Conspiracy (Nadia, Kelvin); One-shot PG

Title: Conspiracy

Rating: PG

Status: Complete

Summary: Tiny threads interweave.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or any of its characters

Conspiracy

Kelvin watched Nadia draw the match across the table. He could never manage to strike a match on anything but a matchbox. How did she do it? How did she do any of it, really? She had that one group of Kurdish insurgents bowing down to her purse, ready to perform any act of obedience merely to see the open palm of her hand. She could even command some of the Shiites, and, to them, she should have been nothing but an ignorant woman.

"I don't understand," she said, lighting her cigarette. She inhaled and exhaled in one continuous, efficient breath. "You started him down this path six years ago for some greater purpose. And now you want me to urge him out?"

Kelvin had already tried to explain, twice, the way everything fit into the CIA's long-term calculations. His Arabic was admittedly flawed, but he wasn't about to ask her to speak English. He wouldn't be able to tolerate that little smirk of superiority that would rise, thinly repressed, to the edge of her lips. "We had to groom him for his role first. We needed him to be able to…" Kelvin snorted a little. His tongue snaked out between his lips. "Appreciate moral flexibilities."

"And now…" She flicked her wrist peevishly. Her delicate fingers flickered through the air between them, and the smoke dissipated before her dark eyes. "Now you want him to stop appreciating them?"

"We want him usefully conflicted. And we want him out of the Republican Guard, out of Iraq, before the second part of the plan can be put into effect."

She stubbed her cigarette in the ashtray. She crossed her arms and leaned back. "If any one component of your inane story arc should fail, the entire project would crumble. That's a rather foolish way to conduct an operation, don't you think? There are hundreds of contingencies, and you can't control a single one of them. What if just one thing doesn't go as you plan?"

"Then we fail. And no one ever knows about any of it."

She looked at him with either annoyance or disbelief. He couldn't quite tell. "Then you don't really care what happens?" she asked. "You don't really believe everything is working toward the greater good."

Kelvin shrugged. "I believe I have a job to do." He leaned forward and rested his chin on his laced fingers. He looked at her for a moment before pulling back. "Besides, Nadia, our success isn't your concern, is it? You only have to worry about quitting your debt."

She lit another cigarette. He noticed she never took more than one puff. She just kept stubbing them out and lighting them again. She wanted something to do with her hands. She was nervous, and she was trying to hide it. "And this will be the last thing the CIA asks of me?"

Kelvin's bottom lip curled. "Well…"

Again the cigarette went out in the ashtray. "What?"

"In a few more years, you'll have to pose for some pictures. That's all."

"Excuse me?" Her eyes flashed indignation.

Kelvin chuckled, a low, uneven, amused sound. "Holding a notebook, outside a lab somewhere in California. So he'll want to board that plane."

She shook her head and stared off into a corner of the room. She sighed. "What makes you think I can inspire that kind of…admiration…in him? We were schoolmates, not lovers."

"We've seen what you've done to other men when it suits you. What did you study in the University? Psychology?"

She smiled dryly. "Comparative literature."

He didn't laugh. And then she asked it. The question Kelvin knew was truly bothering her. "What if he tortures me?"

"He won't."

"But what if he does?"

"He won't."

"I've seen the people coming out of that prison. And those are just the ones who come out."

Kelvin shrugged again. "You're going to do this, Nadia."

"And you know this for what reason?"

His lips were tightly pressed. There was not even the hint of a smile. He spoke directly, in a voice that was low and confident. "Because you can't resist a challenge."

She stubbed out her fifth cigarette before drawing her eyes up languidly to his. She half-nodded her head. "When do I allow myself to be captured?"

The End