Chapter Three
Learning to Swim
She didn't even hear her father come in, only opened her eyes when some instinct shuddered franticly within her mind, to find a shadow looming over her. Her body seized with terror and she immediately analyzed her exits, her mind trapped in terrible memories. She could almost feel those hands grabbing her, choking her, shoving her in the nook behind the restrooms where no one could see, another pair muffling any sound she could make, more hands restraining, pummeling, slashing. People passing by had saved her before and they'd left her for dead, but who would save her in an isolated hospital room? She hated being weak, vulnerable, hated that she had left herself open to this attack.
"I haven't been here long," Jack Bristow said, stepping into the circle of light created by her lamp, the beam descending down the crags of his features, only his eyes left like dark pits in the glow on his face. Relief sent tremors down her back down her backbone and through her straining muscles. "You looked...peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."
"Hi, Dad." She smiled, and it wasn't as much of a lie as usual.
"I came to make sure you were all in one piece. I'm glad you are." He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes focusing on the wall over her head. She doubted they'd ever get this father-daughter thing right.
"Well, you know us Bristows are made of tough stuff." She brought a finger up to tap her chest, but the pain in her ribs made her wince, underscoring her words with irony.
Us Bristows. Did that mean Irina, too?
Strip away the country and the loyalties and they weren't so different. All three of them were spies, all strong and stubborn, all intelligent, all dysfunctional. And none of them normal. Even when she was little, even when she thought she was, underneath she never could be. Not with her background, not with her parents. Then her mother Laura had died, driving the first true wedge between her and a normal life, and her father had drawn in on himself, destroying any chance for a normal relationship between them.
Her whole life she had just been pretending to be normal.
She found another hole in the fabric of her universe, another empty spot, and she felt drained and flat as she watched another piece if her fall through it.
"...Sydney? Are you okay?" Jack's concern penetrated her thoughts.
She looked up abruptly, catching him off guard and capturing his eyes. "What do you do when it all comes crashing down on you, when you feel like you could drown in it?"
He was silent for a long moment; she had always admired the fact that her father seemed to think before he spoke, but now it only made her impatient. Finally, he looked straight back at her, "You learn to swim."
If it wouldn't have caused more pain than good, she would have thrown up her hands in exasperation. "You sound like her," she accused recklessly. "Like my mother. Every answer has to be so damn cryptic!"
Her father's back became stiff, and he forced the words out behind clamped teeth, "What do you want from me then?"
"I'm sorry!" She said hastily, instantly mollified by her behavior. "I didn't mean that." But she did.
He aligned his shoulders in way that spoke volumes of his discomfort, since that was the most reaction you could ever get out of him. "Speaking of your mother; she wanted me to tell you something..." Her mother and father talking? That explained his uneasiness; he, Jack Bristow with all his power and influence, had been reduced to a messenger boy between the woman he had hated for years and the daughter he wanted to have no contact with the afore mentioned woman. She could only guess at what tactic Irina had used to get him to agree to carry her words. "She said...'Sometimes strength means falling to your knees, and sometimes courage means giving in.'"
Learn to swim. Fall to your knees. Give in. Why couldn't anyone give her a straight answer? "What's it all supposed to mean?" Sydney questioned the air out loud.
"You expect me to know?" No, she didn't. There were just some things in life that her father would never understand, and that included the women in his life. Jack's shoulders twitched again, and he turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "I'm...worried you're over-taxing yourself, Sydney. I'll leave and let you get some sleep."
She made a noncommittal sound, which he took for a sign of agreement, giving her a brisk nod in the way of a goodbye. He turned sharply on his heel and walked a bit too swiftly for the door than the situation warranted.
"Love you too, Dad," she told the empty room.
Learning to Swim
She didn't even hear her father come in, only opened her eyes when some instinct shuddered franticly within her mind, to find a shadow looming over her. Her body seized with terror and she immediately analyzed her exits, her mind trapped in terrible memories. She could almost feel those hands grabbing her, choking her, shoving her in the nook behind the restrooms where no one could see, another pair muffling any sound she could make, more hands restraining, pummeling, slashing. People passing by had saved her before and they'd left her for dead, but who would save her in an isolated hospital room? She hated being weak, vulnerable, hated that she had left herself open to this attack.
"I haven't been here long," Jack Bristow said, stepping into the circle of light created by her lamp, the beam descending down the crags of his features, only his eyes left like dark pits in the glow on his face. Relief sent tremors down her back down her backbone and through her straining muscles. "You looked...peaceful, I didn't want to wake you."
"Hi, Dad." She smiled, and it wasn't as much of a lie as usual.
"I came to make sure you were all in one piece. I'm glad you are." He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes focusing on the wall over her head. She doubted they'd ever get this father-daughter thing right.
"Well, you know us Bristows are made of tough stuff." She brought a finger up to tap her chest, but the pain in her ribs made her wince, underscoring her words with irony.
Us Bristows. Did that mean Irina, too?
Strip away the country and the loyalties and they weren't so different. All three of them were spies, all strong and stubborn, all intelligent, all dysfunctional. And none of them normal. Even when she was little, even when she thought she was, underneath she never could be. Not with her background, not with her parents. Then her mother Laura had died, driving the first true wedge between her and a normal life, and her father had drawn in on himself, destroying any chance for a normal relationship between them.
Her whole life she had just been pretending to be normal.
She found another hole in the fabric of her universe, another empty spot, and she felt drained and flat as she watched another piece if her fall through it.
"...Sydney? Are you okay?" Jack's concern penetrated her thoughts.
She looked up abruptly, catching him off guard and capturing his eyes. "What do you do when it all comes crashing down on you, when you feel like you could drown in it?"
He was silent for a long moment; she had always admired the fact that her father seemed to think before he spoke, but now it only made her impatient. Finally, he looked straight back at her, "You learn to swim."
If it wouldn't have caused more pain than good, she would have thrown up her hands in exasperation. "You sound like her," she accused recklessly. "Like my mother. Every answer has to be so damn cryptic!"
Her father's back became stiff, and he forced the words out behind clamped teeth, "What do you want from me then?"
"I'm sorry!" She said hastily, instantly mollified by her behavior. "I didn't mean that." But she did.
He aligned his shoulders in way that spoke volumes of his discomfort, since that was the most reaction you could ever get out of him. "Speaking of your mother; she wanted me to tell you something..." Her mother and father talking? That explained his uneasiness; he, Jack Bristow with all his power and influence, had been reduced to a messenger boy between the woman he had hated for years and the daughter he wanted to have no contact with the afore mentioned woman. She could only guess at what tactic Irina had used to get him to agree to carry her words. "She said...'Sometimes strength means falling to your knees, and sometimes courage means giving in.'"
Learn to swim. Fall to your knees. Give in. Why couldn't anyone give her a straight answer? "What's it all supposed to mean?" Sydney questioned the air out loud.
"You expect me to know?" No, she didn't. There were just some things in life that her father would never understand, and that included the women in his life. Jack's shoulders twitched again, and he turned his eyes back to the ceiling. "I'm...worried you're over-taxing yourself, Sydney. I'll leave and let you get some sleep."
She made a noncommittal sound, which he took for a sign of agreement, giving her a brisk nod in the way of a goodbye. He turned sharply on his heel and walked a bit too swiftly for the door than the situation warranted.
"Love you too, Dad," she told the empty room.