- Title: On the Brink (/4)
- Author: A. Jinnie McManus
- Rating: PG
- Spoilers/Timeline: Jack at the end of ABH. Also has missing scene from the pilot and implied spoilers from other various episodes.
- Summary: Right and wrong are often alike. Jack watches S/V at the pier. (TBT/ABH)
- Disclaimer: Not mine. Some quotes are directly from various episodes. No infringement is intended.
- 'Ship: S/V
- Archiving: Ask first.
Author's Note: This is not a normal story, format-wise. Although divided into 4 parts, some parts are extraordinarily short. As a consolation, I can say the story is completed finished, and will be updated every two days. (Or daily, if I receive at least 10 reviews per each chapter. It's your choice!)
Part One: Jack
It is a strange thing, he decides, to both loathe and love tonight's events.
It had seemed so innocent. So easy. After all his mistakes, all his missed opportunities, his little girl had offered him the chance to right his wrongs. After all his failed attempts to force himself to find common ground with his daughter, it had been her that made the first move.
Dad... could we have dinner? How about Thursday, do you have plans?
No. Thursday. Dinner. That'll be fine.
It was ridiculous. Incomprehensible. Infuriating. Wrong.
What was wrong with Sydney Bristow? Why would she not let him go? Why was she suddenly trying to force him to be the father he had never been?
He hated that. Hated that she loved him. Didn't she know what he had done? All the people he had terrorized? Beaten? Executed? They had been innocent, many of them, but he had followed his orders. To the letter. Which is why he sat in his car and watched his daughter fall apart, while much more deserving people lived on only in memory.
He had watched her. Watched as she arrived, her step full of giddy, naive anticipation. Had watched as her simple joy at the chance to share an evening with him gradually turned into weariness. Weariness from experience in his broken promises, weariness that came from having a father that couldn't bring himself to be the man she wanted him to be.
For her own protection.
And so he had watched, while she checked her menu, her watch, the door, looking in vain for her father, who had promised to come. Their relationship was complicated, yes, but she was slowly learning what he kept guarded, learning that he was not unfeeling. His attempt to help Danny had created a door for the estranged father and daughter, a door both were starting to see after years of building a wall.
It was strange, he decided, because he did indeed love her, but he refused to allow himself to love her. Loving someone made him weak. Vulnerable. Susceptible. Blind.
Loving Sydney would open him up again, in ways he had not been since Laura's betrayal and subsequent death. He would not allow himself that openness again. No matter who it was. Who she was. The moment he did so, he lost all semblance of control. He lost all ability to look after his daughter with the ruthlessness that his life required.
I'm protecting Sydney, he thought resolutely. By allowing myself to love her, as I should, as she deserves, I become distracted. The instant I do that, we'll both be discovered.
His reasoning was plausible, he knew. Very plausible. Which, incidentally, made it wrong.
Which made it right, in his life of kill-or-be-killed. He pulls out his cell phone resolutely.
"Sydney. Sorry to call so late."
"No, it's all right." Her relief is obvious, as is the sudden wariness as she wonders why he reneged on his promise. This will not be the first time he stood her up, of course, but it is the first time either can remember that both agreed for tonight to happen.
He closes his eyes, hearing the little girl she once was in her tone. Daddy, just tell me everything is okay. Make everything okay.
But he can't. Because of his fear. And his love. "Uh, look, uh, I won't be able to make dinner. Work is, uh, just, um, I can't get away. You understand."
"Of course. Don't worry about it." And with that, another tone enters her voice. Grief. Hatred of himself and relief at his actions flow through him equally.
"I'll just see you at... I'll just see you."
"Okay. Bye."
He took a deep breath, his eyes hardening. It was done.
She takes a deep breath, fighting to control her astonishment and her tears at her sudden return to a reality she knows well. At his transparency. At his lie.
No Sydney, don't cry. It's better this way.
And then she reaches for her phone, which had served so recently as an instrument in his betrayal, moving so fluidly that it is almost as though her body was simply waiting for her mind to catch up with her actions. He frowns, confused. Is she calling him? He won't answer it, he decides. He can say he was at a meeting, or that Sloane had walked in, so of course, answering was out of the question.
She leans back in her chair, clearly listening to a phone ring.
His phone, however, remains silent.
Who is she calling? He doesn't know whether to be relieved that he is not again involved, or angered that he is not again involved. Tippin, perhaps? Francie?
