Author: Jada Lynne
Email: jadalynne16@hotmail.com
Website: http://jadalynne.diary-x.com
Feedback: Hell yes. Good, bad, everything.
Distribution: Wherever, just send me a link. CD always.
Disclaimer: If I owned Alias, I'd be doing the nasty with Michael Vartan,
not writing this.
Summary: An accident has Jack Bristow making the hardest decision of
his life.
Rating: PG13
Genre: Angst/Character Death
A/N: Pre-end of the season plot arc. At this point, no specific episode spoilers.
Jack Bristow was annoyed. His annoyance was directed at a lot of things and
a lot of people, but right now the weather was enemy number one. Three days
of straight, uninterrupted rain made him lethargic and exhausted, not that he'd
admit it for a moment. To counteract the lassitude, he sucked down massive amounts
of coffee on regular basis. Caffeine and general fatigue left him paranoid and
annoyed, speeding through the rain soaked residential streets of Los Angeles.
Sydney braced hand on the dashboard as Jack skidded around a curve. "Dad," She murmured with a half smile. "Slow down."
"You need to catch this flight." Jack snapped succinctly. "This is probably the last flight until the storm passes."
Sydney skimmed over the last lines of the file in her lap. Flipping off the small penlight she'd been reading by, she tossed it into her open carry-on bag, stuffing the file in on top. She zipped the messenger-style bag and stared straight out the windshield in the sloshing rain. "So, this looks pretty basic to me. Knock him out, grab the laptop, run real fast. Why is this so important that you had to interrupt the fun I was having with Edgar Allen? It couldn't have waited till tomorrow?"
"With Emily's condition worsening, Sloane asked me to assign this as I saw fit, but to be careful considering the files on this laptop. Information on the financial backings of the Alliance for one." Jack saw Sydney stiffen out of the corner of his eye.
"This laptop has the Alliance's financial records on it?" Sydney asked slowly, anticipation jumping in her stomach. "That's exactly what we've been-"
"No, it doesn't." Jack cut off. "It has the records of who has
the records." Seeing her shoulders sag, Jack lightened his tone. "One
step at a time, Sydney, one step at a time."
"So, unless Vaughn's hiding out in the backseat and I haven't realized
it yet, what's my counter-mission."
Jack slipped the tube of lipstick out of his pocket. "Wireless modem." He said simply, far from the jabbering explanation Marshall would have provided her with. "Just set it on top of the keyboard. It's been rigged so that it will send the information to the CIA, rather then SD6. On your return flight, in the pocket of the seat in front of you, you'll find a hard drive that the CIA techs have been working on with falsified information. The hardest part you're going to have is switching the hard drives without arising suspicion."
"As long as the tech people leave me the tools I'll need with the hard drive, I should be able to pull it off in the airport bathroom in a reasonable amount of time." Sydney uncapped the lipstick and examined it. "Why is it that the only color SD6 seems to come up with is Hooker Red?"
Jack's lips twitched. "Since I basically set this up, I know that I didn't order anyone to follow you. Still, we never know what Sloane could have going on behind the scenes, so" Jack moved his shoulder lightly and trailed off.
"Come on, Dad." Sydney joked. "Is it really that hard to say?"
"What?" Jack asked, uncomfortable.
"Be careful." Sydney laughed. "It's so obvious you want to say 'be careful', yet you always end with something like 'this equipment is expensive, take care of it'."
Jack, once again, felt his lips twitch. "Because the equipment *is* expensive. And if you screw it up, then Marshall will make something better. I rather avoid his babblings if at all possible."
"You're avoiding the -" Sydney's eyes suddenly widened. "Dad, watch out!" She shouted.
Jack's eyes jerked to the left as he instinctively stomped on the brakes. The oversized red pick up truck was well over the yellow line, speeding, and showing no signs of slowing. The car was silent, eerily slow, as Jack spun the wheel with both hands. The truck whizzed by with the blare of horn, as if it was Jack's fault the truck was on the wrong side of the road. All at once, everything seemed to freeze, total silence drowning all noise but their echoing pulse.
Skidding.Beat.Breaks.Beat.Scream.Beat.Dread.Beat.Gasp.Beat.Spinning.Beat.
Metal screeched against wood as the car slammed into the phone pole. Sydney was thrown forward by inertia. The seatbelt caught, robbing Sydney of breath as a bright searing pain shot through her torso.
Jack's fingers still gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity. Finally, he turned and saw his daughter slumped over in her seat, hair curtaining her face. "Sydney." With immense relief, he watched as Sydney sat up with a grimace. "You okay?"
"Oh, I'm just fabulous." Sydney gasped still short of breath. "But, Dad, I don't think I'm going to make that plane."
Jack unhooked his seatbelt and carefully brushed shards of glass off of himself. "Are you hurt?" He asked, ignoring her comment.
"I think I'm okay." Sydney winced as she twisted to unhook her seatbelt. "I broke some ribs though." She admitted. She twisted, hissing out a breath as she attempted to push open the car door.
"Don't move." Jack opened his own car door, the damaged metal creaking, as it swung open. Jack's head pounded as he stood. He recognized the signs of a concussion, but figured if he was alert enough to recognize those signs, he was fine.
It took some work to get Sydney's car door open. "Don't. Move." Jack repeated with a slow glare only a father could manage. Sydney froze on command.
"I'm fine." Sydney said. "Seriously. I had the wind knocked out of me, I'm fine."
"Sydney, you can barely breathe." Jack offered her his hand and assisted her out of the car. He led her to the curb, rain pounded on their hunched shoulders.
"You're bleeding." Sydney muttered, reaching up to brush her finger along the gash along her father's forehead. The precipitation quickly washed away the majority of the blood, but Sydney could still make out the shallow gash in the dim light.
"Sit." Jack ordered in the same authoritative tone as before, ignoring his own injuries. "I'm going to go get my phone. You okay?"
Sydney sank to the curb, ignoring the fact that her clothes were already soaked through. She wrapped an arm protectively around her stomach, leaning forward as she wheezed slightly. She knew all to well what it was like to have cracked and broken ribs.
"Syd?" Jack kneeled in front of her, examining her sheet white face. "Sydney, what's the matter?" A trickle of water trailed down his spine as Sydney made eye contact. The sheer terror he saw there had nothing to do with the accident.
Something was wrong.
She hurt. Pain radiated all over her body, suddenly and viciously. From dull aches in all her limbs, to stabbing pain with red-hot intensity. She wanted to moan, to cry and scream, but couldn't. Pain robbed her of breath; all she could manage was short, whimpering chokes that burnt her throat.
"Daddy." Her moan was strangled, her breathing short and ragged. "Daddy, it hurts." Her voice was suddenly infantile and fearful.
"Sydney." Jack snapped coldly, despite his own urge to panic. He slapped her cheeks ruthlessly as her eyes began to role back in her head. "Sydney, stay awake."
As she lay on her side in the waterlogged grass, half conscious, Sydney listened to the world move around her.
Pain.Gasp.Daddy.Gasp.Voice.Gasp.Sirens.Gasp.Daddy.Gasp.Cold.Cold.Cold.
Distantly, like there was a sheet of heavy plastic over her face suffocating her, Sydney saw flashing lights and heard voices all around her. The pain seemed to engulf her, leaving her empty. She could here her father shouting at her, but she ignored it as she drifted away. So sleepy. Sleepy like laying in bed on a rainy Sunday morning, curled up next to Danny, wrapped in the thick white blanket on her bed. Warm bed. Warm blanket.
Warm. She thought as she drifted. So warm.
"Dr. Whitby to CCU, please, Dr. Whitby to CCU."
Jack didn't pace the room. He didn't pester the nurses for updates on his daughter's condition. He didn't even look stricken.
Replace the vinyl chair, put him in a dry and unwrinkled suit, and Jack Bristow would look like he was patiently awaiting board meeting. His face was expressionless, his eyes carefully blank. Years and years of habit kept his emotions carefully in check, even as he was going through mental turmoil.
The irony didn't fail to strike him. Sydney had been through things that probably should have killed her. She'd been shot; she'd been thrown off the top floors of buildings. She'd been held hostage and beaten until she had to stay in a hotel till she could go back to her house, so her friends wouldn't ask questions.
"Dr. Whitby to CCU, please, Dr. Whitby to CCU."
She was wearing her seatbelt. The airbags had deployed. There was no way an accident, simple when put into comparison, should have injured his daughter to this extreme.
There was no way his daughter should be laying in Trauma Three with a tube in her chest when he was the one who wrecked the car. He was the one who was driving to fast in the rain. He was the one who drug her out of her house late at night in the middle of a storm.
"Dr. Whitby to CCU, please, Dr. Whitby to CCU."
Jack's hand clenched on the armrest, wishing he had seen the car a moment earlier, a moment later, something to change the angle of the impact. Wishing that he could trade places with Sydney.
"Dr. Whitby to CCU, please." Wishing that goddamn Dr. Whitby would get his ass to CCU.
It was a rare and weak moment that he allowed himself such worthless thoughts. There was no point in speculating on what could have been, no point in wishing for something that he knew he couldn't have. No point at all.
He had a million things he should have been doing. He couldn't think of one of them. He could only speculate, wondering what he could have done differently, wondering why it wasn't him.
"Natty, just tell me!"
Natalie studied the girl, young woman she corrected, for a moment. With her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, dressed in a light track suit, her skin carrying the dull sheen of drying sweat, Natalie didn't think she could ever be proud of the child she considered her own.
Sydney watched the mile wide grin split over her nanny's face. With a whoop of laughter, Sydney grabbed Natalie and swung them both around in a sort of victory dance. "I got in!" She screamed in delight. "I got into UCLA!"
Doctor Amber Jansen ripped off the blue apron, now splattered crimson, and threw it into a red biohazard disposal bin. She was disgusted, thoroughly to her core, and needed a moment to steady herself. The gloves, slick with blood of her patient, were next tossed. They landed with a sick plop on the floor. Common courtesy would decree her to pick them up and clean the mess she'd created.
Fuck common courtesy. No one had been courteous to her tonight; no one had shown respect tonight.
She left the gloves on the floor for the custodial staff to pick up and sanitize, brushing past bustling nurses, and out of the trauma room.
It was nights like these that made her doubt her career. Made her wish she'd gone into something average. Education, accounting, computers She'd had so much to pick from, but for some reason she'd gone into medicine. Thought she'd make a difference. She was brilliant at it. Excelled in her class.
She hated every goddamn moment of it.
She made notes in the chart as she walked, barely thinking as she scribbled. She weaved, subconsciously, between a gurney being wheeled down the hallway and a woman being led back into her room by placating intern.
Amber tossed the metal clipboard onto the counter of the nurse's station. It slid, skittering along with a light scrape as inertia took the chart on a short course. "Bristow, Sydney A." She snapped out, making the young male manning the phones jump. He stared up at her with, his eyes blank. Either he didn't know or he was terrified of her. "She came in about two hours ago." Amber prompted. "She come in with anyone?"
"UhI think" The man, a boy really, stammered as he shoved papers around on the counter. "Bristow, Jonathan D. Father of Sydney A." He recited with a certain amount of pride at his success. "Slight concussion, multiple contusions and abrasions, four stitches over the left eye, treated by-"
"I don't need the medical history." Amber snapped, cutting him off cleanly and as neatly as if with a knife. "Where can I find him?"
He pointed with a shaky hand towards the far corner of the waiting room. "The one with blood all over his Armani." He clarified.
Amber examined the man from her post at the counter for a moment, gauging him. He sat perfectly straight in the chair, spine unnaturally straight for two in the morning. His face was blank as a sheet of paper, carrying the same amount of color. Unmoving. Cold.
As if the cold was a tangible physical one, Amber felt a chill run down her spine, down her legs, all the way to the tips of her toes. She had a distinct feeling this wasn't going to be pleasant.
Steeling herself for the inevitable unpleasantness that came with delivering bad news to family members, Amber crossed the room. "Mr. Bristow?" She asked, voice carrying a sympathetic pleasantness, a kindness that she couldn't seem to muster in her own life. "I'd Dr. Amber Jansen. I treated your daughter."
He turned slightly, blank face offset by expressive eyes. "How is my daughter?" He asked.
To her credit, Amber only hesitated slightly. But in that split second of silence, realization sparked in the gray eyes. For a moment, the mask the man hid behind cracked and left him exposed.
"Mr. Bristow" Amber began.
Jack replied, rising. "I want to see her."
"I'm sorry, that's-"
"I want to see her."
"I need to warn you, Mr. Bristow." Amber said, gaze never faltering. "Your daughter is not well."
"If she was well, she wouldn't be in the emergency room." The elder Bristow said carefully, with enough malice laced in his words to make Amber wince.
"The seatbelt, it seems, squeezed her ribcage. Four ribs were broken. One punctured her left lung."
"I want to see her." He repeated.
"I need to warn you. She's on a ventilator. She's unable to breathe on her own."
Jack closed his eyes briefly. When he spoke, his voice had lost the cool distance that kept him a step back from everything.
"I want to see her."
"Um, hi." The voice greeted tentatively. Sydney looked up from
notes she'd been copying.
"Hi." She said, smiling with polite disinterest, annoyed with the interruption. She'd fallen way behind with the latest trip; missing all her classes a week before finals was killing her.
The blonde man smiled warmly. "I'm really sorry to bother you, you look really busy, but" He trailed off shrugging.
Sydney arched a brow questioningly, willing the man to get to the point. "Yes?"
"I'm a reporter for the Los Angeles Register. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions for an article I'm doing?"
"Look, I'd love to, but I've got about ten minutes to copy about twenty pages of notes. I'd love to help, but" Sydney gestured down to the books spread out in front of her.
The man's smile faltered for a moment. "Oh, I'm sorry." He apologized
quickly. "I didn't even think, I should have-"
There was something oddly endearing about the man's stuttering attempts at conversation.
Ripping a shred of paper out of her notebook, she scrawled on it and handed
it to him. "If your report can wait till tonight, give me a call, and I'll
do your interview."
"Okay." He said, smiling brightly down at the piece of paper. "Oh. Okay." He repeated. "Again, I'm sorry about interrupting your studying. I'll, um, call you later."
He started to back away. "Hey." Sydney said with a half laugh. "I don't even know your name."
He stepped forward, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants. "Will Tippin." He said, offering a hand. "Nice to meet you."
It hurt, pain that shot to the center of his soul. A searing and burning pain
that left him paralyzed, unable to move from the hard plastic seat next to his
daughter's bed. There was so much he felt the need to apologize for; so much
he wanted to say. Words wouldn't come.
Shame was the only word he could come up with. So much he felt shame for. For God's sake, he couldn't even express enough emotion to tell her to be careful. He'd never been there, and due to that, she'd been drug into this horrible life. Drug into this dirtiness, the kind that left a person forever marred, no matter how many times they tried to wash it away. The kind the seeped and poured until it had invaded every crevasse of their life. Then they realize that the dirtiness and ugliness has become their life, and it makes them sad.
He was sad. God knew he had enough to regret, but sitting in a chair looking at his daughter. Her arms were bruised, human fists and needles of her doctors being equally to blame.
It embarrassed him that there was so little he knew about his daughter. So little he'd taken the time to question, so much he could have done to make it easier for her.
It'd been so easy to love her when she'd been born; too easy he'd later thought. Too easy to sit for hours, holding the small child against his shoulder for hours. All too easy to recognize his willingness to use any means necessary to protect his child, that extension of his soul, and the liability that created. The danger that put them both in.
He'd stepped back. Stepped further after Lara's betrayal had been revealed. Stepped further more when she'd grown old enough to make some steps herself. He'd heard about her high school graduation from her nanny, he'd replied to her demands of attending UCLA by informing her that she would be paying for her education. "Learn some responsibility, Sydney. You've been spoiled." He'd said, striking out at her for no other reason then wanting to follow in the footsteps of her precious mother.
He'd watched the milestones of her life pass by from the car in the parking lot. Unnoticed was the delight that'd shine in his eyes during track meets, unseen was pride when she'd given her valedictorian speech. Unknown was the vast amount of love he'd carefully locked away to protect his daughter, protecting himself, from the life that he'd chosen.
There was very little he had known of his daughter. Very little he'd taken the time to question.
The freedom she'd so desperately craved, the autonomy she'd fought for everyday, the justice she lived to deliver. He could give all that to her.
It would only be the hardest decision he'd ever had to make. It'd only be the most painful thing he'd ever do.
The fate of his daughter, the daughter that he'd have died to protect, now rested in his hands. With that in mind, he brushed his fingers across Sydney's cold, limp hand. The only affection he'd allow himself to show. The only affection he could physically show to his child who lay motionless on a pristine white bed, with a tube protruding rudely from her throat.
There was so much he had shame for. The biggest shame of all was that everything his daughter wanted, the freedom, the autonomy, the justice; it could all be delivered within a moments noticed.
It'd only cost Jack his daughter.
It'd only cost Sydney her life.
Carrying the fishing rod in one hand, her water bottle in the other, Sydney
stomped down the path towards their campsite. Her parents had sent her away
again, so they could talk in low voices that they never thought she could hear.
She'd thought ahead enough to grab her fishing rod, so that she actually had
something to do, but a five year old's attention span was short lived.
She didn't like fishing. She didn't like camping. She missed her bed. She wanted to go home.
All at once, she felt herself trip over the tree root, hidden under the piles of dead leaves. The fishing rod went flying as she fell. The snap she heard made her whimper, even as a child she recognized the pain that was coming. She screamed, long and hard, hoping she was close enough for them to hear.
She screamed again. And again. It was only a moment before Jack was at her side, but she didn't stop screaming.
"Sydney, what happened?" Lara asked as she fell at her daughter's side.
"Hurts!" She wailed.
"Can you stand up?" Jack asked calmly. Sydney silenced, concentrating on rolling onto her side. As her leg shifted, she whimpered.
"Jack, look." Lara said, pointing to the large, swollen bulge that had already formed mid-calf.
"Yes, I see." Jack framed Sydney's face with her hands, a touch that was rare enough to silence her. "Syd, you've broken your leg. We need to get it tended too." Without another word, Jack slipped his arms under his daughter and lifted her up.
Sydney laid her head against her father's chest as they hiked out of the woods, letting the ever-steady beating of his heart calm her, letting it dull the pain of her broken leg.
That day, her father was her hero. Twenty-five years later, she'd think the same.
Will ran, he ran hard, he ran fast. His tennis shoes slapped against the clean linoleum floors, his lungs burned from his dead sprint from the parking lot. The click of Francie's heels echoed far behind him, but he didn't pause to wait for her. Couldn't wait.
"Sydney Bristow." He asked, his voice barely in control as he ran up to the nurse's station. "I need to know what room she's in."
"Uh, are you family?" He asked.
"Yes, I'm her brother." He lied easily, knowing it was easiest.
"Room five-eleven. Turn left at the intersection, third door on the left."
Will ran, he ran hard, he ran fast. He saw the small plaque for five-eleven and nearly knocked over Jack Bristow as he stepped out of the room.
"Mr. Tippin, you shouldn't be here." He said coldly.
"What do you mean, I shouldn't be here. What happened? Syd okay?" Will was out of breath, and any oxygen he might have had was stolen by the expression on Jack's face. "What happened?!"
"There was a car accident." Jack elaborated no further. "Sydney sustained severe injuries."
"Is she okay?" Will tried in vane to push past Jack and into Sydney's room. Jack shoved him back a step.
"You don't want to go in there, Mr. Tippin." Jack stated in a low voice. "Sydney was on life support. She had a living will."
"What?" Francie asked from behind Will. "What do you mean?"
"A living will?" asked Will. "What does thatwhat are you"
"She was removed from life support a few minutes ago."
"No." Francie stumbled back a step, dizziness washing over her. "No. No. No."
"She's gone?" Will whispered, brokenly. "She's gone?"
"I'm sorry." Jack said, lacking anything better. It seemed odd to be offering condolences to Sydney's friends. He realized that there would be no one to offer him the same.
Francie began to sob, biting her index finger as fat tears coursed down her face. Will and Francie stood together, staring at him with unspeakable grief.
These people, no blood relation, no connection other then the intellectual, loved his daughter more then he'd ever shown her. And Sydney had loved them just the same. It was just as much of a stab of pain as it was a small comfort.
Tearing his eyes away from Jack Bristow's blank, emotionless face, Will turned to Francie. He pulled her into a bruising hug, holding her as she sobbed. Tears stung his own eyes, but they never fell.
When he looked up, Jack was gone.
She was warm, still. But empty.
She heard the shout behind her and spun.
The smile split her face as she spotted him, her legs stretching as she ran across the field to meet him.
Warm, strong arms surrounded her, lifting her off her feet.
The spun; a laughter-filled dance of pure joy.
"God, I love you, Sydney." His voice, that lilting British accent, washed over her ears, the voice making her chest ache as she remembered.
"You died. You're dead." She pointed out.
"Did you think simple death could stop my love for you?"
Their lips met, a light brushing of skin against skin, as she drifted away.
Jack walked out of the hospital, his cell phone at his ear. Ignoring the rain,
he stepped into the pouring rain and walked. He wouldn't allow himself time
to doubt his choices, wouldn't give himself time to change his mind. All he
wanted to do was sit somewhere with a tall glass of whiskey and lose himself
in memories, but he couldn't. There was so much to do. He couldn't afford to
breakdown. Not yet.
She felt the thing she'd so craved, felt it wash over her like a loving wave.
As freedom embraced her, she was happy.