Growing Up Without You
Summary: Everyone knows what Irina missed out on, but Sydney has thoughts of her own childhood.
Disclaimer: ... I own my coffeemaker, mirror, bed, tv, laptop, but not the whole Alias idea. Otherwise I'd own a car, a pool, a mansion, etc...
* * * * * *Chapter Four: When There Is Nothing Left To Say* * * * * *
The non-fluorescent lights ricocheted off the sanitized bleak walls. The endless corridor stretched for miles in every direction, and like a lost little girl she was afraid of the surprise on either end. But with determination etched on her face she strode off to meet her daunting task.
Yet, Sydney felt this eerie sense that she had relived this moment long ago. The circumstances may have been different, but the same pent up emotions drowned her desert isle washing driftwood memories to the shore.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The wall paper trim led her to the Intensive Care Unit. The yellow brick road abruptly stopped and with unsheltered eyes she surveyed her surroundings. The waiting room was nearly empty for this time of night. A few dislocated relatives of other patients sparsely populated the network of plastic seats.
Anxiety flowed through her veins, poisoning her with unknown elements. She questioned her reasons, "Why are you here? It's not like he was really there for you?" Her mind mocked her subjected loyalty, but her sparring heart defended her means, "He's your father that's reason enough."
Reassured by this course of subconscious action, she timidly approached the receptionist at call. "Can you tell me about Jack Bristow? He was brought in a few minutes ago," she leaned on the counter for physical and emotional support.
"Are you family?" asked inquisitively nurse on hand. Sydney meekly nodded afraid to rattle her head in fear of shedding tears. "Bristow, with an 'I'?" her back now turned as files shifted in the background. The chair wheeled back to Sydney, with file in hand, she fiddle with the health papers and pulled out a sheet.
Letting out a soft sigh and through a sincere face, she revealed, "His surgery is still pending. Take a seat over there and the doctor will be along shortly."
* * *
She cast a weary eye at the wall clock and yawned to the arrival of 2:30. Though in a hazy early morning state, her body drugged her with adrenalin at the approach of a blood-stained fatigued doctor.
Sensing her uneasiness by his step, he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Her eyes showered in fear of his looming words. "Mr. Bristow was shot nearly four times in the abdomen. Lucky, the bullets managed to steer clear of several vital organs. But," there was always a BUT, "one slightly punctured an artery. We were able to repair the damage to some extent, however, it is highly unlikely he'll survive the night."
Sydney slunk over to the back wall in shame. She was helpless and guilty of being the revengeful daughter, for nearly 20 years she silently made it her mission to shut out her father from her world. All in remorse for mom.
And now her remaining family was slipping away. Clinging to life by an IV. She hated her father for burdening her with grief and reflexively she bit her lip before sinking into plastic chair. "You were never there, not when mom died, or my graduation, or sweet sixteenth and now you expect to die when I barely know you," she cried mutely to her lingering sanity. In a silent vigil, she prayed that she would make up for lost time. That if he could hang on and live on borrowed time, she would visit him other days than Christmas. Reciting her vow over an over, she swore to let him back into her life. All she needed was a second chance.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She turned a left at the crossroads and tossed an apologetic smile at the guard. Chucking her business-like profile, she reassessed her true motivations and coaxed herself with two simple phrases. "I'm on a mission to reclaim my past life. If Jack was given a second chance, Irina deserves one, too."
She faced the transparent barrier before resting the box at her feet, "Hi, Mom."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By the way in the flashback Sydney is around 25 yrs old.
P.S. Of you know how to get italics and bold fonts on ff.net leave the instructions in a review. PLEASE.
TEE HEE so you didn't see the whole confrontation with Irina yet, wait until the next chapter. What's in the box? I don't know yet so don't ask me. Any ideas? All I have is a vague idea and it relates to something on the show.
Summary: Everyone knows what Irina missed out on, but Sydney has thoughts of her own childhood.
Disclaimer: ... I own my coffeemaker, mirror, bed, tv, laptop, but not the whole Alias idea. Otherwise I'd own a car, a pool, a mansion, etc...
* * * * * *Chapter Four: When There Is Nothing Left To Say* * * * * *
The non-fluorescent lights ricocheted off the sanitized bleak walls. The endless corridor stretched for miles in every direction, and like a lost little girl she was afraid of the surprise on either end. But with determination etched on her face she strode off to meet her daunting task.
Yet, Sydney felt this eerie sense that she had relived this moment long ago. The circumstances may have been different, but the same pent up emotions drowned her desert isle washing driftwood memories to the shore.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The wall paper trim led her to the Intensive Care Unit. The yellow brick road abruptly stopped and with unsheltered eyes she surveyed her surroundings. The waiting room was nearly empty for this time of night. A few dislocated relatives of other patients sparsely populated the network of plastic seats.
Anxiety flowed through her veins, poisoning her with unknown elements. She questioned her reasons, "Why are you here? It's not like he was really there for you?" Her mind mocked her subjected loyalty, but her sparring heart defended her means, "He's your father that's reason enough."
Reassured by this course of subconscious action, she timidly approached the receptionist at call. "Can you tell me about Jack Bristow? He was brought in a few minutes ago," she leaned on the counter for physical and emotional support.
"Are you family?" asked inquisitively nurse on hand. Sydney meekly nodded afraid to rattle her head in fear of shedding tears. "Bristow, with an 'I'?" her back now turned as files shifted in the background. The chair wheeled back to Sydney, with file in hand, she fiddle with the health papers and pulled out a sheet.
Letting out a soft sigh and through a sincere face, she revealed, "His surgery is still pending. Take a seat over there and the doctor will be along shortly."
* * *
She cast a weary eye at the wall clock and yawned to the arrival of 2:30. Though in a hazy early morning state, her body drugged her with adrenalin at the approach of a blood-stained fatigued doctor.
Sensing her uneasiness by his step, he placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. Her eyes showered in fear of his looming words. "Mr. Bristow was shot nearly four times in the abdomen. Lucky, the bullets managed to steer clear of several vital organs. But," there was always a BUT, "one slightly punctured an artery. We were able to repair the damage to some extent, however, it is highly unlikely he'll survive the night."
Sydney slunk over to the back wall in shame. She was helpless and guilty of being the revengeful daughter, for nearly 20 years she silently made it her mission to shut out her father from her world. All in remorse for mom.
And now her remaining family was slipping away. Clinging to life by an IV. She hated her father for burdening her with grief and reflexively she bit her lip before sinking into plastic chair. "You were never there, not when mom died, or my graduation, or sweet sixteenth and now you expect to die when I barely know you," she cried mutely to her lingering sanity. In a silent vigil, she prayed that she would make up for lost time. That if he could hang on and live on borrowed time, she would visit him other days than Christmas. Reciting her vow over an over, she swore to let him back into her life. All she needed was a second chance.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She turned a left at the crossroads and tossed an apologetic smile at the guard. Chucking her business-like profile, she reassessed her true motivations and coaxed herself with two simple phrases. "I'm on a mission to reclaim my past life. If Jack was given a second chance, Irina deserves one, too."
She faced the transparent barrier before resting the box at her feet, "Hi, Mom."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By the way in the flashback Sydney is around 25 yrs old.
P.S. Of you know how to get italics and bold fonts on ff.net leave the instructions in a review. PLEASE.
TEE HEE so you didn't see the whole confrontation with Irina yet, wait until the next chapter. What's in the box? I don't know yet so don't ask me. Any ideas? All I have is a vague idea and it relates to something on the show.
