Chapter Two: Fighting
"Sydney, darling."
Sydney's eyes fluttered open, revealing to her the concerned face of her mother, who was bearing a tray of food. "Mom." Lately, the sight of the woman she had once so despised brought with it the most glorious feelings of relief and comfort.
"Sweetheart, you need to eat something."
Sydney managed the briefest of smiles. She knew her mother was trying to be helpful, but she really wasn't hungry. Michael had been gone for a month now, and still she felt herself unable to feel anything but pain. "I can't, Mother."
"Of course you can," Irina said soothingly. "Come, now. Sit up."
Reluctantly Sydney obliged, leaning against the headboard as Irina positioned the tray over her lap. She moved to spoon feed her daughter, but Sydney shook her head. "I can do it." But when she moved to lift the spoon, she found she was shaking so hard she couldn't bring it even halfway to her mouth. In the end, she let her mother feed her, spoonful after spoonful until the soup was gone.
"Good girl." Irina smoothed Sydney's hair back from her face lovingly as she moved the tray away. "Honey, I really am worried about you. Nothing's gotten you out of bed since--"
She didn't have to say the rest of the sentence; Sydney knew how it would end. Since Michael's funeral. She closed her eyes, recalling the tender hand Sark had placed on her shoulder that day. "I'm so sorry, Sydney." She'd been surprised at his kindness; she'd treated him atrociously the past few years, cutting his responsibilities here and there until he was little more than a hired gun. He was capable of so much more. She swore she'd make it up to him.
"I can only imagine how you must be hurting," Irina continued, her voice as warm and soothing as a warm bath. "But you can't go on like this forever. Your children need you."
Sydney sighed, burying her head in her pillow. "I'm sure you're taking care of them better than I could," she said, her voice cracking as she said it. She had failed so miserably with everyone who had ever loved her; why should she expect to do any better with her own children? Michael's children. Two lifetime reminders of the man she would never see again.
"I'm doing my best, Sydney. But they need their mother." Irina continued to stroke and smooth Sydney's hair as she spoke, her voice almost hypnotic. "And I need you, too. I wanted so badly to retire, sweetheart. Who's going to run the Organization until your Jack's old enough?"
Sydney sat up, surprised. "You trust me to do that?" she asked, incredulous.
"Of course, my darling." Irina rose from the bed, smiling down at her daughter. "You won't try to betray me again." It was both a statement and a threat, one Sydney didn't intend to ignore.
"Of course, I don't expect you to take over the responsibility on your own," Irina went on. "Sydney, I know that over the past few years you and Sark have had your differences, but--"
"You don't need to convince me of his worth," Sydney cut in. "My problems with him were personal, not professional, and it was ridiculous of me to let my feelings get in the way of my working relationship with him." In truth, the problem had been that the more time she spent with him, the more she found herself liking and admiring him-- his abilities, his ruthlessness. The feelings had scared the hell out of her; she wasn't supposed to feel anything but contempt for the qualities he possessed. The most alarming part was that when she was around him, she felt similar qualities coming to the surface in herself, much as she tried to fight them.
She didn't feel like fighting anymore.