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spydadTitle / Prompt: Firsts / July #5
Character: Jack Bristow
Warnings: Just a little bit meta, with a side of crossover. I really couldn't resist.
Fandom: Alias
Word count: 280
Rating: G, for a change
Disclaimer: Alias & Jack belong to J.J. Abrams & Bad Robot, as usual. *sigh* Oh, and Smiley belongs to John Le Carre. :)
It's nothing, really. A simple brush-pass on a London street, just another chance meeting with random strangers.
Never mind that these strangers have been playing the game longer, and better, than Jack and his people.
Le Carre called them the cousins, and these cousins are older and wiser ones. Jack knows they think his is the first generation of the CIA that knows what it's doing. His people have been stumbling for years, tripping over their own feet, botched operations and stupid amateur mistakes, while the Russians sip their vodka and laugh.
It ends now. Gone are the days of Americans working in the KGB-built embassy in Moscow, gone are the days when they fumbled in the dark.
He feels the film canister's weight drop suddenly into his pocket, and, checking his watch, nods to himself.
It is, at least, a beginning.
*
The man seated at the table rises when Jack and Arvin are shown in. He is short and rather overweight, with glasses and thinning hair. He doesn't look in any way dangerous- someone's uncle, perhaps, a minor civil servant.
It is the first time Jack has met this man face to face, but they've spoken several times, working together through a haze of shadows- documents photographed in low light, like the ones weighing down his pocket now, the occasional note or package slipped into a CIA dead drop. (Jack, unlike many of his colleagues, isn't foolish enough to think that this man can't find those, that he doesn't, somewhere, have all of the drop sites in London and probably England as a whole, marked out on a map.)
"Gentlemen," says the Englishman. "Welcome to London. I'm George Smiley."
Character: Jack Bristow
Warnings: Just a little bit meta, with a side of crossover. I really couldn't resist.
Fandom: Alias
Word count: 280
Rating: G, for a change
Disclaimer: Alias & Jack belong to J.J. Abrams & Bad Robot, as usual. *sigh* Oh, and Smiley belongs to John Le Carre. :)
It's nothing, really. A simple brush-pass on a London street, just another chance meeting with random strangers.
Never mind that these strangers have been playing the game longer, and better, than Jack and his people.
Le Carre called them the cousins, and these cousins are older and wiser ones. Jack knows they think his is the first generation of the CIA that knows what it's doing. His people have been stumbling for years, tripping over their own feet, botched operations and stupid amateur mistakes, while the Russians sip their vodka and laugh.
It ends now. Gone are the days of Americans working in the KGB-built embassy in Moscow, gone are the days when they fumbled in the dark.
He feels the film canister's weight drop suddenly into his pocket, and, checking his watch, nods to himself.
It is, at least, a beginning.
*
The man seated at the table rises when Jack and Arvin are shown in. He is short and rather overweight, with glasses and thinning hair. He doesn't look in any way dangerous- someone's uncle, perhaps, a minor civil servant.
It is the first time Jack has met this man face to face, but they've spoken several times, working together through a haze of shadows- documents photographed in low light, like the ones weighing down his pocket now, the occasional note or package slipped into a CIA dead drop. (Jack, unlike many of his colleagues, isn't foolish enough to think that this man can't find those, that he doesn't, somewhere, have all of the drop sites in London and probably England as a whole, marked out on a map.)
"Gentlemen," says the Englishman. "Welcome to London. I'm George Smiley."
