Disclaimer: Please don't sue me, I own nothing.
Jack stared blindly at the open book in front of him. He saw the words printed on the page, but for some reason, his brain was having a hard time comprehending their meaning. He blinked once, when things got fuzzy, and then gave up altogether, shutting the book with a thump. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He glanced at his watch. 3:14 a.m. He stifled a groan and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had been trying to read his favorite book for the last half hour, but to no avail. He couldn't help but think about Sydney. She hadn't checked in with him like she was supposed to, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Jumping to conclusions wouldn't do any good. He was almost shocked at the near panic he felt at the thought of his daughter being in danger, or hurt, or...something he'd rather not think about. He really had gotten soft. In a moment of exhausted clarity, he realized that he had always been a softy when it came to Sydney. In a flash, he saw himself weeping in delight the night of her birth. He shook the image from his mind. That had been one of the only two times he had cried in his adult life. In an effort to avoid thinking of the other, he began self-analyzing his actions throughout Sydney's life. When she was little, he had been the perfect father, and she had been "Daddy's little angel." But after... he had stopped being affectionate completely. He never hugged her or planted tiny kisses in her hair, as he had so often in the past. As time went on, he distanced himself in other ways. He had always thought that, if something happened to him, it would be easier on her if she had fewer fond memories to grieve over. In his mind, he had only hurt her to avoid causing her pain. But now, things were different. She had experienced more pain in her young life than he would've ever thought possible. He was even a little bitter, since he had sacrificed his relationship with her to keep her from the kind of danger she now encountered daily. Oh how cruel fate can be, he thought as he sighed. He couldn't deny his pride in her, either. She was strong, brave, beautiful, intelligent, charming, and still every bit "Daddy's little angel." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, but he caught himself and forced them back down. It would do no good, he reminded himself, to get emotional at this point. A mocking voice reverberated inside his head that he already was, but he ignored it.
He cast a furtive glance three rows behind him, to Will Tippin's aisle seat. Hastily bandaged, with dried blood peeking up from the collar of the jacket Jack had given him, he sat sound asleep. Jack sighed and turned back around. He felt something unusual for this boy who had endured hours upon hours of brutal torture for his daughter's sake. What was it? It wasn't something Jack felt often. It was on the tip of his mind. Was it....? Ah, yes, it was respect. Jack almost grinned as he realized that he kind of liked the boy. The boy that obviously had more than friendly feelings for his little girl. Jack frowned. Well, perhaps "like" was too strong of a word.
He was lost in his thoughts when the flight attendant approached him. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I noticed that you seemed to be a bit uncomfortable. I thought you might like a fresh pillow and maybe a drink," the pretty redhead said, as she rested her hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack looked up, amused. She was flirting with him. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, handing him a pillow.
"Thank you. I'll have a scotch." The girl smiled even bigger, winked, then squeezed his shoulder as she walked off. Jack switched the lumpy pillow behind his head for the new one. He felt a sharp poke in his side and turned to the person next to him, an annoyed expression on his face. "Excuse me, but would you mind..."he started.
"Yes I mind, I mind very much," the very elderly lady said. Jack closed his mouth and stared at her. "I hope you're not thinking of pursuing that young lady over there," she gestured in the general direction of the flight attendant, with a withered hand. "Why, she must be thirty years younger than you. It's not proper, I say. It's just not proper." Jack raised his eyebrows, again amused. "And furthermore, I would appreciate it greatly if you could manage to keep your ample self on your side of the arm-rest."
"I'm sorry, are you implying that I'm fat?" Jack asked in disbelief, the amused look slowly ebbing.
"Take it however you'd like, Porky, just scoot over," she said, and poked him again. He flinched and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off. "Oh, and you don't mind if I turn this pesky little light off, do you?"she said, before reaching up to flick the switch on the overhead light. She didn't wait for a response, she just turned toward the window, and went back to sleep.
Jack now sat in the dark, squished into one side of his seat, waiting for his drink, and feeling more uncomfortable than ever. He looked down at his watch. 3:16 a.m. This time, he didn't bother to stifle the groan.
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As soon as Irina left the room, Sydney was up off the bed. She swayed for a second, letting the blood rush from her head, before walking over to the door. She got down on her hands and knees and tried to peek under the tiny crack, but she couldn't make anything out. She got up again and took a deep breath before gently trying the knob. If someone was on the other side, it was best if they didn't know she was there. The knob didn't give, and Sydney let go and backed away from the locked door. Her eyes darted around the strange room, taking everything in. She noticed it had only one small vent, and the two windows on either side of the bed had bars on them. She walked over to one of them, and looked outside. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight before her. Mountains and trees, as far as the eye could see. The sky was black, and she quickly scanned the room for a clock. She found none. Feeling slightly dizzy, she slid down to the floor and sat leaning up against the wall. She closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander to Vaughn. She forced herself to hope that he had gotten out of the water in time, but she knew that was unlikely. With a heavy heart, she held her sobs in, and only allowed herself a moment to focus on the sadness.
Then she was in control again. Her spy mentality took over and soon, she was devising an escape plan. She didn't know where she was, how big the house was, how many guards there were, how she was going to get out of the room, or how much tolerance her mother was going to have with her before killing her. The last one was important, but Sydney didn't dwell on it. Instead, she walked into the adjoining bathroom and started scanning the walls, ceiling, and floor. As she feared, there were no vents large enough to do her any good. She would just have to fight her way out of this one. She raised her head, preparing for battle, and walked over to the main door again. Thinking for only a moment about how to get them to open the door, she decided on the best approach. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, readied herself, and let out one high-pitched, ear-piercing, blood-curdling scream. It must have lasted ten solid seconds, before the two guards finished fumbling with the lock and burst through the door. Their expressions were that of shock, as they met Sydney's fists. It only took a few seconds to render them both unconscious, then Sydney was out the door. She looked all around her, but there were no other guards, so she slowly made her way down the hall. When she got to the first corner, she hesitated, wishing she had some sort of weapon, but then stilled as she heard footsteps coming toward her. She waited for the first person to come around the corner, and when they did, she elbowed them in the nose with a sick crunching sound. She jumped out and kicked another in the gut before twirling into a high roundhouse, nailing the guy behind her in the face. Someone grabbed her around the neck, so she spun out of his grasp, taking his arm with her and not letting go until she heard a satisfying crack. The next thing she knew, she was being tackled to the ground. She muffled a scream in the carpet when one of the men kicked her hard in her lower back. She stopped moving and pretended to be unconscious, sucking in ragged breaths. When a guard rolled her over and leaned in to take a closer look, one of her booted feet shot up, hitting him between the legs. He fell to the ground, immobilized, and Sydney got to her feet. She issued a few more injuries before being grabbed from behind and having her hands restrained. One of the guards took his revenge and punched her in the face numerous times, finishing with one to the stomach, which knocked the air out of her. She was carried, kicking, back to the bedroom, where she was thrown onto the bed. She whirled around, furious, and addressed her captor, "I suggest you release me now, before I break more bones." She smirked evilly and seemed to settle back into the pillows, but she was ready for any attack they could launch at her. One of the guards back-handed her hard across the face, causing another ugly bruise to appear faintly on her swollen cheek. She didn't flinch or make a sound, instead, she tilted her head toward the latest occupant of the room. "Come for the show? It was just about to get good," she told the figure who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. She gave her best bloody smile and kicked a nearby guard in the back, causing him to stumble forward and fall to the floor.. Two other guards pinned her legs to the mattress.
Irina was not happy. She should have predicted this from her daughter, because she would have done the same thing. Several of her men were now bleeding all over her expensive carpet, and she could hear one of them moaning down the hall over a broken bone that was sticking through the skin. Pride warred with anger as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Her lips were fiercely pursed, and she was slightly shaking all over. She angrily shouted a few Russian phrases at the guards, who in turn, hung their heads in shame. All except the two holding Sydney's legs down left the room, hurrying past their livid boss. She calmly turned and shut the door after them, taking a few breaths to steady herself. She turned back around and strolled slowly over to her daughter. "I must say, Darling, that was an outstanding performance you gave out there," she grinned knowingly. "Of course you do take after the best in the business."
Sydney narrowed her eyes at the woman, no longer feeling dejected or confused, just thoroughly pissed. "I hate you," she spat out.
"Now that really is sad, because I feel exactly the opposite for you," Irina's voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly and returned her daughter's glare.
Sydney was, once again, confused beyond all understanding. Had her mother just revealed a long-hoped-for truth, or was she simply acting again? The mysterious woman stepped even closer, leaning towards her as she said, "If you promise to be a good girl, I can dismiss my boys here," she patted one of the guards on the shoulder, "and we can have a little talk." Sydney thought only for a second before nodding her consent. The men got up and walked to the door. One of them turned when he was about to exit and shot Sydney a nasty look. She shot one back.
As the door closed, Irina motioned for Sydney to scoot over. When she did so, Irina sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Their shoulders were lightly touching, and Sydney had to curb the impulse to grab onto her and never let go. She stared at the wallpaper instead and made a comment on the pattern.
Irina didn't hear, because she was too focused on ignoring the urge to envelope her daughter in a huge embrace. She took a shaky breath and collected herself. "I suppose I should state the reason for my hasty exit earlier," she started. "Another guest had just arrived from the airport, and it was necessary for me to see to his accommodations."
Gaze still locked on the wall, Sydney asked, "Who?"
Irina released a breath as she said, "A friend of yours, I believe. We have yet to uncover his identity, but it will only be a matter of time until we do." She paused. "A team of my men retrieved him from a rather flooded hallway back at the club. This was your doing, no?"
Sydney's eyes abandoned the wall and shot to her mother's. "Vaughn? You have Vaughn? And he's alive?!" she exclaimed before thinking.
Irina laughed softly. "So his name is Vaughn. This sounds familiar to me," her forehead creased in thought for an instant before, "It is no matter. I am grateful for your assistance."
Sydney knew she should've been worried about giving away a fellow agent's name, but she couldn't summon the will to care. "Is he okay? Is he conscious? Can I see him?" she asked in rapid succession.
Irina laughed again, "Such questions! The answers, I believe, are yes, no, and later."
Sydney couldn't begin to name all the different emotions flowing through her at that moment, she just basked in the knowledge that Vaughn was alive. She imagined that she could feel his presence in the building, and somehow, that made everything a little easier to handle.