Disclaimer: Not mine, we all know it.
A/N: This is for the SD-1 December challenge, elements being: Jack in a Santa suit singing a Christmas carol; a snowball fight; a snow globe that has sentimental value; airport scene; the word gingerbread; a poinsettia plant. This is my 2nd foray into J/I-ish fic, and I'm not entirely pleased with it. Lastly, for those who don't know… I really hate titles. Really really.
It's a white Christmas again this year; the snow covers everything outside, so thick it's impossible to go anywhere. On my end, this is not a problem, as I've no place to go anyway. No family to be with, no gifts to open. The only thing of any value in my life anymore is the snow globe I currently hold in my hands. [I]He[/I] gave it to me, this time last year… the last time I ever saw him.
We had managed to put aside all the problems of the past for the sake of saving our only daughter. Our first Christmas together in years was also the first without her, and what should have been a joyous reunion was instead a day of heartache.
Amsterdam was chosen as our meeting place, and late in the morning of December 25th, I finally caught sight of him, walking calmly down the street, one hand in his pocket and the other holding a suitcase. The softening of his eyes, as well as the light smile that brushed across his face, was enough for me to know he had seen me as well. Not a word was said, and as he passed by me, I fell into step with him, his hand moving to grasp my own. We continued to traverse the streets in comfortable silence, stopping only to stay out of the way of an ongoing snowball fight. Not a word was said until we reached my room at the Albus Grand Hotel.
"Anything?" he questioned; his shoulders slumped as I shook my head.
"Everything I dig up leads to a dead end," I explained dejectedly. "What about you?" He hesitated only long enough to stir up my suspicions before replying.
"No."
"Nothing?" I pressed.
"Nothing," he repeated, and I could sense that there was something he wasn't telling me. But I chose to drop it, not wanting to argue on Christmas.
"Where do we go from here, Jack?"
"I don't know," he replied softly, "but whatever happens, we have to know… have to believe that Sydney is still out there somewhere, and that she will come back safely." I simply nodded, not daring to speak as I held back the tears. Jack quietly began rifling through his suitcase, finally pulling out something small, which he hesitantly handed to me. I looked up at him in confusion.
"Jack?"
"Merry Christmas," he said lightly.
"But Jack, I don't have anything-" He stopped me before I could protest any further.
"Just… open it." I tore through the paper and couldn't hold back the gasp as I saw what was within. It was an almost exact replica of a snow globe Sydney had given me just over a year before the death of Laura Bristow. I could see the many subtle differences, but it was close enough to the original to bring a flood of memories and tears.
"You remember what happened to the first one?" he asked. I nodded, almost laughing, as I thought back.
"Daddy's home!" Sydney yelled, tearing through the kitchen where I was making gingerbread cookies. Moments later, she was running in the other direction. Bewildered, I stepped out of the kitchen to see not Jack Bristow, but Santa Claus in the doorway, singing 'All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.'
"Sydney's afraid of Santa?" he questioned, closing the door behind him.
"Well, making that kind of racket, I would be too," I replied teasingly. He gave me a look before heading down the hall in search of our daughter. After an extensive silence, there was a high-pitched shriek followed by a loud crash. I quickly closed the oven and ran to the hall, only to discover my husband and daughter on the floor laughing, amidst an upended poinsettia plant and the shattered remains of my snow globe.
"Santa bumped into me," Sydney whispered conspiratorially. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she realized just what had happened. "Santa did it!" With that, she stood and ran up the stairs. Jack smiled at me apologetically.
"I'll get you a new one," he promised as I helped him up.
"It took a little longer than planned, but… I kept that promise," he noted gently.
"You always do," I agreed. "And now, I need you to promise me that you'll stay safe, that we'll have our daughter back for another Christmas."
"We will find her, Irina… nothing's going to keep us from that."
"You forgot something," I observed.
"That's a promise I can't make, nor can you. With our lives, it's simply not possible."
"That won't stop me from trying."
"I know." He glanced down at his watch, then back up at me. "I need to be at the airport in half an hour."
"That soon?" I asked, dismayed. He nodded.
"CIA, FBI, NSC… they've all had eyes on me of late. Trips like this aren't going to help matters."
"Then let's get you to the airport." He looked at me in amusement.
"I can make it there myself, you know."
"I know you can, but I'd still like to accompany you." A brief smile, a nod to the door.
"Ok… let's go." We again walked the streets of Amsterdam hand in hand, stopping just briefly to watch an ongoing snowball fight. All too soon, we had arrived at our destination.
"It's not safe for you to go any farther with me," he sighed.
"Of course it isn't… nothing's safe."
"Someday it will all be over," he said softly.
"Someday can't come soon enough."
"I'll be in touch," Jack promised as he walked away. I stood there for a time, watching the comings and goings of various planes. I had always enjoyed airports, but one could only see so many before they all blurred together. Eventually, I started back towards the hotel.
After that day in Amsterdam, I didn't hear from Jack again, and I began to worry.
My fears were not unfounded.
Through various contacts, I finally received word that he had disappeared while on an undercover investigation of The Covenant; his body was returned to the CIA one week later. I wasn't there when they killed him, but I suppose I didn't truly need to be. Every night I see it happen, and every morning I wish it were just a dream.
Jack is dead; Sydney may never be found; and my shattered heart will never recover.