Notes: Thanks to Mai for assuming beta duties halfway through. Thanks to all of you who, despite my incredibly crappy update skills, are still sticking with this fic. And because I'm a fusser by nature, it may appear as if some chapters have been re-uploaded or deleted. That's not the case, though. All old chapters are still there…they've just been…fussed with. :) Hope you enjoy these next few chapters.

Please see Prologue for general info and disclaimers.

*~*

Forty-six hours earlier…

You're a few years overdue / I spent them waiting here for you / Now your charity's refused / I can name a penance for abuse / Twenty-four years overdue / What kind of role model are you? / Very least learn not

Music blaring into her ears, Sydney's head jerked upward as a shadow fell across her notebook.

She'd been trained to react at a moment's notice, to always expect the unexpected, but she had to admit that during that brief second in which her indistinct handwriting had fallen under a dark cloud, she'd been caught off guard. Instead of plotting her escape or preparing her limbs to strike out at the first sign of aggression, she'd raised her head ruminating about the misogyny of ship life and whether she'd escape mediocrity. If there was ever a time she should have died, that should have been it.

As she looked into the face of the figure that was blotting out her sunlight and waited for her eyes to focus, she realized the gravity of her situation. Her grip tightened around her pen – thrust at a specific angle into the jugular, the tip made for an effective murder weapon – and she felt the increased release of adrenaline course through her system. Did she dare attack now? While exposed, unprotected, in the middle of campus?

Her fingertips were white and all of her senses were working on overdrive when the position of the sun shifted and exposed a familiar frown.

"Dad," Sydney murmured, dropping the pen onto her notebook and slipping off her headphones. "You scared me."

If Jack noticed the sense of relief that flowed forth from her words, it didn't register on his face as he fixed her with a disapproving glare and asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

Unfazed by his bitter tone, she waved a hand over the papers spread out in front of her. "Cramming. I've got a paper due in my 19th Century English Lit class tomorrow and need to finish reading the…" She paused to flip through a battered book sitting by her side and winced at the number of pages she had left to read. "The last 200 pages of Moby Dick before I can start writing. I'm so screwed."

Jack was apparently not in the mood to commiserate with his daughter's academic woes, however, for his glare only intensified and his tone only grew more bitter. "I'm not playing, Sydney."

"Well, neither am I." She quirked an eyebrow and held up her copy of Moby Dick to emphasize her point. "I really do need to finish reading this."

"And I'm talking about yesterday." His hands came crashing down upon the top of the picnic table where she was sitting as he leaned towards her, his words low and menacing. "What did you think you were doing yesterday?"

Sydney sighed and looked over his left shoulder towards a trio of students who were engaged in a friendly game of Frisbee. They were laughing and smiling and being everything she wished for herself. "It was one day, Dad. All I took was one day off from work. I don't think—"

"Yes, it was just one day," he hissed, "but when you tack that on to the day and a half you took last week—"

"God, I needed yesterday off, okay? If you're worried about Sloane, I'll explain everything to him when he gets back. I'm sure he won't—"

"What? Be suspicious?" Jack sniped in return. "The minute he's gone for a week, you suddenly disappear yourself for two and a half days. Yes, that's not going to catch his attention at all."

Sydney ground her molars together as she felt a twinge in her stomach. What right did he— How could he— The pressure from her clenched jaws shot a throbbing pain up to her temples. It took every bit of restraint within her to refrain from grabbing his arms and pulling them out from under him. If he was going to insist on hurting her, then she wanted to hurt him back. "Sloane will understand," she managed to say with a modicum amount of cordiality.

"No, I can assure you that he won't. Your…days off have piqued McCullough's interest. I guarantee you that that'll be one of the first things he'll discuss with Sloane upon his return."

"I can handle both of them," she mumbled, irritated.

"Sydney…" Jack exhaled loudly and straightened his back as he crossed his arms, the disappointment in his countenance clear for all to see. "I really don't understand you sometimes. I know you know better than this."

The way in which his words belittled her stung her more than a slap across the face would have. She could see the failure that he saw her as in his eyes. She could almost hear his subconscious pondering how she could possibly be his daughter. But instead of feeling hurt or ashamed as she had done in the past during similar situations, she found herself growing cold and embittered. This time was going to be different. She would make sure of it.

Oblivious of his daughter's inner turmoil, Jack persisted with his admonitions. "You never think things through, Sydney. That's always been your problem," he stated, his tone wary and tinged with frustration. "Ever since you were a child, you've allowed your emotions to dictate your actions. If you wanted something, you'd go after it, regardless of the consequences."

"What are you—"

"Are you denying this?" he challenged in disbelief. "This is the way you've always been. This is what it was like when you were nine and suddenly had to learn how to play the flute. And when you were fourteen and needed those horseback riding lessons. And when you decided to join SD-6."

"I thought SD-6 was part of the CIA," she retorted with a wobbly voice. "I thought I was doing something good."

"Yes, that's what you thought, but you were wrong. If you'd taken some time – a minute, a second – you might have realized what was going on, how suspicious everything was. But you didn't. You leapt at the opportunity without—"

"I didn't know!" Her emotions – the very things Jack was blaming for having led her down the wrong paths in her life – had gained control of her mind as she shot up to her feet, her hands balled up into fists. "But you did, and you didn't do a damn thing to stop me!"

"Lower your voice," Jack growled, his eyes automatically scanning the surrounding areas to see if Sydney's outburst had garnered any unwanted attention.

"No, I don't think I will," she snapped as she locked her gaze onto his weary face, every crease carrying behind it a story of a life that should have been but never materialized.

As a child, she'd spent hours kneeling and staring out the front window of the house she and her father had shared with a constantly changing nanny, desperate to catch a glimpse of that face, desperate to make her home a real home, but then always – always – tumbling sideways onto the couch when her knees grew tired and the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Do it, a voice in her head ordered. Get angry. Be angry.

"How dare you feel like you have a right to stand there and lecture me about how I've been irresponsible and inattentive to details when it comes to SD-6?" she demanded. " I believed what I was told and I know I'm not the only one like that. I was recruited seven years ago, Dad, and you never once came to me and said, 'There's something you need to know.' If I've been blind or impetuous, that's because you allowed me to be."

"I've already told you," he asserted. "Your recruitment occurred without my knowledge. By the time I learned of your involvement with SD-6, you had already made your presence known within the organization. There was nothing I could have told you that wouldn't have tipped Sloane off."

"Not to mention the risk it would have put you in." When she saw him open his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a firm shake of her head, her eyes searing through his. "Don't try to deny it because you've repeatedly made it clear to me in so many words that I wasn't worth the risk to your cover as a double agent."

"Sydney, I—"

"Don't bother. You've never hidden your motivations from me."

"I didn't know you'd been recruited," he insisted.

"You didn't know. You weren't there," she mocked, her mouth twisting up into a derisive smirk. "That's been a pretty effective mantra for you through the years, hasn't it? But do you know why it's been so effective? It's because I let it be. You trampled over me so many times that I lost track of the number by the time I reached sixteen. Remember when I turned sixteen? Oh, wait, that's right, you wouldn't remember because you weren't there. What was it? A phone call too early in the morning that carried an insincere apology? Or was that when I turned eighteen? I don't know. Everything begins to blur after awhile."

At that moment, with her eyes darker than he'd ever since them before and yet also hauntingly vacant, Jack shuddered and realized his daughter had become the one person he'd always wanted her to avoid: himself.

Despite her beliefs to the contrary, he did remember her sixteen birthday. He'd been in Dublin. California. A mere half-hour car ride to the nearest airport and then a 55-minute flight back down to Los Angeles. He'd wanted to make it home in time for dinner; he'd wanted to surprise and embarrass Sydney with foolish talk about how important a girl's 'Sweet Sixteen' is. But he hadn't gone home and he hadn't surprised his daughter because he'd been bound and gagged in a plush five-star hotel just off downtown Dublin, his attempt to infiltrate FTL's Bay Area unit a dismal failure. By the time he had returned home – 22 stitches on the right side of his head from where a man with a fondness for brass knuckles had attempted to coerce information from him – Sydney had rushed towards him, still eager and willing to forgive his absence.

She'd seen his swollen left eye, touched the bandaged gash by the side of his mouth, and asked if he was okay. He'd brushed her away, snarled at her to stop asking so many questions, and stalked to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He'd wanted to hug her – remind himself of why he was still doing what he was doing – but knew he couldn't. Not if he wanted her to live. Not if he wanted to make sure she wouldn't grow up to be him.

Refocusing upon the present, Jack's heart sank at the revelation of his failure. Yet another failure. He could apologize now for his past mistakes. He could ask her to sit down and allow him to explain himself. But old habits were hard to break and Jack found himself looking down at her with an expression of contempt. "How dare you—"

"How dare I?" Sydney spat as words such as 'reconciliation' and 'absolution' disappeared from her vocabulary. "How about because I'm tired of having a father only when it's convenient for you? Or because I'm not going to let you swoop in anymore and pretend to save the day by telling me I've been foolish? I've let you do that more times than anyone else in her right mind would've because I wanted a father so badly. Do you know that? Do you know that all I've wanted all these years was someone to love me and protect me and…"

Her voice faltered for a moment as she lifted her right arm and rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. This wasn't right. Despite everything, he was still her father and didn't deserve to be spoken to this way. But more than two decades worth of memories – painful, miserable memories – were flooding her mind and holding her emotions with a vise-like grip. They were squeezing them, twisting them until all she could do was open her mouth and say, cold and heartless, "But you couldn't – or wouldn't – do that and I kept making excuses for you, telling myself that you were busy, that you had better things to do than spend time with me, that I was asking for too much, that I— But you know what? I don't care anymore. I don't care if I have a father. I'm tired of constantly convincing myself that this sham of a relationship we pretend to have is real. It's not, it never has been, and it never will be. So, please, just leave me alone. The games end here. I'm putting a stop to them and I don't want anything more to do with you."

Without waiting for a response, Sydney bent down and scooped her materials into her arms. She felt free. For the first time in years, she actually felt something akin to freedom. But, at the same time, she also couldn't shake herself of the emptiness that was pressing down upon her.

Except for a slight flutter of his eyelashes, Jack remained motionless as he watched Sydney prepare to leave him. She was going to leave him. With a low voice that he'd meant to sound melancholic but instead came out superior, he declared, "I'm not perfect, Sydney, but neither are you."

With that proclamation, the last vestiges of respect she had been harboring for him crumpled before her. As she swallowed her desire to lash out at him once more, she simply raised her head and stated, "No, I'm not. But I've never used that as an excuse for who I am or what I do."

*~*

A/N: Lyrics at beginning of chapter are from "Overdue" by The Get Up Kids.