A/N: This story is rewritten as of 2014.

I was learning as I went with this story. I was also juggling high school, college, personal projects, work, and personal life during the production of it. So, in terms of quality, there are high notes, and there are low notes throughout this.

After finishing the last chapter, I have gone through and edited the entire story one last time. I have done the best I possibly can with this story without devoting time to it from my studies and work.

Thanks to those of you who stuck around with me since the original version of Would You Kindly? !

Prologue

1965, North Atlantic, 63° 2' N, 29° 55' W

Jack Ryan sat in the back of a Cessna 182 Floatplane. He had a pair of noise cancelling earphones on, which barely managed to do the job it was intended to do. Around him, the three other seats in the plane were empty. He was the only passenger on this flight.

For several startling seconds, the plane shook. Jack shifted in his seat. "Are we gonna make it with this storm?" He called over the noise of the plane, the battering rain, and the thunder, watching the little entrance to the cockpit. "We're not going to have to turn back, are we?"

"To turn back now would be a travesty." The pilot called back, his tone sounding relaxed and, in a strange way, sarcastic. "Not to mention an absolute waste of our time and your money..."

"That's fine and well, but what happens if we crash?" Jack frowned. Another plane crash in the North Atlantic Ocean didn't sound like his idea of a good time.

"It's always a risk,"

"But we won't crash." A female responded dully.

"What makes you say that?" The male asked curiously, no longer speaking to Jack, who had to strain his ears to be able to hear them talk. The earphones were doing a terrible job of cancelling out the sound of the plane, but a wonderful job of muffling the conversation in the cockpit.

"Because we didn't, ergo we won't."

"Ah – right."

Jack wished they would let him in on the conversation, considering he was the one who started it. "You guys said the weather was good for flying tonight." He pointed out anxiously, the plane shuddering once again as thunder rolled loudly. "This storm isn't exactly 'flying weather'."

"Variables." The woman answered deftly, not seeming very interested in chatting about the weather.

"What?"

"Variables. The weather is prone to change often. It has many variables. Not all variables are preventable. One such is the weather…"

Thunder rumbled again. Jack let it signify the end of their conversation. These were strange people. Not opposed to turning a blind eye when a few extra bills are slipped into their overall payment, but they were certainly strange. Strange and confusing. They had put an advertisement for cheap floatplane flights in the newspaper. For a bigger pay, they were willing to go on a longer trip.

Jack glanced out of the window, seeing the faint glow from the lighthouse. They were close… and every second they got closer, the feeling of apprehension grew stronger. He had no idea of what to expect from this trip – he didn't even know what he was going down there for. It was a gut feeling, a suspicion that something unthinkable was happening… or, at least, about to happen. He hoped he could find a way to stop whatever it was.

He sighed, trying to relieve some of the painful, dreadful tightness that filled his chest. From the cockpit, one of the twins called back to him. "We're nearing your destination. Better collect all of your luggage..." Again, the tone seemed sarcastic and dull – half joking, half serious. They knew that Jack hadn't brought any luggage, short of what was in his pockets. Jack scoffed in response, not bothering to try to continue the conversation. He found that speaking to them was far more trouble than it was worth.

But the mention of his belongings sparked a recent memory. Thoughtfully, he reached into one of his pockets, pulling out the lone object, running his finger across its velvety surface.

1965, New York City

Elaine McDonagh had just finished fixing something up for her daughter to eat when she heard the doorbell of her flat buzz loudly. Elaine smiled at Sophie, who thanked her for the dish, and quickly exited the kitchen, heading to the entranceway of her apartment. The buzzer went off again. "I'm coming…" She called with a hint of annoyance. Impatience was something she could barely stand, anymore, no matter how hypocritical it was for her to say that.

She unlocked the door and opened it, stepping back to look at her visitor. "Hello?"

"You Miss McDonagh?" The man who stood in front of her doorway asked in a low, gravelly, scratchy voice. He was a fairly tall fellow with mud brown hair slicked back casually. He wore a brown fedora with a matching blazer and pair of slacks. The blazer was left unbuttoned, revealing a white shirt and black suspenders. What unnerved Elaine the most were the scars that covered the man's skin. From his throat - where a large, warped scar was displayed - to the tops of his hands, he was mottled with scars that ranged from almost unnoticeable to stare-worthy.

Trying not to eye him suspiciously, Elaine responded "I am, yes… May I ask who you are?"

The man hesitated, his eyes flicking inside Elaine's apartment, as though looking for something. "… Jack."

Sophie called to her mother from the kitchen, asking for something Elaine didn't quite catch. "In a moment, darling…" She called absent-mindedly. To the stranger, she narrowed her eyes. "Just Jack?"

He smiled. A rougher type, he was. The kind one might expect to find in a bar, or out on a farm, or even working on a railroad. When he smiled, it didn't quite match his face, as if it were just placed onto his expression of perpetual seriousness. Yet, there was something about him that Elaine couldn't quite put her finger on. Just standing there, in her doorway, this man seemed far more… pleasant than he was letting off.

"Miss McDonagh, I don't believe you want to hear my last name."

"And why's that?"

"Because you're not going to like it."

The red light switched on, screaming Danger! Danger!, and Elaine immediately wanted nothing to do with this man. If he won't as much as give up his last name, he's trouble – and Elaine refused to risk her daughter's safety. Gripping the door, she straightened her back. "Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Jack. I've work to do, and my daughter has school to get to." She started to close the door on him, spooked by his reluctance to reveal his name, and his knowledge of her own.

Jack stuck his foot in the doorway. "Alright, alright… You… want to know my last name?" Quietly, he cleared his throat. "Fine." The man leaned in slightly, bringing his face closer to the door so he could whisper. Exhaling heavily before speaking, he said "Ryan…" Through the crack in the apartment door, he looked her in the eye as he spoke. "… it's Ryan."

"Ryan…" Elaine tasted the bitter name, feeling a whole mix of emotions beginning to surface all at once. Slowly, she opened the door, staring at Jack with wide eyes. "… Ryan…" She repeated, her voice a whisper. "… Ryan?"

With a reluctant nod, Jack confirmed her fear. She brought her hands up to her mouth, all the blood draining from her face, her legs feeling weak. "Oh my God," She breathed. "I-I don't… Andrew sent you? Please, Sophie's already lost Bill, don't do this to her…" She pleaded quietly.

Feeling a flash of guilt shoot through his chest, Jack Ryan took his hat off, pressing it against his chest as a sign of respect and condolences. "This is why I didn't want to tell you. I didn't mean to startle you." He smiled grimly, raising his other hand up, trying to show her he meant no harm. "I just couldn't let you lock me out. And if you wouldn't open the door for Jack, you might open the door for Ryan." Jack let his hand fall back to his side. "I'm not sent by anyone. I promise that."

Elaine McDonagh stared at him like a deer caught in headlights, her eyes watery. Her hands were clasped in front of her. "Then… why are you here?"

"I came to ask a favor of you," he explained vaguely, nodding to the inside of her apartment. "May I come in?"

Elaine stared at him for a couple moments in silence. She slowly nodded, stepping aside to let him in. "I'm not going back down there." She stated quietly but firmly as she closed the door behind him. "I refuse to. Sophie's just gotten used to this world. She's adapted to this better life. I'm not taking her back down there, and I'll be damned if you try to make us."

"I'm not asking that of you," he said as they walked into what looked like the living room. "I wouldn't in a million years."

"Then what is—" Elaine was cut short by a young voice. Her daughter had walked in, several books held in a leather book strap carrier.

"Oh." The young girl stopped in the entrance of the living room, blinking at Jack. "Hello, mister. Who're you…?" The girl of about ten or eleven asked curiously, slinging the book strap over her shoulder.

"His name is… is Jack…" She broke off, glancing at the man. She was trying to avoid using the last name 'Ryan'. "… Jack…"

"Rianofski," Jack filled in the blanks, catching Elaine's eye for a brief second. "It's nice to meet you, Missus…?"

The young girl smiled, looking Jack up and down. "Missus Sophie McDonagh, mister, that's my name."

"What a lovely name, Missus Sophie McDonagh. It's a pleasure to meet you,"

"Darling," Elaine interjected quietly, "you have to catch your bus; you don't want to be late again. It'll be here any minute." She walked over and gave Sophie a tight hug, whispering something into her ear with a forced smile. Sophie scoffed, hugged her mother back, and rushed out of the room.

"Be safe, Sophie!" Elaine called. "I love you!" She looked distraught.

"I will!" Sophie called out before the apartment door opened, then closed.

Elaine let out a slow breath, shakily turning to face Jack. "… Should we speak over coffee?"

Elaine was a sturdy brunette in a pale blue belted shift dress. She was about thirty-eight, an obviously independent woman with snappy blue eyes. She had an upturned nose and a slight jiggle. She was leggy, voluptuous, and had an intelligent enough air about her. She didn't make a lot of eye-contact with Jack, and when she spoke it was in hushed tones.

"So…" She started slowly, as if trying to wrap her head around too much information at one time. "… you're Andrew Ryan's son? Is that right?" As she spoke, she quietly stirred her coffee with a spoon.

"Illegitimately, yeah." Jack answered casually as he took a sip from the mug of coffee that Elaine had given him. It was a strong brew – just the way Jack preferred. "'Son' isn't exactly the best word to use, but… yeah."

The McDonagh woman sat on the sofa that faced the one Jack was seated at. She had a look of awe on her face. "Wow…" She breathed. "That's fascinating…"

"It'll wear off," Jack grumbled, though he was just as shocked as she was when he found out – if not, more. After all, finding out that everything that a person thought was true about themselves was actually a fabricated story… Well, it'll leave them speechless, at minimum.

"Um…" She cupped the mug between her hands, setting it on her lap. "Did you… Did you happen to see Bill down there?"

"Bill McDonagh? Your husband?" She nodded, and Jack frowned thoughtfully. "I recall—" He cut short, flicking his eyes to hers. She was staring intensely at him. He closed his mouth and grimaced, knowing she wouldn't like the answer he had.

Elaine stared expectantly a little while longer before nodding in an encouraging manner. "I realize that he's… passed. But…" She trailed off, fidgeting with her coffee mug's handle.

Jack took a breath, and then continued "I last saw him at the Rapture Central Control, just outside Ryan's office…" He looked away from her, not wanting to witness the already-pained look on her face breaking even further. "He was stuck up on a wall. Ryan pinned him there, like… what do you call it… ah…" he searched for the right word, "… an effigy, or something." He figured that was the most apt way to say it. Clean and simple. It was better than saying Bill was an example of what Ryan considered a traitor. Jack didn't look up, but he could feel Elaine staring blankly at him, her face deadpanned.

"Goddamned monster, that Ryan…" Elaine choked out nearly inaudibly. A tear or two rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped them away. After a moment of collecting herself, she finally was able to speak again. "You know, he's the only reason Sophie and I are here, instead of down in that city. I miss him so damn much… I haven't so much as looked at another man since I left Rapture…" She mumbled sadly. "I don't want that. I love Bill – he'll always be my husband, and he will always be Sophie's daddy…"

Jack gave her a moment of silence, a respectful gap of peace before he continued on with what he wanted to say. He felt she might have needed it. Besides… this was a touchy subject. He couldn't just go galloping from one conversation to the next. When he felt enough time had passed, he continued: "Since I'll be down there… is there anything of his that you wanted?" Jack asked quietly.

Elaine snapped her vision back onto Jack. "You're going back to Rapture?"

"I've got to."

"Why?" She demanded, vigor backing up her words. "You got out, you don't need to be there anymore. You saw more than you had to. You don't need to experience any more of that place."

"I just have to, Miss McDonagh. I can't tell you what it is… Maybe it's part of the conditioning I was put through – like, in some way, I just can't escape that damn city. I might have this urge for the rest of my life. Maybe it's just instinct from being down there and knowing the feeling that something is going wrong. Or it could even be a false alarm. I don't know. But if I don't figure out now, I'll never be able to shake this feeling."

"That city is not your responsibility," Elaine argued sternly, adopting the tone of an angry school teacher.

"It's not about keeping that place stable or anything." Jack kept the edge out of his voice, the mixture of anger and grudging. "It's about making sure that nothing finds a way to effect people on the surface. I was the one who stopped Andrew Ryan and Frank Fontaine, and, if my gut is right, and that something new has cropped up…"

"So then what do you want me to do?" She eyed him curiously with red, puffy eyes, as if trying to figure out the answer to her own question just by the way he was sitting. "What's this favor you were talking about?" Jack had a feeling she wasn't thinking along the same line that he was.

Jack took another sip from his coffee before speaking. It was time for a little bit of storytelling. "When I was down there, I helped Brigid Tenenbaum save the Little Sisters by removing the ADAM slug that was rooted in them - used a Plasmid so I didn't have to hurt the girls. This turned them back into normal girls, again. Tenenbaum didn't have the ability to take care of all them, and a few of them took a shining to me, so…" He trailed off, clearing his throat awkwardly. Elaine was watching him with soft eyes. She knew where this was going. "… I… I brought a few of 'em back to the surface with me, and…"

Elaine raised her chin skeptically. "How many is 'a few'?"

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Jack let out a soft laugh. He knew just how pathetically sappy he was, and there was no way of hiding it from Elaine when he answered her question with a muffled mumble. "… Five." Jack never thought himself to be any sort of family man, but when those girls' faces lit up when Tenenbaum told them they were going to the surface with Jack… Well, he honestly felt… happy. It was his family – his only real family. Those five girls meant more than anything in the world to him.

"Five!" Elaine exclaimed. "Really?"

"If I had it my way, I would have brought more of them to the surface..." He delved into silence. Tenenbaum had lectured him about the 'Little Ones', telling him everything he'd have to do. It almost felt like a five-minute-out-the-door-tutorial on how to raise children. She warned him of the financial issues, the schooling, the housing… which made him choose his limit. The five girls he now took care of were the ones who simply wouldn't let go of his pant legs and his hands. It wasn't like adopting a kitten. He didn't really choose the girls… they chose him. "Anyways… I just need someone to look after them."

"And you want me to do it?" She looked a little shocked.

"You're someone who… can explain to the girls why I'm not there. Someone who understands Rapture… Someone who understands Little Sisters, even if they're just shadows of one."

"Nobody can understand Rapture," Elaine sighed. "No one can understand Little Sisters, either." She drank from her own mug of coffee, and then said "How long will you be down there, do you think?"

Jack tiredly rubbed his face with the palm of his hand, leaning back in the sofa. "A week or two, I suppose. A month at the most."

"Where do you live?"

"Out in Canandaigua. It's a little country house. There's a nice plot of land around it – an orchard. I would suggest staying there for a while, if you can. The girls may be a bit too rowdy for your apartment." He hesitated before adding "I want someone I can trust to watch the girls… and I think I can trust you with them."

"You've just met me," Elaine said pointedly. "How can you trust someone you've just met?" It was like she was asking herself that question, too.

"I think I can trust you. You made it out of Rapture, raised a child, and haven't stirred any issues. You're smart, you're well off, and you've clearly got enough courage to do anything you need to do protect another person under your care."

Elaine sat on the couch in silence, biting her lip thoughtfully. To Jack, it seemed as though many arguments were going through her head, but another part of her was fighting them off as they surfaced. She was conflicted. Help this strange man who came to her doorway, asking for help, claiming a strange, nearly unreal story? Or set him on his way without a nanny for his girls, risking that, if he dies, it would be orphaning the poor children once more, this time with no one to care for them?

After staring at her mug, contemplating her decision, she set it down on the coffee table between the two couches that she and Jack sat on. She got up and left the room. Jack watched her curiously, but said nothing. He assumed she would explain in a moment.

When she returned to the room, she had a small, deep-blue box. "If I help you," She started, walking towards Jack. "You'd have to do one thing for me." She handed the box to him. "That's the box that held the ring Bill used to propose to me…"

Jack looked it over, running a thumb over the velvet covering. "You want me to get the ring?"

"So I can at least give him some sort of burial." She took a deep breath, linking her fingers together in front of her, as if anxious. "If you can do that for me, you can consider it my payment." She exhaled, sitting down on the couch again. "And I will gladly watch over your girls for you."

1965, North Atlantic, 63° 2' N, 29° 55' W

The plane touched down. It took a couple of moments for it to balance properly on the surface of the water. Jack felt it rocking as he unbuckled himself from his seat. The rain outside still pelted relentlessly against the plane, but the thundering and the lightning had lightened up a bit.

"I suppose he'll want us to come back for him." The female commented as the plane stopped rocking, though it still bobbed to the tune of the ocean.

"I do imagine being four-hundred and thirty-three kilometers off the coast of Iceland would pose as a bit of a challenge for the return journey." The man agreed.

Jack was already on his feet, pocketing the ring case and walking to the cockpit, sticking his head in. "Is it safe to leave the plane?" He asked with a grunt. Both the red-haired siblings were sitting in their seats, legs crossed one over the other, turning to glance at Jack. They were like mirror images of each other, with one difference: the woman was reading a simple, white, leather-bound book. The man was simply holding his elbows, as if he were waiting patiently in a clinic.

"The plane, for the time being, is your sanctuary." The man responded, as though it were an obvious answer. "And you could have left at any time, if that were your wish."

"Of course, timing is everything." The woman added, flipping a page of the book. It seemed like she was reading a bible of some sort. "And it is, and was, a matter of how long you waited."

"Oh, Jesus... Listen," Jack started, feeling incredibly frustrated at their fortune-cookie-like way of speaking. "I'm going to leave the plane now. If it's not safe, tell me before I leave." He paused, eyeing the two of them expectantly.

"Any time, now…" The woman flipped another page.

Jack pursed his lips, sensing he was overstaying his welcome. "Alright…" He muttered, turning away, walking from the cockpit to the plane's hatch. "Just come and pick me in at the end of the month." He called over his shoulder as he opened the door. "I'll pay you for the trip back once you've got me in New York."

"Strange." The man commented quietly. "Such a specific date. I wonder what made him choose it."

Bracing the side of the plane's doorway, Jack slipped into the icy-cold water, feeling the slippery steps under his feet. The water, where he stood on the steps, almost reached his shoulders.

"Perhaps he remembers." The female loudly closed her book.

"Remembers what?"

"What he knows. Shall we leave, or are we going to dilly-dally here all day?"

Wading through the water, Jack turned around when he reach the top of the steps to find the man standing in the plane's doorway, watching Jack. Without a word, the sibling closed the plane's hatch, shutting Jack out. Almost immediately, the plane started to turn in order to take off once again.

Jack let out a humorless huff of laughter. "No turning back…" He muttered, facing the lighthouse itself.

He took a breath, and opened one of the huge lighthouse doors.

Rapture, An Unknown Location

Deep in the bowels of Rapture, in a building where things still resembled a livable environment, a woman sat on a smooth, nylon couch, her brown hair spilling over her pale shoulders. She was not a Splicer. She was still quite human, and looked like someone who had managed to survive the city of Rapture. Scars riddled her skin, and dark bags hung under her eyes… It was a commonality, in Rapture. She had rather smooth features and deep green eyes which almost seemed to glow in the dimness of her Viewing Room. Her painted and well-kept nails tapped gently on the dark wood of the couch's arm as she gazed over the dozens screens of video relay. Along with her living space, she seemed rather kempt and self-contained.

Several seconds more passed before she ceased tapping the arm of the couch, and turned to the girl of about fifteen who stood beside the couch, examining her own nails, waiting for the orders she knew she was about to receive. The woman smiled, her eyes not betraying her thoughts in the slightest. "Holly?"

The girl, Holly, looked up, pursing her lips. "Yes?"

"I want you to go find Mister Ryan." She looked back at the screen, watching Jack Ryan move from room to room, combing over the area for supplies and jumping at the slightest of noises. "Ensure that he's able to find his way to me."

"Yes, Lady Sapphire." The girl gave a very slight bow in an almost mocking fashion, and started to walk out of the room. She stopped and turned when her named was called. "Yes?"

"It's important that you keep him alive. I want to speak to him flesh to flesh. I think we both have some very important words to exchange."

Holly's brows knitted together in confusion for a moment, but she simply nodded and left the room. Lady Sapphire watched her leave, not looking away until the door slid shut. She had to hope that the girl would make smart choices. Sapphire didn't want to have to intervene more than she had to.

After a few painfully silent moments of sitting alone in the dark, she felt something tickle her nose and she frowned, bringing her fingers to her upper lip and looked at the tips. Blood was smeared on them. She picked up a cloth, which was already covered with dry blood, off the nearby coffee table, bringing it to her nose. She gripped the arm of the couch, feeling a little dizzy. Her head throbbed with the beginning of what felt like a headache. Annoying...

When it passed, she wiped the blood off her upper lip before it could dry. She cursed darkly under her breath, tossing the cloth back onto the table. She returned her attention to the screens, searching for the new visitor, her eyes flashing in the dim lighting.

"Welcome back, Mister Ryan." She muttered softly, a soft smile on her red lips. "I think a little get together is in order to celebrate such a fine occasion…"