"Good morning, Sydney." Jack spoke a little uncomfortably as he entered
the room. He felt guilty about not visiting the day before, and to make up
for it, he held in his hands a huge bouquet of beautiful pink and white
flowers.
"Thank you," Sydney breathed, as she took them from him. She was amazed by their beauty, and also by the fact that her father had been able to pick out flowers that she would like. It had long been her suspicion that he didn't know what a flower was, a feeling that she felt was entirely justified; Jack Bristow was not known for his sentimentality. He sat down in the chair and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Agent Vaughn told me what happened with Dr. Sark," he stated.
Sydney had been prepared for this, and began quickly to explain. "I'm sorry I refused to see him like that, I know I shouldn't have. He was only trying to -"
When he realised that she misunderstood, Jack cut her off. "Sydney, you did the right thing. You should deal with things in your own way, and in your own time. I just want you to know that. . . that if you don't want to see him, you don't have to," he paused, glancing around the room as if he would find the words he wanted to say printed on the curtains, or floating around in the glass of water on the table. "And if you ever need me to do anything - anything at all - I will."
Sydney smiled at him, trying to force herself not to cry, and remembered a time when he had said something similar to her. She was seven years old, and her mother had died a year ago. She was always quiet and upset, burying herself in her seven-year-old-sized amount of schoolwork and refusing anyone who tried to be friends with her. A group of boys in her class had found this amusing and had tormented her relentlessly, and Sydney went home from school in tears on a daily basis. In an effort to escape from their teasing, she had faked a stomachache and her father had been called in to take her home. Despite being an absentee father, Jack had immediately seen that she wasn't really sick and had snapped at her for wasting his time. This was too much for the little girl, and she had dissolved into tears. Stunned and unsure of what to do, Jack enveloped her in a warm hug and let her sob against his shoulder. On his gentle order, she told him what was going on and, fuming, he marched her outside to where the other children where playing. Furious that other children were making his beautiful, sweet little girl so unhappy he went right up to the boys Sydney pointed out and scared the hell out of them. They were so terrified of the man towering over them that they stammered apologies to Sydney and then ran to the other side of the playground.
Sitting in her hospital bed, Sydney remembered the way she had gazed up at him, a look of pure admiration on her face. He had been her knight in shining armour that day, and she had thought he could do anything. She had never forgotten the reassurance those actions gave her; the reassurance that he loved her so much that he couldn't stand anyone being less than adoring towards her. She had never forgotten it because it was the last sign of affection she had from him until the day Danny died.
* * *
Jack stayed with her all morning, and just as he was getting up to leave Dr. Sark came in. Jack immediately sat back down again, and took Sydney's hand. She was grateful that he stayed; originally she had wanted Vaughn to be with her when she had to face Dr. Sark again but this morning she and her father had been growing closer and she was just as glad of comfort from him as she would have been of Vaughn.
"Sydney, Agent Vaughn had informed me of your reasons for not wanting to see me, and I'd like you to know that you can take all the time you want. It's completely understandable that you don't want an appointment with me just yet, and I'll reschedule it for whenever you want."
Taken aback by everyone's kindness, Sydney shook her head and told him that she wanted to get it over with now. Realising that that might offend him, she quickly tried to backtrack and make her statement less rude, but he just laughed it off and said he didn't blame her for wanting to be as far away from him as possible. Even though she was beginning to understand that Dr. Sark was almost a polar opposite to the Mr Sark she thought she had known, she couldn't help gripping Jack's hand tightly and pushing herself back into the pillows as he advanced towards her. He stopped, seeing her fear, and she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She attempted to smile brightly at him, but it ended up as more of a weak half-smile. Jack squeezed her hand reassuringly and she reminded herself that no one was forcing her to do anything. The only person forcing her to go through with this was herself. Dr. Sark would stop if she asked him to, and besides, if he did anything she didn't like, Jack would beat him to a bloody pulp.
"Okay?" asked the doctor, a little uncertainly.
"Okay," Sydney confirmed, nodding. He began by assessing her in the same way her doctor had done when she was a child - looking at her eyes and listening to her heart rate. Every few seconds he paused to check that Sydney was still okay with him examining her, and though she flinched at every touch and tried to block wave after wave of pretend memories from washing through her mind, she assured him that she was fine.
Soon he was finished and told her that she needed to be taken for a scan, to check that her brain wasn't damaged. Between them, he and Jack lifted her from her bed onto a bed that could be wheeled into the scanning room. At first she had obstinately shook her head, saying that she could walk there herself, or at least get onto the bed herself. But Jack was stern and insisted that she didn't try to use her legs so soon; after two years of lying down, she would have to learn to walk all over again. Sydney was apprehensive about the scan, and felt sick at the thought that there might still be something wrong with her. As she was wheeled along corridors, she stared up at the ceiling, blurred by the film of tears that glazed her eyes. A million terrifying thoughts rushed through her head - what if the scan went wrong? What if it didn't, and they found that her brain was damaged beyond repair? What if she could never walk again? Would she be able to live her life confined to a bed or a wheelchair?
Jack was told to wait outside in the corridor, and when he stopped and she was wheeled past him, Sydney stretched out her arm, desperately trying to keep physical contact with him for as long as possible. She closed her eyes and focused on not crying out for her daddy, the way the little girl inside her wanted to.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
And in.
And out.
And in. Nothing to be afraid of.
And out. Everything's fine.
And in. It's just a scan - he won't hurt me.
And out. Dad's waiting right outside.
The door swung shut behind her as the bed was pushed into the room. She was lifted onto a table, one that would move into the worryingly white and hospital-like machine for her to have the scan.
Breathe in. What if they find something wrong with me?
Breathe out. They won't. I'm fine.
Breathe in. It'll be over soon.
Breathe out. Oh God, what if I can't breathe in there?
In one slow and smooth action, the table glided into the machine, and Sydney was enclosed in the dark tube. She tried not to panic, but natural instincts kicked in, telling her it was too cramped, too dark, too much time.
Hour-long seconds later, the table was moving again, sliding back out of the machine into the refreshing light thrown kindly through the windows by the sun. Sydney continued to stare up at the ceiling in terror while she was wheeled back to her room. Jack came and took her hand again, and though she saw him out of the corner of her eye, she did not acknowledge his presence. All she could think of was the million-and-one things, realistic or not, that they could have found in the scan.
Dr Sark did not come back to Sydney's room with her; he stayed to analyse the scan and to discuss his patient with the other doctors involved. Just as Sydney was settled in her bed again, he came back, the results of the scan in his hand. In her blind panic, Sydney forgot to read his emotions in order to find out what he was going to tell her, but Jack was more able to think rationally, and he smiled at Sydney and squeezed her hand comfortingly.
"Sydney, you're fine," Dr Sark said kindly. "We found nothing unusual in your scan - no damage to your brain whatsoever. As soon as you're well enough, physically, you can go home."
The relief was almost too much for Sydney. The past few days had been highly emotional for her, and the worry of brain damage had weighted her down like a ton of bricks. Now that the bricks were lifted, she felt light- headed and, grabbing Jack and pulling him to her, she sobbed openly on his shoulder.
"Thank you, thank you," was her repeated and almost unintelligible cry.
"Thank you," said Jack, his words full of meaning as he held the doctor's gaze for a moment before giving his full attention to his daughter.
"Thank you," Sydney breathed, as she took them from him. She was amazed by their beauty, and also by the fact that her father had been able to pick out flowers that she would like. It had long been her suspicion that he didn't know what a flower was, a feeling that she felt was entirely justified; Jack Bristow was not known for his sentimentality. He sat down in the chair and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Agent Vaughn told me what happened with Dr. Sark," he stated.
Sydney had been prepared for this, and began quickly to explain. "I'm sorry I refused to see him like that, I know I shouldn't have. He was only trying to -"
When he realised that she misunderstood, Jack cut her off. "Sydney, you did the right thing. You should deal with things in your own way, and in your own time. I just want you to know that. . . that if you don't want to see him, you don't have to," he paused, glancing around the room as if he would find the words he wanted to say printed on the curtains, or floating around in the glass of water on the table. "And if you ever need me to do anything - anything at all - I will."
Sydney smiled at him, trying to force herself not to cry, and remembered a time when he had said something similar to her. She was seven years old, and her mother had died a year ago. She was always quiet and upset, burying herself in her seven-year-old-sized amount of schoolwork and refusing anyone who tried to be friends with her. A group of boys in her class had found this amusing and had tormented her relentlessly, and Sydney went home from school in tears on a daily basis. In an effort to escape from their teasing, she had faked a stomachache and her father had been called in to take her home. Despite being an absentee father, Jack had immediately seen that she wasn't really sick and had snapped at her for wasting his time. This was too much for the little girl, and she had dissolved into tears. Stunned and unsure of what to do, Jack enveloped her in a warm hug and let her sob against his shoulder. On his gentle order, she told him what was going on and, fuming, he marched her outside to where the other children where playing. Furious that other children were making his beautiful, sweet little girl so unhappy he went right up to the boys Sydney pointed out and scared the hell out of them. They were so terrified of the man towering over them that they stammered apologies to Sydney and then ran to the other side of the playground.
Sitting in her hospital bed, Sydney remembered the way she had gazed up at him, a look of pure admiration on her face. He had been her knight in shining armour that day, and she had thought he could do anything. She had never forgotten the reassurance those actions gave her; the reassurance that he loved her so much that he couldn't stand anyone being less than adoring towards her. She had never forgotten it because it was the last sign of affection she had from him until the day Danny died.
* * *
Jack stayed with her all morning, and just as he was getting up to leave Dr. Sark came in. Jack immediately sat back down again, and took Sydney's hand. She was grateful that he stayed; originally she had wanted Vaughn to be with her when she had to face Dr. Sark again but this morning she and her father had been growing closer and she was just as glad of comfort from him as she would have been of Vaughn.
"Sydney, Agent Vaughn had informed me of your reasons for not wanting to see me, and I'd like you to know that you can take all the time you want. It's completely understandable that you don't want an appointment with me just yet, and I'll reschedule it for whenever you want."
Taken aback by everyone's kindness, Sydney shook her head and told him that she wanted to get it over with now. Realising that that might offend him, she quickly tried to backtrack and make her statement less rude, but he just laughed it off and said he didn't blame her for wanting to be as far away from him as possible. Even though she was beginning to understand that Dr. Sark was almost a polar opposite to the Mr Sark she thought she had known, she couldn't help gripping Jack's hand tightly and pushing herself back into the pillows as he advanced towards her. He stopped, seeing her fear, and she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. She attempted to smile brightly at him, but it ended up as more of a weak half-smile. Jack squeezed her hand reassuringly and she reminded herself that no one was forcing her to do anything. The only person forcing her to go through with this was herself. Dr. Sark would stop if she asked him to, and besides, if he did anything she didn't like, Jack would beat him to a bloody pulp.
"Okay?" asked the doctor, a little uncertainly.
"Okay," Sydney confirmed, nodding. He began by assessing her in the same way her doctor had done when she was a child - looking at her eyes and listening to her heart rate. Every few seconds he paused to check that Sydney was still okay with him examining her, and though she flinched at every touch and tried to block wave after wave of pretend memories from washing through her mind, she assured him that she was fine.
Soon he was finished and told her that she needed to be taken for a scan, to check that her brain wasn't damaged. Between them, he and Jack lifted her from her bed onto a bed that could be wheeled into the scanning room. At first she had obstinately shook her head, saying that she could walk there herself, or at least get onto the bed herself. But Jack was stern and insisted that she didn't try to use her legs so soon; after two years of lying down, she would have to learn to walk all over again. Sydney was apprehensive about the scan, and felt sick at the thought that there might still be something wrong with her. As she was wheeled along corridors, she stared up at the ceiling, blurred by the film of tears that glazed her eyes. A million terrifying thoughts rushed through her head - what if the scan went wrong? What if it didn't, and they found that her brain was damaged beyond repair? What if she could never walk again? Would she be able to live her life confined to a bed or a wheelchair?
Jack was told to wait outside in the corridor, and when he stopped and she was wheeled past him, Sydney stretched out her arm, desperately trying to keep physical contact with him for as long as possible. She closed her eyes and focused on not crying out for her daddy, the way the little girl inside her wanted to.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
And in.
And out.
And in. Nothing to be afraid of.
And out. Everything's fine.
And in. It's just a scan - he won't hurt me.
And out. Dad's waiting right outside.
The door swung shut behind her as the bed was pushed into the room. She was lifted onto a table, one that would move into the worryingly white and hospital-like machine for her to have the scan.
Breathe in. What if they find something wrong with me?
Breathe out. They won't. I'm fine.
Breathe in. It'll be over soon.
Breathe out. Oh God, what if I can't breathe in there?
In one slow and smooth action, the table glided into the machine, and Sydney was enclosed in the dark tube. She tried not to panic, but natural instincts kicked in, telling her it was too cramped, too dark, too much time.
Hour-long seconds later, the table was moving again, sliding back out of the machine into the refreshing light thrown kindly through the windows by the sun. Sydney continued to stare up at the ceiling in terror while she was wheeled back to her room. Jack came and took her hand again, and though she saw him out of the corner of her eye, she did not acknowledge his presence. All she could think of was the million-and-one things, realistic or not, that they could have found in the scan.
Dr Sark did not come back to Sydney's room with her; he stayed to analyse the scan and to discuss his patient with the other doctors involved. Just as Sydney was settled in her bed again, he came back, the results of the scan in his hand. In her blind panic, Sydney forgot to read his emotions in order to find out what he was going to tell her, but Jack was more able to think rationally, and he smiled at Sydney and squeezed her hand comfortingly.
"Sydney, you're fine," Dr Sark said kindly. "We found nothing unusual in your scan - no damage to your brain whatsoever. As soon as you're well enough, physically, you can go home."
The relief was almost too much for Sydney. The past few days had been highly emotional for her, and the worry of brain damage had weighted her down like a ton of bricks. Now that the bricks were lifted, she felt light- headed and, grabbing Jack and pulling him to her, she sobbed openly on his shoulder.
"Thank you, thank you," was her repeated and almost unintelligible cry.
"Thank you," said Jack, his words full of meaning as he held the doctor's gaze for a moment before giving his full attention to his daughter.