources, predict her moves, was both uncanny and infuriating.

Worse, he had first claim on Sydney's heart and loyalty. Irina had not planned for that contingency because she had been unable to imagine such a thing.

Sloane had frustrated Irina almost past the point of endurance, but the only person she could ever have confided her concerns to was Jack - and she did not intend to reacquire the habit of confiding in Jack.

Fortunately, the lab appeared to only have posted extra guards in the control center; she and Jack made their way unopposed to the storage facility. Once they broke the lock and went inside, they saw only crate after crate, stacked for transport. Irina walked up to one and pried off one of the plywood boards; through the sawdust, she saw a bright-red biohazard symbol. Jack glanced over at her - sometimes it was a bad sign, when a plan unfolded too easily - but she shrugged. "We'll trust our luck."

To her surprise, he laughed. "Our luck?"

"Point taken. Sydney's luck, then."

Explosives were among her specialties. She worked as quickly as she efficiently could, setting the C4 charges on the crates - and mentally racing Jack, who obviously liked to be methodical in such matters. The approach had much to recommend it, of course, but Irina had long since learned the ample dimensions of her own ability to play with fire.

Jack frowned at her once. "It wouldn't kill you to double-check."

"Don't be afraid. It won't kill you if I don't."  He clearly wanted to respond to the taunt, but he thought better of it and returned to his work. Jack no longer had quite such a short fuse when it came to dealing with her; Irina told herself she should find that a relief.

She finally set her last charge in place and lifted her head triumphantly. "How much longer will we be here?"

Jack said, "As long as it takes to-"

They both froze as heard it - the hard metal click of a cocked trigger. Irina dived for the floor, landing the same moment as Jack, the same moment that gunfire razed through the room.

Splinters and glass and sawdust richocheted in the room, that and the echoing gunshots. If a bullet hit one of the explosive charges, she and Jack would die instantly - and Sydney with them. Irina rolled over to pull her gun into position. Jack had already gotten to his knees and was using the crates for cover to fire back.

"How many?" she called, in Russian.

"Four," Jack answered in the same language.

She knew she didn't have to tell him what she was doing; he would expect her to move around to the other side of the crates, so they could triangulate the guards. As she slid along the floor, she heard a shout, a thud and Jack's voice saying, in English now, "Three."

Irina felt a surge of satisfaction; there was almost nothing she liked better than a fight she was sure she could win. In another instant, she reached her goal and began firing. Jack, responding to the sound of her rifle, accelerated his own attack. They didn't stop until they were certain they were the only ones shooting.

After a few seconds of silence, Irina rasped, "I don't hear others approaching."

"You finish the explosives," Jack said, acknowledging her speed. "We have to accelerate our departure." At least we bought Sydney another few minutes, Irina thought as she placed the C4.

Once they were running for the exit - and to the helicopter that would pull them out, where Sydney no doubt waited for them - Jack yelled, "We'll have to check for contamination."

Irina nodded, remembering the glass splinters, no doubt from test tubes that had been broken during the gunfight. They ran from the basement and saw the helicopter - taking off without them. She had a flash of Sydney's face above them, stricken as she leaned out the door, either looking at her parents or the two trucks full of guards driving toward them at top speed.

"Through the building," Irina said. Jack understood her immediately, as she'd known he would; they both turned and ran back into the basement, moving at top speed, ducking around barrels and crates to make it to the other exit. The driveway didn't reach that far, so that gave them their only hope.

Behind them, she heard shouts and curses; a bullet slammed into a doorjamb she and Jack were running through. Irina smiled.

Jack hit the door to the back exit an instant before she did, but he grabbed her arm and flung her forward, trying to maximize her space from the building. Irina let the momentum take her, let herself fall toward the dusty ground even as Jack held up the detonator and -

Fire exploded all around them, searing the air, heating her clothes, almost blinding in its light, even through the hands she'd clapped over her eyes. Irina could hear nothing, could scarcely breathe, but Jack grasped her arm, and she knew that the plan had worked. They'd succeeded in blowing up the lab, the virus - and the guards who'd pursued them by running straight into the building she and Jack had been able to destroy.

She stumbled to her feet as quickly as she could, Jack just behind her. His face was painted black with soot, with a stripe over his eyes where he'd no doubt held  a protective arm. Well, Irina thought, at least we're camouflaged. And the freezing early-morning air of Southern Chile in winter actually felt good to her skin, now. After a few minutes, Irina could hear again; the speaker at her waist was calling, in Sydney's voice, "Kestrel? Blackbird? Are you there?"

Irina wanted to answer, but she was coughing too hard. Jack took it from her and said roughly, "We made it out, Bluebird. We're headed into the woods now."

"Return to the lab," Sydney urged. "We can come back for you."

"Under no circumstances are you to come back," Jack shouted - whether for emphasis or because of post-explosion deafening, Irina couldn't tell. "The Triad will have air support here within minutes. Your mother and I will travel overland to the alternate pickup. We'll go radio-silent after this."

"Do either of you need medical attention? We can have that waiting, the second you get there." Sydney sounded more nervous than Irina had heard her since she began at SD-6, but she was maintaining control.

Jack ran his hands over his arms and his chest, checking not just for injuries but, Irina realized, for contamination by the test tubes. She did the same, working her way up from her ankles, finding no tears in her clothing, no blood.

Until she glanced at her lower arm, and saw the twinkle of a small piece of glass. Irina drew it out quickly; her adrenalin level was still so high that she felt nothing. Jack, startled, stepped closer to examine the shard.

He said, "That could be anything. From one of the windows."

"Look how thin it is." Irina held it up. The shard still showed a bit of the original curve of the tube. "It didn't come from a window."

The speaker called again, "Blackbird? Does your team have injuries?"

Irina's eyes met his. Jack took a deep breath and picked up the speaker. "One member has potential viral contamination. Have all known antidotes available at the alternate pickup."

Sydney said only, "Your ETA?"

"Two days," Irina said. It would be a hard hike, but if she didn't get sick - and she wouldn't - they could make it. Jack raised an eyebrow; however, instead of disagreeing, he nodded. "We'll see you there then."

"Going radio silent now," Sydney answered. After a brief hesitaton, she added, "Good luck."

The phone went dead, and Irina was alone with Jack in the Chilean forest. She readjusted her gun and her pack. "We should begin immediately."

He paused, and if it had been any man but Jack, Irina would have sworn he was concerned. "We could move toward one of the towns. Maybe steal a vehicle."

"The Triad will be sweeping the roads; it's not worth the risk. There's no guarantee I'm infected, and even if I am, most of these viruses take days or even weeks to act. I can hike to Puerto Montt. Let's move." Irina turned away from him and walked into the forest.

**

For the first half-day, the hike was ordinary, even pleasant. The lake region of southern Chile was hilly terrain, difficult to traverse, but Irina had made harder journeys; at least the scenery was beautiful - Volcan Osorco towering in the east toward the Andes, pine forests sprawled out beneath them as they got closer to Llago Llanqinue - and the worst danger was past.

And, of course, she wasn't alone.

Jack stayed slightly behind her, allowing her to set their pace. He was experienced enough not to waste his breath or hers on idle chatter, so they traveled in a silence that - no denying it - was almost companionable.

Not that she liked the man, of course. But he could be relied on, when it suited his purposes.

For decades she'd hated Jack Bristow with all the considerable strength of her soul; there had been days, months, even years when the mere fact of his continued existence burned away at her like acid, and she had thought it impossible to keep breathing in a world poisoned by his presence. Only the thought of revenge had kept her going.

But once Irina had learned that Jack had not planned to take her child from her - that she had lost her daughter through the terrible vengeance of nations and not her husband's malice - her feelings toward him had changed. Nothing would ever dull her contempt for the way he had treated her, or her rage at having been used and thrown aside. But in the place of the monster she'd hated was left this man: gray, middle-aged and harnessed in SD-6's yoke. As she'd told herself long ago, the saboteur who had hurt her was merely a cog in a machine.

At times, Jack could prove useful. For all that his relationship with Sydney appeared to be permanently damaged, Irina knew that her daughter would be crushed if her father died.

So she left him alive, despite the fact that this meant getting used to having him around. Somewhat.

As the sun reached zenith, they came to a small river; without having to discuss it, they each stopped and set down their packs. Irina crouched by the riverside to finally wash the soot from her face, and Jack did the same a few paces away.

"You know," he said between splashes, "you've been slowing down slightly for the past ninety minutes. Maybe as much as a half-mile per hour."

The cold water was a welcome shock to her still-angry skin; Irina sluiced her face with the mountain stream once more, taking a purely physical pleasure in the sensation, before bothering to reply to Jack. "That's only your best guess. I'm sure you're exaggerating."

"Yes, that's what I'm known for, wild guesses with no basis in fact." Jack went back to washing his own face. "If you begin to feel sick, tell me. Don't go through the brave-soldier routine."

He hadn't been taunting her; he'd been asking after her, without appearing to do so. Irina risked a sideways glance at him. At the moment, Jack was scouring his hands with a bit of pumice he'd found on the riverbank, which wasn't a bad idea. His profile was outlined against the emerald-green water. She'd always thought Jack had a striking profile, with his straight nose and strong chin. And that way you really didn't notice the ears. He was in even better physical shape than he had been as a young man; before sunrise that morning, when they'd been suiting up for the raid, she'd seen him in a black undershirt that outlined his firm biceps and his broad back, and she'd had to work not to stare.

The damnable perversity of desire. How could she still feel drawn to a man she hated? In the past several years, of course, she'd known nights when hatred added its own darkly intoxicating thrill to sex - but that couldn't explain her reaction.

Perhaps it was simply natural. Pavlovian. His body had given her pleasure long ago; only at her angriest had Irina been able to deny that they'd been good together in bed. So maybe the kick of adrenalin she sometimes felt when he was near was instinct, no more, no less.

So, then, why didn't he seem to feel it? That more than anything was what annoyed her. Unless, of course, he was only being as discreet as she was.

There were ways around that.

Irina sat back on her heels and peeled off her jacket, then the black sweater she wore underneath. Only a beige camisole remained, its thin fabric clinging tightly to her skin. Without so much as glancing at Jack, she slowly rinsed her arms, the nape of her neck, the skin between her breasts.

After a few moments, she no longer heard Jack splashing. She smiled a little, but simply kept at her task. The mountain-spring water and cold air set her shivering, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

When she was done she turned to Jack, who quickly glanced down, in a poor effort to conceal that he'd been watching. "Jack?" she said softly.

His voice was low as he answered. "What is it?"

"Throw me a granola bar. I'm famished." It took all Irina's strength not to laugh as Jack grumpily gave her the food and resolutely refused to watch her getting dressed again.

That's more like it, she thought, still shivering as she began pulling the sweater back on.  It was only fair, that he should have his turn of wanting and wishing and being denied.

**

By mid-afternoon, Irina was still shivering, and she couldn't lie to herself - or Jack - any longer. "I don't feel good," she said, stopping in place.

Jack frowned as he edged down the last slope of hill to reach her. "What's wrong?"

"Chills, and perhaps some fever. We've been walking so quickly that I can't be sure whether I'm simply flushed from the hike, but - I think it's fever." Irina brushed a few loose, sweaty tendrils of hair from her forehead. "No other symptoms."

Yet, she thought.

After a momentary pause, Jack put one of his hands on Irina's forehead. "Fever," he agreed, before reaching down to take her pulse. "Elevated, but again, that could be the hike."

Their eyes met. Irina feared few things, but illness - severe and crippling and, most damnably, beyond her control - was one of them, and she suspected he could see it in her face. "You were right, Jack. We should have stolen a vehicle. We could have been in Puerto Montt before nightfall."

He didn't rub it in. "We'll do that at our next opportunity. But at this point we're several hours' hike from the nearest main road. Can you make it that far?"

"Only one way to find out," she replied, and began downhill once more. Jack rejoined her, but now he was walking by her side.

**

Irina watched every moment as the sun went down across Llago Llanqinue. By that point, she had reason to suspect it might be the last sunset she'd see.

The fever was already spiking, making her shake and sweat. The granola bar, and everything else she'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours, had long since been lost. Jack had tended to her with army-medic efficiency; now, with one of her arms pulled across his shoulder, he was steering her down the hill at what she knew was a painfully slow rate. As darkness fell, he said, "We'd make better time if I carried you."

"Save your strength. One of us needs it. If we're both useless before we find shelter, we're lost."

It can only be a matter of time, Irina thought, before he leaves me. That's the smart tactical move: get the injured agent to a secure position, send the faster agent ahead to the meeting point and safety, and come back to help - if help is possible. I would have left him long before now. 

But Jack kept moving, bearing as much of her weight as she allowed, more and more as they went on.

Perhaps an hour after nightfall - Irina could no longer be sure of her ability to estimate time - Jack said, "We're in luck."

"Our luck?" she murmured, and was rewarded with a quick half-smile.

"More like Sydney's luck. Look where we are." Irina lifted her head and squinted; in the moonlight, she could see what looked like a hut on stilts. "No lights. It's probably someone's summer place, for fishing."

"Sydney's luck." It felt natural, wishing on Sydney as though she were a star.

Together they went up the steps, which were cheaply built, in Irina's opinion. Why else would they be shaking like that? Good thing Jack was still steady, his arm still firmly around her.

The interior was just one room, with a table, two chairs and a cot. Irina sagged gratefully down onto the cot as Jack lowered her, then held out her hands for a sip from her canteen. Even as she drank, the water felt almost painfully cold, and she could trace its way down her throat into her rebellious stomach. Mercifully, she didn't vomit again.

Jack set up the small lantern from his pack, then pulled out the phone. Irina said, more loudly than she'd spoken in hours, "What are you doing?"

"Breaking radio silence." Jack's face was grave. "Irina, you could have any of a host of deadly viral agents, and we have no idea of knowing which, or what to do for you. All we know at this point is that the disease you've contracted works extremely quickly. You need medical help, and you need it now."

"If you break radio silence, there's every chance Triad operatives are listening. If you broadcast our position, you lead them straight to us."

"I'm willing to take my chances."

"So am I," Irina said. "But Sydney will come as well, and I'm not willing to take hers."

Jack took a deep breath. "These viruses aren't designed for rapid recovery. They're not designed for any recovery. We aren't going to make it to Puerto Montt. Rescue is going to have to come to us."

"To me, you mean. You should go. You should have before now."

"Absolutely not." Apparently that was all the discussion Jack cared to give the matter. His motive twisted in Irina's mind, hot and painful, and for a moment she considered throwing the canteen at him.

Instead she said, "If you like, I'll write Sydney a note. I'll explain that it was my choice. She won't blame you."

Jack stared at her, his expression unreadable. Irina felt the hut sway on its stilts, then realized it wasn't really swaying. She lowered herself carefully onto the cot, her eyes never leaving his face.

Finally, he replied, "I won't leave you behind. That's not open for discussion. Breaking radio silence is. I don't want to endanger Sydney any more than you do, but she has mobility and backup, and you need assistance."

Irina did some mental calculations. "I worked with the Triad briefly in '96. If their search patterns hold true to form, they'll decrease the frequency of their area sweeps twenty-four hours after the incident."

"Sunrise tomorrow." Jack leaned back against the far wall. "Agreed. But if you change your mind -"

"I won't." She pulled the cot's scratchy blanket over her. For his part, Jack began unfolding his bedroll on the floor.

Why won't you leave me? Irina thought. Nothing stopped you before. But she didn't want to hear the answer, so she didn't ask.

**

The hours passed in a heated, uncertain daze - her fever rose, then rose again, blurring thought, sensation and reality itself. Irina tossed and turned at first, but then that required too much strength, and she simply lay still. Her lungs were beginning to burn in her chest, a feeling she'd never known before, and in and of itself more terrifying than all the rest put together.

She said nothing, save to ask for water, and Jack always put the canteen into her hands the next instant.

Around midnight - at least, she thought maybe it was midnight - Irina woke from a short nap to feel the chill of sweat on her skin and an unaccustomed clarity of mind. "Jack," she whispered. "My fever broke."

He sat up beside her; only then did she realize he'd moved his bedroll next to the cot. "Good. That's good. I hadn't expected that."

"It's just for a few minutes. My temperature will go back up. You know that as well as I do."

"We just have to make it until dawn," he said, doing something with the canteen she couldn't see; then a cool, damp cloth patted her forehead, infinitely soothing. "If this buys you an hour, then it's good news."

She wanted to take the washcloth from him - it felt so good - but even trying to raise her arm was too much effort. The fever had left her kitten-weak and wrung-out. Jack would simply have to keep doing what he was doing.

He did, patting down her arms and her neck. As he carefully washed one hand, stroking each finger in turn, she said, "Do you think Sloane will let Sydney come back for us?"

"What's that?" Jack was distracted, cleaning the small cut where the infection had entered her.

Sloane had too much power over Sydney. Too much. But that was a discussion Irina couldn't bear until she had her strength. "Not tonight," she said. "Not now." If Jack was confused by her disjointed words, he gave no sign.

**

Within an hour, the fever was higher than ever before, and with it came ghosts.

Irina had known illness like this before, and she knew the tricks fever played with the mind - stitching together past and present, reality and fantasy and nightmare. But knowing that didn't make the tricks less haunting.

The Triad had Sydney - no, they didn't, she knew they didn't, but then she really didn't know that, did she?

"Is Sydney in trouble?"

"No, she's fine. Sydney's safe. We'll see her in the morning, when she comes to get us."

"Safe," Irina repeated, trying to use the sound of the word to make it real, more real than the phantoms tearing at her mind. "Sydney's safe."

Jack said, "Let me call her."

Her laughter splintered through her dry throat. "Just like you - waiting until my guard is down."

"I'm sorry." Even in the darkness, she could see his profile. Such a nice profile.

"Sydney needs to be safe." Irina's smile made her parched lips crack, but she didn't care. "How did we create her? Two people like you and me?" She could see Rambaldi, the alchemist at work, making gold from lead.

Jack smiled back, though his eyes were troubled. "I've never figured that one out."

Rambaldi made her think of Sloane, and Irina felt her fragile moment of happiness fade. "Sydney doesn't - she's not - I don't think she loves me the way she used to."

"What?" Jack shook his head. "You're feverish. You're thinking things that aren't true."

But this was no fever-demon, toying with her to cause her pain. This was real weight, one she had carried ever since the day she returned to her daughter after twenty years. "She doesn't understand the things I did. The way I had to live." Irina coughed. "Because of - the past - she thinks she can only love one of us, but she can't. I wanted her to only love one of us, and now I don't know if she loves either of us anymore."

Jack's voice was kind. "Sydney still loves you." But she was coughing again, and it hurt, and Jack was trying to put the canteen in her hand, but she couldn't hold it. Then his arm went under her neck, and the canteen was at her lips, and she gulped the water down. Oh, that was better. That was so much better.

As Jack lowered her head back onto the pillow, she murmured, "I frighten her. I keep trying - all those years, I try to make up for them, every day, and it's too much. She must think of me - like some vampire, always at her, always wanting more."

"Irina, no," Jack said, but Irina thought of vampires, and then of bats, and they swirled around, dark and tremulous, blotting out the light.

**

It was so cold, so cold. It had to be cold, or why else would she be shaking? Irina had promised herself she would never know cold like this again, not after she escaped. Had she never escaped? Was she still in prison? She had to be. Nowhere else could be so lonely and so cold.

"Katya?" Her sister couldn't hear her. Blood on the snow. Irina tried to scream to her, but she could only whisper. "Katya?"

Someone was talking to her, but it wasn't Katya. He told her his name, but he lied.

"You aren't Jack. Jack's gone."

"It's me. You found me. Remember?" It sounded just like Jack. She loved Jack's voice. If only it were Jack.

"Jack went away. Jack won't come back, not ever, not ever." It was so cold, so dark, and she couldn't stop shaking. There was a fire in her chest, but it gave no heat, only pain. All Irina wanted was to lie still, to stop hurting.

She heard the name Sydney. Sydney was another name for Valentina. Valentina was gone too, gone away with Jack. There was no reason to fight, no reason not to let the darkness have her.

Then Jack's arms were around her, and his face was in the corner of her neck, and she could hear his voice saying her name, feel his fingers stroking through her hair. Irina knew nothing else, but she knew it was really Jack lying next to her, just the way he did every night.

Oh, she thought, with a great, soaring relief that lifted away all the hurt and made her warm at last. It was only a bad dream.

After that, she thought nothing at all.

**

A needle slid into Irina's arm, and the pain - so slight, compared to everything else - was all she knew.

Then there were voices, and the sound of a motor, and rough bumping and jostling that hurt. But the burning in her chest had stopped, and that seemed to matter more. Irina opened her eyes; though everything was blurry and dark, she could see that she was in the back of a truck, and that Jack and Sydney were near.

We must be doing better, she thought, before falling asleep - knowing, even as she did so, that this was true sleep, not delirium.

When she opened her eyes again, there was light, but not much. It was only just past dawn. The truck was still rumbling downhill, and Sydney was sprawled beneath Irina's gurney, fast asleep.

Jack sat at the very rear, watching their back. As though he had sensed her attention, he turned to face her.

"You said you'd wait until sunrise," Irina said.

He shrugged. "I lied."

Maybe he expected her to find that funny. With Sydney safe at her side, maybe she should have found it funny. But she didn't. "You lied." Her voice was still rough in her throat. "That's what you're best at."

Jack froze, his mouth open as though he might speak. But then he simply turned to stare out the back of the truck once more.

Irina wondered when his pain had lost its savor.

**

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