* * * *
"I just want another blanket, athair. It doesn't mean anything."
One little word tucked in among a few simple phrases and their nonexistent relationship had shifted once again.
It was only later that Jack fully realized just how much he had underestimated the boy. Not until the mission was over and he had retreated to the sanctuary of his empty house had he allowed himself to begin analyzing all the implications of what had occurred on the plane this time.
One surely intentional consequence had been to unsettle him, Jack was certain. Much as he had attempted to avoid thinking too much about the significance of Sark's new vocabulary, he knew that he had been subtly off-balance for the remainder of their mission. For nearly two days the ghost of an infuriatingly mischievous grin had flickered across the boy's face, vanishing every time Jack looked at him directly. This had the familiarity of the old Sark; the twisted humor of his pre-internment. But there was something jarringly new in it as well; a bit of humor not so dark. The nearest sentiment Jack could assign to it was good-natured teasing and that alone would have been disconcerting enough without its more complicated subtext.
Apart from the shock value, however, and the minor amusement Sark had derived from his reaction, Jack knew that there was a more serious undertone to the incident. Upon reflection, he was impressed with the elegant simplicity of what the boy had managed to convey with a single word - not in English, nor in Russian, but in Irish Gaelic. Its meaning indicated an acceptance of who Jack was to him, but its language was an assertion of his own status. He might be Jack and Irina's son, but he was neither a Bristow nor a Derevko. It was as much a declaration of non-alignment as it was an acknowledgement of his parentage.
It was interesting, Jack thought almost off-handedly, how adaptable both of his children were to monumental revelations. It was apparent that sometime in the past few weeks his persistently self-reliant son had managed to come to terms with this unusual situation without any further input from Jack at all. His casual use of the term "athair" and his new easy manner during the rest of the mission indicated that he had made his own peace with his father. It made him wonder precisely how Sark currently saw their relationship. He was fairly certain that the boy no longer viewed him as the opposition. Did he now see them as allies? Was there any sort of trust between them - or merely truce? If Sark was professing neutrality, had Jack's standing been raised in his mind, Irina's lowered, or something of both?
* * * *
"Is now a bad time?"
Jack looked up from his computer to see Marshall standing in the doorway of his office. He nodded toward the empty chair, suspecting that he already knew what this visit was about.
"I know that technically this isn't any of my business," Marshall began. "But I just wanted a little clarification on who's supposed to know what now. Because the last time I checked, you'd decided not to tell Sark or Kendall about… well, Sark. But clearly Sark does know about Sar… er, who he is, and if he keeps saying things like he did on this last mission then Kendall is going to figure it out too. Then he'll start with the 'who knew first' and the 'who told who' and the 'why didn't anybody tell him' and when it eventually gets back to me, I'd like to know what I'm supposed to say."
"To Kendall?" Jack asked, hoping he'd followed the train of thought correctly.
"Yeah."
"Nothing."
"To Kendall?"
"Yes. If Kendall asks you anything about Sark, direct him to me."
"Okay, good, because I wasn't sure if I should explain or be like 'Database? What database?' or maybe just…"
"Just direct him to me."
"Right. Direct him to you." Marshall nodded, repeating the instruction as if to reassure himself. "But he's not going to find out, right?" he couldn't seem to help adding. "I mean, Sark is going to stop doing things like calling you 'Dad' when he knows you're being broadcast and/or recorded, right? Because he really needs to stop doing that. Although," he continued. "I don't suppose 'a-hir' sounds like much of anything if you're not listening for it. Maybe a sneeze or a cough or something. It's not like anybody else is expecting him to call you 'father' in Irish… or in any other language. You don't really even look alike. Except when you're making that face. Yeah, that one - the 'Marshall, stop talking now' face. Oh."
"It was a one-time indiscretion, I'm sure," Jack said. "He's made the point he intended to make with it. I doubt it will happen again. Was there anything else?"
"No, that was it…. Except… It's just that I thought you'd decided not to tell him - Sark," he clarified once again. "I was just wondering why you changed your mind."
"I didn't," Jack said after an uncomfortably long silence. "He had already come to that conclusion by the time I confirmed it."
"But aren't you worried now that he'll try to use that somehow?"
Jack smiled grimly. "He already is. But I believe he recognizes that we're even in that respect."
Marshall nodded slowly in understanding. "He plays you to get out of that cell. You use him to find Sydney. You know," he said thoughtfully. "Some days I'm really glad that I'm just a Flinkman."
* * * *
"I just want another blanket, athair. It doesn't mean anything."
One little word tucked in among a few simple phrases and their nonexistent relationship had shifted once again.
It was only later that Jack fully realized just how much he had underestimated the boy. Not until the mission was over and he had retreated to the sanctuary of his empty house had he allowed himself to begin analyzing all the implications of what had occurred on the plane this time.
One surely intentional consequence had been to unsettle him, Jack was certain. Much as he had attempted to avoid thinking too much about the significance of Sark's new vocabulary, he knew that he had been subtly off-balance for the remainder of their mission. For nearly two days the ghost of an infuriatingly mischievous grin had flickered across the boy's face, vanishing every time Jack looked at him directly. This had the familiarity of the old Sark; the twisted humor of his pre-internment. But there was something jarringly new in it as well; a bit of humor not so dark. The nearest sentiment Jack could assign to it was good-natured teasing and that alone would have been disconcerting enough without its more complicated subtext.
Apart from the shock value, however, and the minor amusement Sark had derived from his reaction, Jack knew that there was a more serious undertone to the incident. Upon reflection, he was impressed with the elegant simplicity of what the boy had managed to convey with a single word - not in English, nor in Russian, but in Irish Gaelic. Its meaning indicated an acceptance of who Jack was to him, but its language was an assertion of his own status. He might be Jack and Irina's son, but he was neither a Bristow nor a Derevko. It was as much a declaration of non-alignment as it was an acknowledgement of his parentage.
It was interesting, Jack thought almost off-handedly, how adaptable both of his children were to monumental revelations. It was apparent that sometime in the past few weeks his persistently self-reliant son had managed to come to terms with this unusual situation without any further input from Jack at all. His casual use of the term "athair" and his new easy manner during the rest of the mission indicated that he had made his own peace with his father. It made him wonder precisely how Sark currently saw their relationship. He was fairly certain that the boy no longer viewed him as the opposition. Did he now see them as allies? Was there any sort of trust between them - or merely truce? If Sark was professing neutrality, had Jack's standing been raised in his mind, Irina's lowered, or something of both?
* * * *
"Is now a bad time?"
Jack looked up from his computer to see Marshall standing in the doorway of his office. He nodded toward the empty chair, suspecting that he already knew what this visit was about.
"I know that technically this isn't any of my business," Marshall began. "But I just wanted a little clarification on who's supposed to know what now. Because the last time I checked, you'd decided not to tell Sark or Kendall about… well, Sark. But clearly Sark does know about Sar… er, who he is, and if he keeps saying things like he did on this last mission then Kendall is going to figure it out too. Then he'll start with the 'who knew first' and the 'who told who' and the 'why didn't anybody tell him' and when it eventually gets back to me, I'd like to know what I'm supposed to say."
"To Kendall?" Jack asked, hoping he'd followed the train of thought correctly.
"Yeah."
"Nothing."
"To Kendall?"
"Yes. If Kendall asks you anything about Sark, direct him to me."
"Okay, good, because I wasn't sure if I should explain or be like 'Database? What database?' or maybe just…"
"Just direct him to me."
"Right. Direct him to you." Marshall nodded, repeating the instruction as if to reassure himself. "But he's not going to find out, right?" he couldn't seem to help adding. "I mean, Sark is going to stop doing things like calling you 'Dad' when he knows you're being broadcast and/or recorded, right? Because he really needs to stop doing that. Although," he continued. "I don't suppose 'a-hir' sounds like much of anything if you're not listening for it. Maybe a sneeze or a cough or something. It's not like anybody else is expecting him to call you 'father' in Irish… or in any other language. You don't really even look alike. Except when you're making that face. Yeah, that one - the 'Marshall, stop talking now' face. Oh."
"It was a one-time indiscretion, I'm sure," Jack said. "He's made the point he intended to make with it. I doubt it will happen again. Was there anything else?"
"No, that was it…. Except… It's just that I thought you'd decided not to tell him - Sark," he clarified once again. "I was just wondering why you changed your mind."
"I didn't," Jack said after an uncomfortably long silence. "He had already come to that conclusion by the time I confirmed it."
"But aren't you worried now that he'll try to use that somehow?"
Jack smiled grimly. "He already is. But I believe he recognizes that we're even in that respect."
Marshall nodded slowly in understanding. "He plays you to get out of that cell. You use him to find Sydney. You know," he said thoughtfully. "Some days I'm really glad that I'm just a Flinkman."
* * * *