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spydadJack Bristow has betrayed everyone he has ever loved, and a few people he hasn't. Betrayal is the essence of his work; it is the lifeblood of what he does. Secrets learned, trusts and confidences betrayed, all for the necessity of his work, all for the game.
In his world, to his mind, his many betrayals of Irina were far more than payment in kind; they were necessary, essential for survival.
He has played games with his daughter's trust when he should not have, but he always had, to his mind, her best interests at heart. He's just as sure that Irina never did, and he is determined to protect Sydney however he can, at any cost.
It's cost him a lot over the years, perhaps more than he can afford.
A great betrayal on Irina's part, the greatest, and one that is truly unforgivable, requires an equivalent one on his part.
Thirty years ago it wouldn't have hurt like this. Thirty years ago he could have done it and slept easy the next night. Now, he wonders if he will ever sleep again. Thirty years ago he wouldn't have given a damn for pulling the trigger- now he wishes that it were not necessary. Wishes that this were something he could ignore, or justify to himself, or explain away.
But it isn't, and he can't.
If he only didn't care quite so much- but he does. God, how he cares.
Seeing her, ascending the steps towards him, he thinks again of overlooking this, of finding a way... But he can't. Not this time. He could forgive her a million sins- he could, and he has- but this is the one he can't. Not this.
She smiles, and she laughs, and he remembers everything she is, everything she has ever been to him; Laura, who had never existed, but in whom he still desperately wants to believe; Irina, who had betrayed him, and whom he had grown again to love, or perhaps had simply come to realize he had never ceased to love at all.
She smiles, and laughs, and reaches for him, and this is hard, more difficult than he ever could have imagined. He knows what she has done, knows the reality of this. And he knows it doesn't matter.
He is going to bleed for this, too.
She is the only one who can still hurt him like this. The only one to whom he is still so vulnerable. Because he loves her. Because he loves their daughter, more than anything... Because she knows those things.
He has the gun in his pocket, and he knows he'll use it. There is no choice, no other way. No way to save them both, and if she has done this thing, if she wishes their daughter dead, there is no choice left. She will always have the will and the means to carry this out. He knows her too well to think otherwise. She wants this; she will never let it go.
They kiss, and it's everything he has been longing for, missing every moment she is not with him. He tries not to taste goodbye in that kiss. Tastes it anyway. Holding her for the last time, before...
Now, he tells himself. It has to be now, or it will be never. If she walks away he will let her go. He is patterned to this; it is what he does.
He hardly hears the words he confronts her with.
Damn you, these are the words on his mind now, the only words. And: I loved you.
He can't do this.
He can't do anything else.
I loved you. I love you.
It will be quick. He could do this differently, slowly, painfully, and a part of him longs to, but in a way he is grateful that the circumstances will not allow it.
I love you.
He pulls the trigger.
Muse: Jack Bristow
Fandom: Alias
Words: 653
In his world, to his mind, his many betrayals of Irina were far more than payment in kind; they were necessary, essential for survival.
He has played games with his daughter's trust when he should not have, but he always had, to his mind, her best interests at heart. He's just as sure that Irina never did, and he is determined to protect Sydney however he can, at any cost.
It's cost him a lot over the years, perhaps more than he can afford.
A great betrayal on Irina's part, the greatest, and one that is truly unforgivable, requires an equivalent one on his part.
Thirty years ago it wouldn't have hurt like this. Thirty years ago he could have done it and slept easy the next night. Now, he wonders if he will ever sleep again. Thirty years ago he wouldn't have given a damn for pulling the trigger- now he wishes that it were not necessary. Wishes that this were something he could ignore, or justify to himself, or explain away.
But it isn't, and he can't.
If he only didn't care quite so much- but he does. God, how he cares.
Seeing her, ascending the steps towards him, he thinks again of overlooking this, of finding a way... But he can't. Not this time. He could forgive her a million sins- he could, and he has- but this is the one he can't. Not this.
She smiles, and she laughs, and he remembers everything she is, everything she has ever been to him; Laura, who had never existed, but in whom he still desperately wants to believe; Irina, who had betrayed him, and whom he had grown again to love, or perhaps had simply come to realize he had never ceased to love at all.
She smiles, and laughs, and reaches for him, and this is hard, more difficult than he ever could have imagined. He knows what she has done, knows the reality of this. And he knows it doesn't matter.
He is going to bleed for this, too.
She is the only one who can still hurt him like this. The only one to whom he is still so vulnerable. Because he loves her. Because he loves their daughter, more than anything... Because she knows those things.
He has the gun in his pocket, and he knows he'll use it. There is no choice, no other way. No way to save them both, and if she has done this thing, if she wishes their daughter dead, there is no choice left. She will always have the will and the means to carry this out. He knows her too well to think otherwise. She wants this; she will never let it go.
They kiss, and it's everything he has been longing for, missing every moment she is not with him. He tries not to taste goodbye in that kiss. Tastes it anyway. Holding her for the last time, before...
Now, he tells himself. It has to be now, or it will be never. If she walks away he will let her go. He is patterned to this; it is what he does.
He hardly hears the words he confronts her with.
Damn you, these are the words on his mind now, the only words. And: I loved you.
He can't do this.
He can't do anything else.
I loved you. I love you.
It will be quick. He could do this differently, slowly, painfully, and a part of him longs to, but in a way he is grateful that the circumstances will not allow it.
I love you.
He pulls the trigger.
Muse: Jack Bristow
Fandom: Alias
Words: 653
