Jack slammed on the brakes, bringing the SUV to a screeching halt on the
tarmac of a generic airstrip in Taipei. A cargo jet, similar to the one
that had brought them there was awaiting their arrival. Jack leaped from
the driver's seat. Vaughn climbed out of the backseat.
"I'll take Sydney," Jack ordered. "Open the back and get Tippin the hell out of there." Jack gathered Sydney in his arms and started for the plane.
Vaughn would have much rather been in charge of Sydney's care, rather than nosy, obnoxious, jealousy-inducing Will, but for the sake of obedience he went around to the back of the car and opened the back. He stared at Will's well-drugged body for a moment, contemplating how to get him on the plane. Carrying Sydney around had been easy; she weighed maybe 115 pounds, if that. Will however, appeared to be taller and probably heavier than Vaughn, and far too gone to be of any help at the moment. He half dragged, half lifted him out of the trunk, nearly dumping his leaden form against the asphalt. He then picked up across his shoulders, wounded-soldier style and began a slow stagger towards the plane, trailing Jack by quite a distance.
The plane was ready to take off as soon as all four passengers had been brought aboard. Someone slammed the door shut behind them, pounded upon it twice with a heavy fist, and the jet engines roared to life as the plane began its journey down the runway.
Vaughn unceremoniously dropped Will onto the ground atop a few blankets, but he was far too sufficiently drugged to take any notice. Jack had already laid Sydney down on some sort of cot. Vaughn had worked on cleaning some of her wounds in the car, but he wasn't nearly finished.
He approached Sydney, who appeared to be sleeping oddly peacefully, as Jack ransacked a number of medical kits that the plane was carrying. Vaughn immediately dove in to help.
Jack reached for a pair of scissors and cut the leg off of Sydney's leather pants, as high as he could, carefully peeling them off of her stab wound. He set to trying to cleanse it as best as he could, and then moved on to bandaging it. He could tell that Sydney definitely had some muscle damage, but if she was lucky the injury had not grazed her femur as well.
Vaughn, in the meantime, set to work trying to remove Sydney's hideous blood-matted once blue wig. Dried blood had crisped it in places both to her scalp and her real hair underneath. He eventually did get it removed, and was now able to expose Sydney's head wound. The gash was torn and ugly. Even looking at it caused him to wince. Luckily, it didn't appear to be too deep, and had stopped bleeding, but it had obviously given her some degree of a concussion. He cleaned the gash on the side of her head tenderly, then closed it with butterfly bandages. He next began to wipe all the blood and grime away from her face, focusing also on the cut on her temple and her swollen lip.
Neither man said a word. They both worked at frantic pace, trying to do whatever they could for Sydney. They both loved her. They both needed her to survive in order for them to survive.
Jack finished bandaging Sydney's stab wound, and set to work trying to wipe the blood off of her leg. As he worked his way up her inner thigh, he was slightly confused. The blood from the stab wound appeared to stop about six inches or so from the top of her thigh, yet the top of her thighs were also sticky with blood. After beginning to wipe that off, he could clearly see that the area underneath was badly bruised and swollen. Years of field experience told him immediately that such could only mean one thing.
His daughter had been raped.
The sudden sharp realization hit him with the same crushing force as the tidal wave of water that had crushed Agent Vaughn just seven or so hours earlier. He stumbled slightly backwards, grabbing onto some shipping crates to support himself.
Vaughn looked up, startled at Jack's sudden movements. What shocked him was to see Jack's expression. From a man who made consistent effort to display no emotion whatsoever, it quite literally frightened him to see the mixture of anger, fear, and disgust that spread across his face.
"What the -- Jack, are you ok?" Vaughn inquired urgently. Jack turned and ran towards the bathroom at the front of the plane. He winced at the sounds of violent retching that could be heard even back in the cargo area. Vaughn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to work on the cut on Sydney's side. Jack returned within a few minutes, still looking ill and somewhat shaken. Vaughn looked into his face with concern, but he held up his hand, as if to signal that he was alright.
The men went back to work.
It had been six hours since they had left the ground in Taipei. Jack and Vaughn had barely said a word to each other. Will remained in his quite uncomfortable looking position had Vaughn had dropped him upon entrance, having not yet stirred in the slightest. Sydney was still unconscious, and although she showed no signs of worsening, she also showed no signs of improving. She still lay on the cot, her body hidden beneath a blanket. Vaughn sat at her side, holding her uninjured hand and gazing into her puffy, battered face. Jack sat a little off to the side, by himself, varying between gazing with horror and concern at his daughter and burying his head in his hands. Vaughn constantly racked his brain, trying to think of something he could do or say for Jack Bristow. All those years of forced apathy had taken a more massive toll on him that Vaughn ever could have guessed, and it now appeared that they were causing him to suffer some sort of breakdown. At one point, Vaughn even thought that Jack was crying, but he averted his eyes and thoughts, as an attempt to not only avoid embarrassing and humiliating this broken man, but also to try to maintain his own composure. And he was walking a fine line at that.
Vaughn arose, and went though a series of stretches. His entire body ached from his near-drowning, and sitting in one uncomfortable position for hours certainly was not helping. He then checked Sydney's vital signs for about the twelfth time since they had boarded the plane.
"Jack?" Vaughn asked.
"Yes?"
"You and Sydney don't by some off chance have the same blood type, do you?"
"Yes, we do, actually."
"Her blood pressure is still awfully low, and she's obviously lost a lot of blood." Vaughn reached into one of the medical kits and withdrew a blood bag, tossing it Jack's direction. "Care to donate?"
Without so much as a word, Jack rolled up his sleeve, plunged the needle into the crook of his elbow, and opened the valve on the tube connected the needle to the bag. It slowly began to fill. He quickly disappeared back into his isolationist world.
Vaughn sat back down. He rubbed his temples and sighed, hanging his head in his hands. How had what originally seemed a relatively simple rescue mission gone so far awry? Vaughn suspected he had already been removed as Sydney's handler, and suspended from active duty, if not fired. It was a distinct possibility that he might never see Sydney again once they disembarked in Los Angeles. He reached over and grasped her hand tighter than before, and then raised it to his lips and gave her long, beautiful fingers a soft kiss. Also, he had no one way of knowing the true extent of Sydney's injuries. There was a remote possibility that she would never wake up. Also, her cover could already be blown, and a price established for head, and possibly Jack's as well. To make matters worse, he and Jack had no idea what had occurred in Taipei, so they had no information to deduce from. He sighed in frustration, at this helpless situation. There was nothing to do but sit and wait.
"I'll take Sydney," Jack ordered. "Open the back and get Tippin the hell out of there." Jack gathered Sydney in his arms and started for the plane.
Vaughn would have much rather been in charge of Sydney's care, rather than nosy, obnoxious, jealousy-inducing Will, but for the sake of obedience he went around to the back of the car and opened the back. He stared at Will's well-drugged body for a moment, contemplating how to get him on the plane. Carrying Sydney around had been easy; she weighed maybe 115 pounds, if that. Will however, appeared to be taller and probably heavier than Vaughn, and far too gone to be of any help at the moment. He half dragged, half lifted him out of the trunk, nearly dumping his leaden form against the asphalt. He then picked up across his shoulders, wounded-soldier style and began a slow stagger towards the plane, trailing Jack by quite a distance.
The plane was ready to take off as soon as all four passengers had been brought aboard. Someone slammed the door shut behind them, pounded upon it twice with a heavy fist, and the jet engines roared to life as the plane began its journey down the runway.
Vaughn unceremoniously dropped Will onto the ground atop a few blankets, but he was far too sufficiently drugged to take any notice. Jack had already laid Sydney down on some sort of cot. Vaughn had worked on cleaning some of her wounds in the car, but he wasn't nearly finished.
He approached Sydney, who appeared to be sleeping oddly peacefully, as Jack ransacked a number of medical kits that the plane was carrying. Vaughn immediately dove in to help.
Jack reached for a pair of scissors and cut the leg off of Sydney's leather pants, as high as he could, carefully peeling them off of her stab wound. He set to trying to cleanse it as best as he could, and then moved on to bandaging it. He could tell that Sydney definitely had some muscle damage, but if she was lucky the injury had not grazed her femur as well.
Vaughn, in the meantime, set to work trying to remove Sydney's hideous blood-matted once blue wig. Dried blood had crisped it in places both to her scalp and her real hair underneath. He eventually did get it removed, and was now able to expose Sydney's head wound. The gash was torn and ugly. Even looking at it caused him to wince. Luckily, it didn't appear to be too deep, and had stopped bleeding, but it had obviously given her some degree of a concussion. He cleaned the gash on the side of her head tenderly, then closed it with butterfly bandages. He next began to wipe all the blood and grime away from her face, focusing also on the cut on her temple and her swollen lip.
Neither man said a word. They both worked at frantic pace, trying to do whatever they could for Sydney. They both loved her. They both needed her to survive in order for them to survive.
Jack finished bandaging Sydney's stab wound, and set to work trying to wipe the blood off of her leg. As he worked his way up her inner thigh, he was slightly confused. The blood from the stab wound appeared to stop about six inches or so from the top of her thigh, yet the top of her thighs were also sticky with blood. After beginning to wipe that off, he could clearly see that the area underneath was badly bruised and swollen. Years of field experience told him immediately that such could only mean one thing.
His daughter had been raped.
The sudden sharp realization hit him with the same crushing force as the tidal wave of water that had crushed Agent Vaughn just seven or so hours earlier. He stumbled slightly backwards, grabbing onto some shipping crates to support himself.
Vaughn looked up, startled at Jack's sudden movements. What shocked him was to see Jack's expression. From a man who made consistent effort to display no emotion whatsoever, it quite literally frightened him to see the mixture of anger, fear, and disgust that spread across his face.
"What the -- Jack, are you ok?" Vaughn inquired urgently. Jack turned and ran towards the bathroom at the front of the plane. He winced at the sounds of violent retching that could be heard even back in the cargo area. Vaughn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began to work on the cut on Sydney's side. Jack returned within a few minutes, still looking ill and somewhat shaken. Vaughn looked into his face with concern, but he held up his hand, as if to signal that he was alright.
The men went back to work.
It had been six hours since they had left the ground in Taipei. Jack and Vaughn had barely said a word to each other. Will remained in his quite uncomfortable looking position had Vaughn had dropped him upon entrance, having not yet stirred in the slightest. Sydney was still unconscious, and although she showed no signs of worsening, she also showed no signs of improving. She still lay on the cot, her body hidden beneath a blanket. Vaughn sat at her side, holding her uninjured hand and gazing into her puffy, battered face. Jack sat a little off to the side, by himself, varying between gazing with horror and concern at his daughter and burying his head in his hands. Vaughn constantly racked his brain, trying to think of something he could do or say for Jack Bristow. All those years of forced apathy had taken a more massive toll on him that Vaughn ever could have guessed, and it now appeared that they were causing him to suffer some sort of breakdown. At one point, Vaughn even thought that Jack was crying, but he averted his eyes and thoughts, as an attempt to not only avoid embarrassing and humiliating this broken man, but also to try to maintain his own composure. And he was walking a fine line at that.
Vaughn arose, and went though a series of stretches. His entire body ached from his near-drowning, and sitting in one uncomfortable position for hours certainly was not helping. He then checked Sydney's vital signs for about the twelfth time since they had boarded the plane.
"Jack?" Vaughn asked.
"Yes?"
"You and Sydney don't by some off chance have the same blood type, do you?"
"Yes, we do, actually."
"Her blood pressure is still awfully low, and she's obviously lost a lot of blood." Vaughn reached into one of the medical kits and withdrew a blood bag, tossing it Jack's direction. "Care to donate?"
Without so much as a word, Jack rolled up his sleeve, plunged the needle into the crook of his elbow, and opened the valve on the tube connected the needle to the bag. It slowly began to fill. He quickly disappeared back into his isolationist world.
Vaughn sat back down. He rubbed his temples and sighed, hanging his head in his hands. How had what originally seemed a relatively simple rescue mission gone so far awry? Vaughn suspected he had already been removed as Sydney's handler, and suspended from active duty, if not fired. It was a distinct possibility that he might never see Sydney again once they disembarked in Los Angeles. He reached over and grasped her hand tighter than before, and then raised it to his lips and gave her long, beautiful fingers a soft kiss. Also, he had no one way of knowing the true extent of Sydney's injuries. There was a remote possibility that she would never wake up. Also, her cover could already be blown, and a price established for head, and possibly Jack's as well. To make matters worse, he and Jack had no idea what had occurred in Taipei, so they had no information to deduce from. He sighed in frustration, at this helpless situation. There was nothing to do but sit and wait.