Sydney watched as her the armed guards led her mother back to her cell. She was aware that her mother had just given her two very precious gifts and she needed some time to ponder them. She saw Devlin approaching her, as she headed for the exit. She really didn't want to deal with anybody at that moment, but there was no good way to escape.

"Sydney, I thought I'd find you here. Listen, Dr. Barnett needs to see you. She realizes you've been a little tied up lately, but she has to submit a progress report by tomorrow. She spoke to Kendall earlier, so she knows you're here. She's waiting for you right now." Devlin didn't wait for her response. She was pretty sure he hurried off so he wouldn't have to deal with her reaction to the news.

"Well, I may as well get it over with," she thought. "I'll give Barnett the correct answers and maybe, at the same time, come up with a plan on how to approach Dad about my parentage."

Dr. Barnett was sitting at her desk, obviously filling out a mountain of paperwork, when Sydney arrived. She looked up and smiled. "I'm so glad you could make it, Sydney. Why don't you take a seat in the recliner." Sydney looked at the Dr. inquiringly. Normally, she would sit in the chair opposite the desk.

"I thought we'd do a little regression therapy." Sydney tensed. Her last encounter with regression therapy had revealed something she'd rather not have known.

Barnett apparently noticed her reaction. "I think it will help you deal with your feelings about both your parents a lot better if we are able to find a connection with the past."

Sydney wasn't so sure, but nodded her assent.

"I want you to relax and think about before your mother left you." Barnett was obviously using her soothing voice. "You were happy. Your parents love you."

The carousel music danced in her head. She remembered her father lifting her up on her favorite pony. As the ride went round and round, she would search for her parents faces, smiling out to her, their happiness seeming to be utterly complete.

"Now we need to move a little further in to the future. Your mother is dead. Your father is unhappy."

It was late afternoon. She was eleven years old. Her schoolbooks were strewn out on the dining room table. She was working on her math when she heard the phone ring. Daddy was home. He'd been gone for almost a month this last time. She hated it when he had to go away.

"Can't you send someone else. I just got back. I haven't even been home a week." Silence. "Very well. I'll be ready to leave in the morning."

She heard her father hang up and dial the phone again. "Mrs. Smith." There seemed to be a weariness in her father's voice. "I just got called in, again. No, I don't know how long I'll be gone this time, but it shouldn't be more than a week. Thanks."

Suddenly she felt angry. She was angry at his job. Angry that her father let them take him away from her. Her mother had been taken from her and now they wanted her father, too. When he came in to the dining room, she refused to look at him. He loved her smile, but she wouldn't give him one this time. She would punish him for going away.

"Sydney," her father began.

"No. I hate you." All her little girl anger welled up in her. "I want my mother. She wouldn't be dead if you hadn't killed her." She could see the hurt in her father's face. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. I never want to see you again." She jumped up from her chair and raced to her bedroom, locking the door behind. Her father followed her up and knocked gently on the door. "Sydney, you don't mean that. You know I wouldn't leave if it wasn't absolutely necessary."

"Go away. You aren't my mother. You killed her. You killed her." She was sobbing in her pillow now. Eventually, she heard her father leave for his room. She heard the closet creak and the sound of suitcase zipper. She hated that sound. Every time she heard it, she knew he was going away.

A week later, she heard his car pulling in to the driveway. She had listened for it every day from the moment he left. The slam of his car door had always been her cue to run down and leap in his arms. Somehow, though, she couldn't bring herself to move. She wanted things to be the same, but she remembered what she'd said before he left and the hateful words seemed to bind her to the bed.

"Sydney, your Daddy's home." Nanny Smith called to her. She heard her father ask a question, then, "I think she's in her room, Mr. Bristow."

He was in her doorway before she knew it. "Sydney?" Her father sounded worried. "Are you ok honey?" She turned to look at him, unable to speak. "I brought your gift, sweetie." It was wrapped it shiny paper with a huge pink bow. She turned away and her father sighed and left her to herself.

The gift was a beautiful doll. The clothes were hand made and very luxurious. Her father had probably spent a fortune on it, but she didn't understand that at the time. When she heard the shower, she picked up the doll and headed for the study. The trash canister was next to the desk and she placed the doll there. It was the last gift she ever received from her father.

Christmas and birthdays had always been special. No matter where Daddy was, he always made it home for those occasions. He had barely made it for Christmas the previous year. She had been very anxious the night before, constantly asking the nanny when her Daddy would be there. He still hadn't arrived by the time she went to bed. The next morning, though, she raced to his room, sure in the knowledge that he would be there. And she hadn't been disappointed. She plastered his face with kisses until he woke up. Then down they would go, hand in hand, to see what Santa had left.

Her little tirade with the doll had made things really tense that fall. Gone was the man who would come home from the office early and take her out for ice cream. There were no more trips to the zoo or the circus. But Christmas was coming and somehow she knew she needed to make things right between them. She had been taking an art class at school. The teacher had challenged them to draw something special to give as a gift to their parents. She knew exactly what she would draw. She had an old picture of Daddy carrying her on her shoulders. Her teacher had been surprised at how well she drew, but Sydney knew that it was because each stroke was a gift of love.

Her father left on another trip in the middle of December. It wasn't so difficult this time, because she knew he would be home for Christmas. Nanny Smith helped her wrap her gift. She put the tag on. To Daddy. Love, Sydney.

On Christmas Eve, she stayed in the living room the whole day. It had the best view of the driveway. Nanny Smith had tried to get her to eat her dinner in the kitchen, but she refused. She wanted to know the exact moment her father arrived. Nanny Smith finally put her to bed at 11pm. She didn't sleep very well that night. She pulled her special doll out from her closet. The doll had become her safety blanket. She had rescued it from the study later that night and would sleep with it whenever her father went away.

Once, she thought she'd heard her father in the hallway, but it was only Nanny. When morning rolled around, she raced to his room, as she always did. He wasn't there. She ran down the stairs, thinking that perhaps he was already up and waiting on her. She saw Nanny Smith on the phone. "It's your father, sweetie. He's been delayed."

Sydney remembers the hurt she felt that morning. Nanny Smith had tried to get her to open her presents, but she had refused. She wasn't interested in the gifts. Nanny Smith had purchased them for her father. She wanted to cry, but the tears seemed frozen somewhere inside of her. She just sat in her chair in the living room, unmoving. Did she even eat that day? She couldn't remember. That night, she took her father's gift from the tree and hid it in her closet, next to the doll.

Her father had come home the next day, but she still refused to open her gifts. She never knew what had happened to them. The next birthday came and went, as did many Christmas' days after. Each time, she would long for her father to be there. She hated the ring of the telephone on those days. Whichever Nanny she had at the time would answer. She knew the message by heart. "I'm sorry, Sydney. Your father's been delayed."

"Sydney." She heard Dr. Barnett's voice. "You need to tell me what your seeing." Sydney shook herself, suddenly realizing she was crying.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Barnett. I can't. Not yet." She needed to see her father. To talk to him. All the coldness that had been between them. Her fault. Somehow she had blocked that from her memory. She wanted to hug her father and tell him how much she loved him. "I know you need to make a report, but ..." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," she repeated. "There is something I have to do first.

Sydney left Barnett's office and headed for the ladies room. She wiped the tears away, then drove to her apartment. Once there, she searched her closet. It was right where she had left it. The present had been beautifully wrapped, thanks to Nanny Smith. She saw the tag and the tears flowed once again.

She reached for the phone. "Daddy?" She tried to keep her voice steady. "Are you going to be home tonight? I need to see you."

Jack placed the phone back on its cradle. She had called him Daddy.

Laura hadn't been feeling well and he had been worried. She'd always been the first to wake. He preferred hitting the alarm a few times. Or maybe it was just that he liked being kissed awake. The past week, though, she'd spent her mornings bent over the commode.

He'd called her from work and was relieved that she sounded better. He wanted to know if she was feeling well enough to go out for the evening. She'd told him no, that she had a surprise for him and he needed to be home to receive his gift. He teased her to reveal the surprise, but she held firm. Later, she promised.

Candles were everywhere. He was assailed with their scent each mingling together to create a bouquet for the senses. Whatever the surprise was, he liked it already. He could hear Laura humming in the kitchen. He removed his coat and made his way to her. His hands slipped around her waist and he nuzzled her neck.

"Jack, stop that right this minute." Her eyes laughed up at him. "I want this to be perfect and ...Jack." His hands found a particularly sensitive spot. She turned and kissed him. "Now go and put on something a little more comfortable." He raised an eyebrow. "Jeans and a T-shirt will do nicely. Now go."

"Ok, but I think my idea of comfortable is better than yours." She laughed and glanced pointedly toward the stairs. "I'm going, I'm going."

They ate their dinner in comfortable silence. He was looking forward to the surprise. Laura seemed a little nervous, though. When they had finished, she led him to the den. The light from the fireplace danced around the room. It had been cool for a September night, even in West Virginia. She led him to the couch. A box wrapped with pink and blue paper sat on the coffee table. "Open it." Laura's eyes were dancing. "Help me," he said. "No, this is your surprise."

He reached for the gift. He opened the box and pulled out a rattle, then he found the pacifier. It took him a moment before he understood. He pulled her to him and they kissed, long and slow. Their lovemaking lasted through the night.

Sydney's birth had been difficult. Laura's labor had been long and intensive. She'd threatened more than once to kill him if he ever touched her again. Jack held her first. She was so tiny. And she was his. From that moment, he vowed to protect her, to keep her from harm. Laura reached out for her baby and he transferred her into her mother's arms. "Hello, Sydney," she said softly.

He still remembered the first time she actually said 'Daddy'. Not the babyish 'dada', but the fully formed and complete ''Daddy'. From the moment she started walking, she would race to meet when he came home. Lifting her arms, she would demand that he lift her up.

They had received some intelligence of a possible assassination attempt on the President. The information had been difficult to decipher and several days passed before he finally cracked it. They had been in lockdown and he'd been unable to get home. He had told Laura that he had to go out of town for a few days. He hadn't wanted to lie, but his story was required protocol. It was late when he finally arrived home, almost Sydney's bedtime. When he opened the door, the hurtling ball that was his daughter threw herself into his arm. "Daddy."


Sydney had called him Daddy for the next eleven years. Sometimes softly, sometimes laughing, sometimes when she cried. She had only called him Daddy once since then.

Jack felt a touch of nervousness when he heard the car pull into the drive. He was surprised to see Sydney pull out an overnight bag from the passenger seat. He moved to the door and let his daughter in.

"Hi, Dad." Sydney seemed a little nervous, too. "Do you mind if I stay over? Will is out on assignment and um, Francie is visiting her sister."

"You're always welcome here, Sydney. This is your home." He reached for her bag. "Let me take this to your room."

"Thanks, Dad. I, um, there's something else in the car I need to bring in. I'll be back in a minute." Jack carried the bag up to Sydney's room. She had moved most of her belongings from the room shortly after she started her first job and he hadn't changed anything since. This had been his only real connection with his daughter once she'd graduated from college.