Title: Insight
Author: Jennifer N (jennifer_n97@hotmail.com)
Distribution: Cover Me, Alias Fan Fiction List, SD-1
Feedback: PleasePleasePlease
Disclaimer: Not mine, pout so please don't sue me.
Summary: Thoughts of the past lead to insights for the future.
Rating: PG-13
Classification: Drama/Angst
Spoilers: anything up to "Passage Part II"
A/N: Well, if Becky can blame me for "Acceptance," then I can blame her for this. g Anyway, "muchas gracias" for reading this, even as I did torture you with only a few paragraphs at a time. evil laugh
This takes place directly after "Passage Part II." I think you'll figure out the POV in a minute. g
Insight
You suppress a smile as you witness the scene unfold above you. It appears that knights in shining armor still exist, just in a slightly different manner; the twenty-first century knight appears in a helicopter, not astride a gallant, white horse. No matter. In the end it is all the same. The brave man coming to the woman's aid.
Never rescue. You wrinkle your nose at the term. To rescue someone implies weakness, an inability to think things through and strategize. You were never a woman who needed to be rescued, and neither is your daughter.
She's more like you than she will ever care to admit. Her love of literature—you never did fake that; it was one of the few truths in your former life. The way she carries herself—she imitates you without even realizing it; her keen eyes noticed everything, even at a young age. Of course, you can not forget to include the ability to love dangerous men to the list. Both of you have a tendency, no matter how much you fight it, to fall head-over-heels in love with the one man you can't spend your days with.
And yet here you both are, sitting next to him, wondering who will be the first to speak.
Poor Michael—you glance at him with your peripheral vision. He stares straight ahead, fighting the urge to grab your daughter's hand. You can see the wheels turning in his head as he fully understands the dysfunctional family he has walked into. Not that any of you would call yourself a family per se; that would imply far more attachment than what you each outwardly show to one another. But it is there, far beneath the surface, waiting patiently to be rediscovered, only revealing small glimmers in undercover assignments in places like Kashmir.
The helicopter makes a sharp turn and everyone is whipped around. You and Jack both notice how Michael instinctively lunges for Sydney. You see it as a sweet, protective gesture. Jack narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak. You silence him with a look, what he used to call "the look" in a faraway time and place.
*****
You teasingly created this particular facial expression after your four-year-old daughter shocked both of you by announcing she had a boyfriend in her preschool class. "She's barely out of diapers and she has a boyfriend?" Jack thundered later that evening after Sydney was tucked in.
You laughed and settled yourself in his arms. "Honey, she's four. It's not like she's getting married next week."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Don't you remember last Saturday she was walking around the house with the tissue paper on her head?"
"Yeah, what was that about?"
Jack sighed and ran his fingers through your hair as he stared at the fireplace. "She said she was practicing for her wedding."
You guffawed so loudly you were certain you would rouse your sleeping beauty. "Jack, all little girls do that."
"They do?" He looked puzzled as all men do when they try to understand women.
"Of course they do," you replied with a charming smile, hoping you were correct. After all, this wasn't something your operatives ever thought to brief you on. When it came to child psychology, you were on your own.
He remained silent for several minutes, pondering this new nugget of information.
"You're not losing her, you know," you pointed out. "Like you said, she's still a little girl, and she'll be a little girl for many more years."
"Yes, but . . ."
"But what?"
"She looks like you," he blurted out.
"And your point is . . . " you trailed off.
"If she still looks like you in ten years, we're doomed," he moaned.
You grinned wickedly. "Should I be offended by that or take it as a compliment?"
"Laura, you know what I mean. We're going to have to get a bodyguard to keep out all the boys someday."
"Why do I get the feeling you've been looking into it?" you teased. After seeing his expression change for a moment, you gasped. "I was kidding, Jack. You did not actually research that, did you?"
"Not exactly," he admitted. "But it might not be such a bad idea," he muttered to himself.
"Jack Bristow, look at me," you ordered. The change in your voice—almost reverting to your previous self—made him stare into your eyes, searching, questioning. To diffuse the situation you gave him your standard "loving wife" smile—although when it became genuine you are still not certain—and tried to assure him. "Sydney is still our little girl and will be for many years to come. But honey?"
"Yes?"
"I hate to depress you, but the day is going to come when she grows up and gets married."
"Does she have to?"
"Well, no, she doesn't have to. Actually, according to this piece I was reading by Gloria Steinem—"
He held up a hand, stopping you. "You do realize there's no one good enough for her."
"That's just the overprotective father in you talking."
"He can't just waltz in here and expect to win her heart. No, there's going to be interviews and background checks and—"
"Jack? He's not applying to the CIA," you giggled. "Although there's an idea," you said as a light bulb went off. "Just introduce her someday to a CIA guy and then you won't have to worry about your background checks."
He gave you a withering look before resuming the conversation. "Anyone but a CIA guy. Too dangerous," he dismissed.
"FBI then," you teased. He punished you by tickling you in an especially sensitive spot on your arm.
"I'm going to get you," Jack growled at you as he leaned down to kiss you—
"DaddyDaddyDaddy!" a dark headed tornado flew into the room and onto your husband's lap.
"What's wrong, Sydney?" he asked tenderly as he wrapped his free arm around her.
"There's monsters under my bed, and they won't go away."
He looked over her head at you, amused. "Are you sure it's monsters?"
Sydney nodded her head vigorously. "And I told 'em to scram like you said, Daddy, but they came back!" She looked up at him, her brown eyes wide and innocent. "Could you tell them to go away again? Please?" she added.
Looking at his little girl in his lap, how was he supposed to refuse? He scooped Sydney up in his arms and stood. "I'll be back in a minute, Laura. I've got to get rid of some monsters."
"And tell them to scram!" Sydney exclaimed from her perch on her father's shoulder. She loudly yawned.
"And tell them to scram," Jack repeated with a smile.
You looked into his eyes and realized that once again you were thinking the same thing—she would be asleep by the time he carried her up the stairs to her room. Somehow being so in sync with this man that you shared the same thoughts was no longer a frightening proposition.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned to the living room.
You raised an eyebrow. "Was the monster hunt a success?"
"She was asleep by the time I walked in her bedroom. I waited a few minutes to make sure she was going to stay in bed this time."
You tried to look innocent. "Why? Did she interrupt something earlier?"
He mock glared at you as he eased back on the couch. "Let's see. What were we doing earlier?" he pondered aloud.
"Let's see if I can help you remember," you breathed as you leaned in.
Jack snapped his finger. "Oh, now I remember!" he said in a teasing voice. "We were talking about barring the windows and the doors in about ten years so that—"
You silenced him with a look. Not the loving wife look, or even an exasperated look. This was a new look, the "stop trying to control our daughter's life" look.
Over the next two years you had few occasions to use this expression—Sydney was, after all, still a small girl when you left. As time passed and she entered high school, you often wondered what it would have been like if you had never left. Arguments over curfews and clothes. Helping with homework and inviting her friends over for slumber parties. Screening her boyfriends and protecting them from Enemy Number One, Jack Bristow, Overprotective Father of the Year. Sending him "the look" when he refused to let your daughter grow up.
But you never got the chance.
*****
All those years ago, you knew this day would come.
There would be a man who would catch your daughter's eye, capture her heart and soul. Somehow in the midst of her crazy existence, he would understand and support her. And with his love, she would flourish.
Meanwhile, your husband—does he realize you are still married?—would object every step of the way, alienating himself from his little girl as he tried to protect her from the perils and potential heartbreaks that come from baring your soul to another flawed human being.
You just didn't realize you would get a front row seat to the proceedings.
The four of you disembark from the helicopter and walk the short journey to a much larger aircraft.
Sydney opens her mouth to speak, but is interrupted by her handler.
"Yes, it'll carry us back to the States," he says, answering her unspoken question. Sharing her thoughts.
She closes her mouth and smiles at him. Not quite the ecstatic grin she wore earlier when she realized who was on board the helicopter—but then, she knows her father is watching her closely now.
A knight in shining armor sticks his neck out and risks everything, all for a woman's love. Michael's methods may be different than those in the books you and Sydney have both pored through, but his intent is the same.
Jack is going to have to face the facts. Like it or not, it's time for him to begin letting go.
And with that thought, you smile.
~~~fin~~~