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Another commentary for [livejournal.com profile] sunshine_queen


This fic was for the "first line challenge" meme thing that went around a long time ago. I took the line from [livejournal.com profile] thecleric007 's HP fic. As soon as I saw it, it IRINA!ed at me and I couldn't help but write this fic. :-p

"You of course would not be my first choice for such a mission, but given the circumstances I am unable to send another." Cuvee is such a self-esteem booster.

He smiles at her, feral, and she moves quickly to imitate the gesture, hiding her disappointment. Aw, Irina doesn't want to be a desperate housewife! Cuvee is not a man to be crossed in any way, and she knows from experience that it does her no good to refuse him. Wow, what was I implying, here? She has been training for missions in America, of course, but the idea of something so domestic in nature, something right out of a bad spy television drama novel ... she is better than that.

"It is fine," she replies in accented Russian, "I will do whatever my country needs. I may be inexperienced, but I can handle it." Months of training have actually made her more comfortable in English than in her own native language. That's one thing that gets me in a lot of fics, you know. Irina speaking Russian in moments of pain or passion or something. You'd think she'd be specially trained so that her first thought would always be in English, so that she could pass muster in front of a CIA agent.  She even thinks in English now, and she's heard reports that she speaks English in her sleep. Is this really doing Mother Russia's work, she wonders, if it makes her lose everything that makes her a part of her people? And become the kind of woman who will later fall in love with Jack. She has become one of them, the enemy, in order to better infiltrate their defenses, but she sometimes feels as if she's losing her own identity. It's all very Gara Petothel/Lara Notsil.

He laughs, turning to get a folder off the table. Opening the folder, he shows her a sheaf of papers, likely a psych profile of her target, and the target's photograph. She looks under it for the name -- Why should she care about the name? Because she'll need to know it once she gets to America? Duh? It's not as if it matters, but she can't help herself. Jonathan "Jack" Bristow. He seems nice enough looking in the picture, and young. She had been worried that the KGB would send her to seduce some horribly bloated old man with money. Which is a valid worry, considering Sydney's later experience in the spy trade. At least she would have a pleasant time during her sojourn in America. Heh. Oh, pragmatism.

If Cuvee notices her staring at the photograph, he doesn't mention it, although he gives her a smile as if he can read her mind which makes her slam up her defenses and school her features to be completely blank. Eh, this sentence was too long, but I kind of like the idea of him knowing all along that she's a little too close to Jack. He'd love to taunt her with something like that. He closes the folder and passes her another one, saying, "And here's are your identity, papers, passport, everything you'll need. Remember, once you leave this room, Irina Derevko is dead."

She nods seriously. "I remember." Kirney Slaaaane!

This is her first real mission, and to have it be on something as important as this American spy project is thrilling, but also a bit frightening. She knows she should feel honoured, but all that she really feels is nervous worry, and grief that she will probably never see her parents again. Poor Irina, she's only like, twenty-one.

She looks at the drivers' license with her photograph on it, and thinks of the facts they taught her about her alias's childhood in America. No, not her alias anymore. Her.

Irina is dead. This woman's name is Laura. No wonder she was confused.
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