The plane rolled gently to a stop, allowing Marshall to finally loosen his grip on Sydney's hand. Vaughn opened the hatch and peered out onto the concourse. "It looks like we have a welcoming committee."

Sydney peered past Vaughn, her eyes focusing on the small group waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Three men and one woman. Who do you suppose they are?"

"I only recognize the Station Chief. Well, we better get going." Vaughn slung a backpack over his shoulder and exited the plane. 

Sydney glanced back at her father before heading down the steps.  He was still seated, head bowed in deep concentration of the file in his hand.  "Dad?" He glanced up, startled. "It's time to go."  Jack looked at her and she watched him school his face into it's familiar impassivity. 

"Go on, Sydney. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

She stared at him, puzzled at the shift in his demeanor. "Can I help?"

"No."

"Okay, if your sure...?"

Jack nodded and gestured toward the door.  "I just need to have a word with the pilot. I won't be long," he told her flatly.

She watched as he walked to the front of the cabin.  There was a tension about him that she hadn't noticed earlier. With a small sigh, she headed out the hatch and joined Vaughn. Two of the men from their welcoming committee were busy helping Marshall load the electronic equipment into a nearby van.  The other two were talking quietly with Vaughn.  They turned as she joined the group.

The woman gave her an assessing stare, weighing and judging with her quick perusal, then turned her attention back to Vaughn.  The man with them watched her carefully as she made her way down the stairs.  His gaze was more guarded.  Obviously, a man used to keeping secrets.  There was something familiar about the way he held himself, something she couldn't quite place.  She was sure she'd never met him before and yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that she knew this man.

"Syd, I'd like you to meet Mira Margalio, on loan from Italian Intelligence. And this is the Station Chief, Bob Staunton."

Sydney's smile froze as he shook her hand. Staunton's expression changed and she knew her father had come up behind her. She wanted to fling herself in front of her father, to somehow act as a shield in an attempt to protect him from further pain.

"Hello, Jack." Staunton said softly.

"Staunton." Jack responded curtly.

Vaughn and Mira watched the exchange with open curiosity, both easily picking up on the tension between the two men. 

"Everything is loaded and ready to go.  Vaughn, you and Marshall ride with Staunton.  You can catch up on old times."  Jack's tone had become slightly mocking. He placed a hand on Sydney's shoulder.  "My daughter and I will ride in the van."  Vaughn started to protest, but stopped at Jack's glare.

Father and daughter sat quietly as the van sped through the countryside, each caught in their own thoughts. Finally, Sydney reached over, grabbing Jack's hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.  Jack looked at her, surprised.

"What was that for?"

"You seem a little tense." She looked at him, hoping he would open up and share what he was feeling.

"I'm just anxious about this operation."

"Dad....?"

He looked at her, an eyebrow cocked inquiringly.

She shook her head.

The van pulled off of the road and slowly bumped its way along a dirt path.  When the vehicle stopped, Sydney noted that they were in a small clearing.  Several armed men were busy unloading equipment and supplies.  Her father exited the van and made his way to a table displaying a large map.

"You ready, Syd?"  Vaughn held out a hand to help her out of the van. "Staunton says we should be set to go in about 15 minutes.  Your Dad is in the lead group.  We'll be following behind, leading the second tier."

"I think I should go with my Dad."

"He needs you to lead one of the groups, Syd. You know the players." He waved at the soldiers making final preparations.  "These guys don't."

She pursed her lips. "Well, then maybe I should lead the advance group."

"I wouldn't want to try and fight your father on that one."  He paused, then "Syd?"

"Hmmm?"

"What happened back there at the plane? Don't try to tell me you don't know. I could see it in your eyes."

"It's not for me to tell, Vaughn.  I'm sorry."

"This won't cause a problem with this mission, will it?"

"Not if I kill Staunton first, it won't."

"What?" Vaughn looked at her, startled by her vehemence.

"Sydney?" Jack interrupted, calling her to the map table.

She smiled apologetically at Vaughn and walked over to her father.

"What is it, Dad?"

"I'm getting ready to leave.  If anything happens ..."

"Dad, nothing is going to happen. Everything is under control."

"I've been doing this a long time, Sydney.  There's always a chance for something to go wrong.  I just wanted you to know that all my legal documents are on file with an attorney.  His name and number are in the address book in the kitchen.  Paul Brown and Company."

"Dad.." Sydney ran an agitated hand through her hair.

"I just needed you to know that."

Impulsively, she reached over and kissed him on the cheek.  "Be careful, okay?"

He nodded, then quickly strode away.  She watched as Bob Staunton approached her father.

"Jack, we need to talk."

"I have nothing to say to you, Staunton.  Now or ever." Jack brushed past him without stopping.  

Staunton watched as her father headed out of the clearing.  He turned and saw her glaring at him.  "You know, don't you?"

"Yes," she said tersely.

"How? There is no way Jack would have told you. He's always been very protective of you."

"I can't tell you."

"You've seen the videos.  No don't deny it.  I can see it in your eyes."  He laid a hand on her arm.  She glared at him.  "Look, I'd like to explain..."

"Explain? Explain!" Sydney knocked his hand away angrily. "What you and Hamilton did to my father was despicable. How could you possible explain that?"

"There is a reason why those tapes are on file, Agent Bristow." Staunton told her stiffly. "I understand your anger.  You almost lost your father because of what we did."  He ran his fingers through his thinning grey hair. "Hamilton's orders came from very highly placed officials.  I wasn't aware how high until I took some of the tapes to a review board. The tapes disappeared." He shook his head. "I hid the rest of the tapes.  When they questioned me about them, I acted like someone had stolen them, too. I archived them a few years ago, for safekeeping. How did you find them?"

"I'm sorry, but that is classified information."  She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course, you could always have me interrogated to find out.  I should warn you, though. I don't break easily."  

"For what it's worth," Staunton offered apologetically. "I'm sorry. I really had no idea what Hamilton was up to."

"Where is Hamilton?"

"He's dead. Some deep cover operation that went bad."

Sydney digested this. 

"Syd," Vaughn called over.  "It's time."

......................................................................

Part 2 of the Mission

...........................................................

Jack surveyed the house from his location at the edge of the property.  The wide open field surrounding the main house would make it difficult to enter covertly while still daylight. He looked to the west and watched the sun rapidly setting over the sea. The house appeared quiet, with very little external activity.  Whatever security measures Sloane had installed were well camouflaged.  He signaled to the three men he'd chosen for the first assault. They moved into position, covering Jack as he worked his way to the back of the villa. 

His eyes searched for the entrance they had selected from the buildings blueprints.  He cursed softly to himself.  Sloane had made some changes to the rear exterior, including the removal of the vulnerable entrance. He scanned the wall for another entryway and located an open window by one of the turrets.  The window opened into a small laundry room.  The sound of the dryer tumbling the clothes helped cover any noise he might have made as he squeezed through the window. 

He'd studied the layout of the house very thoroughly on the flight over and knew that he was near a back staircase that would lead him to the main sleeping rooms of the house.  Quietly, he slipped out of the room and made his way up the stairs. He checked each room thoroughly, opening closets and looking for hidden panels, all to no avail.

In one of the rooms, an enclosed winding staircase led down into a lower floor room. He took the steps one at time, carefully placing his foot where there would be the most support, lessening the chance for a warning creak.  The room was lined with filled bookcases.  Most of the volumes looked old and were probably original to the house.  He felt along the wall for hidden panels when a small noise caught his attention.

"Hello, old friend."

Jack turned to see Sloane standing by a panel that was slightly ajar.  A gun was trained dead center on his heart. Sloane moved over to the massive executive desk and relaxed into a very old leather chair, his gun never wavering from its target. 

"Where's my sister, you bastard?" Jack opted to go on the offensive.

Sloane smiled. "What? No pleasantries, Jack? You haven't even asked after Emily."

Jack frowned at him. "Emily?"

"She's doing quite well now that her cancer is in remission. Thank you for asking."

"Emily is dead." Jack said flatly.

"Funny thing about dead wives. They have a strange way of coming back to life."  He laughed, enjoying Jack's expression.  "The only difference is that with mine, I planned the whole thing.  Rather clever of me, don't you think?" He laughed again.  "Of course, I will have to credit the lovely Laura for giving me the idea in the first place."

Jack's expression darkened.  He reviewed his options.  A diversion was needed.  His eyes scanned the room for possibilities.

"Hello Arvin." Jack froze as he recognized the voice.

"Ah, Irina.  I see you are back.  I take it the mission was successful?"

She gave him a considering look. "You could say that," she agreed.  She lifted her gun and pointed at his head.

Sloane looked from the gun to her face. He smiled.  "Switching loyalties again, Irina? Trying to regain Jack's trust? How many times do you think you can play him for a fool?" 

Irina smiled grimly back. "You never had my loyalty, Sloane.  Jack always has."  She flicked a glance briefly at Jack.  Jack watched numbly as Sloane pulled the trigger.  He felt his body hurl against the wall as the bullet slammed into him.  The sound of another bullet cracked through the air. 

"Jack!" Irina was standing over him as he regained consciousness. "Thank god," she breathed.

"Aren't you going to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?" He looked at her hopefully.

She laughed. "You're wearing a vest."  Her hand slipped under the vest and gently massaged his chest.  "You are going to be sore in a couple hours."

"Irina," he warned. "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

She gave him a wicked grin and moved her hand lower.  "Hmm.  I think something else is going to be hurting in a few minutes."

"Irina, you need to go. This place will be surrounded by Italian intelligence soon."

A cough startled them and the both turned to the source of the sound, Irina quickly raising her gun.

"Staunton." Jack tensed.

"He's right, you'll need to leave quickly."

Irina watched the two men, aware of the subtle undercurrents, but not understanding them.  "What about Jack's sister?"

"We'll find her. You should leave."

Irina turned back to Jack and brushed a hand along his forehead.  "ARILY."

Jack looked into her eyes, finally seeing the answer to his deepest longing. "Yes."  He saw immediately she understood his simple response.  "Now, go."

Irina slipped through the open panel, giving Jack one last look before disappearing. 

Jack turned his attention back to Staunton. "Why?"

"I owe you."

Jack's face hardened.  "You were only doing your job. I was a suspected traitor. How could you possibly 'owe' me?"

"I am sorry, Jack. I had no idea what the FBI was up to." Staunton reached out a hand to help Jack up.  Jack stared at it for a moment, before finally grasping it.

"When you made that suicide atte..."

Jack cut in harshly. "Don't."

Staunton stared at him intently.  "It's what brought me to my senses, Jack. What we were doing to you was wrong. I went back and reviewed the films. Hamilton had been doing some 'extra-curricular' interrogations. I didn't know about them.  The only reason I found out was the camera system I'd set up in the room had some new technology.  The CIA was experimenting with voice activated videotaping.  Most of the sessions were caught on tape."

"Where are these tapes now?" Jack asked harshly.

Staunton shook his head.  "I turned them over to a review board. The disappeared."

"Of course they did. You didn't make copies?"

"No.  I didn't give them all of the tapes, though. I archived them in what I thought was a secure site on the CIA's mainframe."

"And it wasn't? Have they disappeared too?"

"Not that I know of.  Somehow, Sydney located them, though."

"Sydney?" Jack looked at him, horrified.

"I don't know how she found them. It would take a computer genius to unearth those files. Your daughter's good."

Jack shook his head.  Marshall.  Sydney had gotten Marshall to retrieve the files.  He would have to have a conversation with that young man when they got back to headquarters.

"Dad?"

"Everything is fine, honey." He nodded to the desk.  "Sloane is dead.  We were just getting ready to search for my sister."

"Jack?" Jane walked through the passageway. Then she ran over and threw her arms around her brother.  "Jack! I knew you'd come for me."

"Jane? How'd you get free?"

She looked around at the group that had gathered in the room, then back at her brother.  "I heard something at the door.  When I tried the knob, it was unlocked.  As soon as I was sure the coast was clear, I ran down the hall.  I heard you talking and followed the sound of your voice..." Her eyes widened when she saw Sloane slumped against the desk, a pool of blood staining the papers next to him.

"It's over, Jane. We can go home now."

A scream sounded from the doorway. Sydney turned in time to catch Emily before she hit the floor.  Jack looked at Staunton.

"We'll take care of her, Jack. You need to take care of your family."

He nodded.  "Jane, Glenn is waiting for you back at the consulate. They'll need to debrief you first."

She hugged him.  "You'll go with me?"

"Yes." He turned to his daughter. "Sydney?" 

"I'll go with Emily, Dad. She's going to need a familiar face." She gave Staunton a hard look.

Jack nodded. "I'll call when it's time to leave." 

.......................................................................................

"I'll only be a moment." Sydney told Vaughn as she exited the car.

She walked up the sidewalk, searching in her purse for the key. Frustrated, she placed the purse on the wooden banister that lined the front porch. Her fingers felt along the bottom and finally felt the cool metal.  She unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. 

Opening the door to her father's study, she quickly moved to the desk. She pushed on the cd drawer of the computer and watched as it slid open. The compartment was empty.  Frowning, she searched the drawers. Nothing. She knew the disks had been there when she left.

"Are you looking for these?"

"Mom? What are you doing here?"

"I'm cooking dinner for your father."

Sydney's eyes widened.  "Dad's home?"

"Not yet." Irina smiled.  "I'm a surprise."

"I should turn you in..."

"Yes, you probably should.  Your father might get upset, though." Irina moved from the doorway and sat on the edge of the desk.

Sydney snorted.  "Right. You are a wanted criminal by the US Government. He trusted you and you escaped while in his care. He'll be upset all right."

"Trust me, sweetheart."

Sydney let out a loud sigh. "Can I have my discs, please?"

Irina handed them to her daughter. "Have you watched them?"

"What were you doing in Dad's office, Mom?" Sydney asked, ignoring her mother's question. "I don't think he has anything top secret there for you to steal."

"Don't avoid the question, Sydney. Did you watch them?"

"Yes." 

"You're father won't be happy when he finds out."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"No, of course not." Irina pursed her lips. "Does this make you hate me more?"

"I..." Sydney took a deep breath.  "Oh god, I can't believe we are standing here in Dad's study talking about this."

Irina smiled sardonically. "Our family won't ever be accused of being ordinary."

Sydney let out a small laugh. "No we can't," she agreed.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"No, I haven't." Sydney stared at her mother.

"You sound just like your father." 

"Dad says I'm like you." 

"Does that make you angry?"

"Mom, stop it. You are beginning to sound like Barnett."

"Barnett?"

"The CIA shrink. Ask Dad. He's a frequent customer."

Irina frowned.  "Voluntarily?"

"What do you think?"

Irina turned away, sharply.  A horn sounded in the background.

"It's Vaughn. He's waiting in the car." She moved to the door, brushing past her mother. Irina grabbed at her hand.

"Why don't you come to dinner tomorrow night? It will be just the three of us."

"You forget. I'm turning you in to the CIA."

"We need to talk. As a family."

"A family?  We haven't been a family since the night you died."

"I know you're angry at me, sweetheart, but I do love you.  I always have."

"And what about Dad?"

"More than you will ever know."

"Then why...?"

"It's far too complicated for easy explanations. Vaughn is waiting for you. He'll come looking soon.  Tomorrow night?  Please?"

Sydney hesitated. Unconsciously, she brushed her hair back from her face. There was another honk of the horn, this time sounding more impatient. She looked at the discs in her hand and then at her mother.  "What time?" she said finally.

Irina let out a relieved breath.  "Seven?"

Sydney nodded.  "That is, of course, if Dad hasn't turned you in first."

Irina laughed happily. "You better go now, before Vaughn decides to come in."

"Um, Mom?" Sydney sniffed the air as she opened the front door. "What are you making for dinner?"

"Spaghetti."

"There's a number by the kitchen phone for a caterer Dad uses. They deliver.  I'm sure you still have time to order. Just use Dad's name. I think he's their number one customer."

Irina gave Sydney a puzzled frown. "Why would I need to order dinner?

"I can't believe you don't know that Dad hates spaghetti."

"Sydney, I cooked for your father for ten years. He loves my spaghetti. It's his favorite."

..................................................................................

Irina clicked the television off with the remote and looked at her watch.  Seven-thirty.  She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. It had been almost an hour and half since Sydney had left with Agent Vaughn. She wandered around the room, looking for any hint of the eight years she'd spent in the house with Jack.  Other than the desk in Jack's office, all the furniture they had purchased together had been replaced.  Even the pictures on the wall were no longer 'theirs'.  Most of the house looked as though an interior designer had been given free reign.  It was beautiful, she admitted to herself, but very cold and impersonal. 

Finding nothing in the den, she walked over to the stairs, her hand gently caressing the banister. She had stood at the foot of the stairs several times during the day, staring at the open door to the left of the balcony. Their room. Of all the changes in the house, this was the one she least wanted to see. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself up the stairs.

Their bedroom furniture was their first major purchase as a married couple. A local West Virginia craftsman had specially made it for them. When Jack was assigned to his research outpost near Wheeling, he loved to explore and they would often take small daytrips to neighboring towns and browse the antique marts.

"Jack, why don't we just stay home today? You've worked late every night this week and I've missed being with you.  Besides, I think it's going to snow and we don't have chains for the car."

"My practical, Laura." He leaned over and gave her a kiss. "I've been cooped up all week in an office doing analysis, sweetheart. I just need to get out in the fresh air." He pulled her closer and nuzzled the nape of neck. "We can go somewhere close by.  I promise not to drive any further than Moundsville, okay?"

"Jack..." She saw the weariness edging his eyes. "Okay, but I'm driving."

.........................................................

"It's beautiful here," Jack said as he surveyed the small town. He listened to two men who stood in front of the local hardware store. They were deep in discussion about the current prices for produce and arguing about which crop would net the most income.  Another man joined the two  and the discussion swiftly switched to his son's upcoming wedding.

Jack took Laura by the hand and they walked down the main street, pausing to browse in the occasional 'antique' store.  They found the woodworkers shop at the end of the main shopping area.  A large glass window proudly displayed  handcrafted rocking horses and wooden trains.  Inside the shop were pieces of hand carved furniture, in various stages of completion.  They watched silently as the craftsman placed the finishing touches on an intricately carved bookcase.

"Howdy folks. What can I do for ya?"

Laura squeezed Jack's hand.  "Your work is magnificent. Do you do larger pieces."

"Depends. What are you thinking on?"

"We've been thinking about purchasing a new bedroom set."

The man nodded.  "Got some samples in the book. It's over yonder on the table."

She pulled Jack to the back and looked through the man's photographic catalog. The book was full of unusual pieces.  Halfway through the book, she had selected her furniture. She looked at the prices listed and swallowed. Jack pulled her close. "It's beautiful, honey."

"It's a lot of money, Jack. It will make a huge dent in our savings. We're pretty close to having enough for a down payment on our own house."

"But it will last us a lifetime. So, we'll just wait a little longer for the house."

"Jack Bristow, have I told you lately just how much I love you?"

"Hmmm, let me think. Yes, but I'll never tire of hearing you tell me."

Later that week, she revisited the craftsman and asked him to make some modifications.  She'd used her KGB account to pay for the additional costs, so that Jack wouldn't know about the changes.

The door to the master bedroom was closed.  Taking a deep breath, she turned the handle and walked into a room she hadn't seen in twenty-one years.  She felt for the light switch by the door and the room was flooded with the soft glow from a floor lamp sitting in the far corner of the room. The room had a masculine feel to it, all stark angles, dark colors, and heavy furniture. 

Her cheerful curtains were replaced with a more formal burgundy and cream satin, the bed had a matching coverlet.  Everything was tastefully done, but lacked character.  The room had few personal touches; a framed photograph of Sydney hugging a dog, a paperback book on the nightstand, and the ubiquitous plaster handprint hanging on the wall were the only indication that room belonged to Jack.

Gone was the intricately carved sleigh bed.  Gone were the matching cherry wood end tables.  Gone were her beautiful dressers. 

She closed the door and walked to Sydney's room.  Her daughter had kept her furniture. The two of them had picked out the set right after she turned five.  Sydney wanted a big girls bed.  Irina traced her hand lightly on the headboard, thankful for this small oasis.  The wall displayed yellowing posters, obvious leftovers from Sydney's teen years.  A small bookcase was the only addition she didn't recognize.  It was beautifully built, the carving style reminiscent of her bedroom set.  There had been a similar piece in the craftsman's workshop and he had demonstrated the secret to the hidden compartment when she'd asked for the modifications on the dresser.  She felt under the top piece and her fingers found the release. When she slid the top forward, the small cavity revealed several diaries.  She picked up the small pink one.  It had been one of Sydney's birthday presents after she turned six. She opened the flap and felt the tears prick at her eyes as she read the inscription.  "Happy Sixth Birthday to my little girl:  This is a place to keep your dreams. Love, Mommy." She placed it back with its companions and closed the top. 

She looked at her watch once more.  Eight pm.  Where was Jack?  She started to go down the stairs when the door to her left caught her eye. The door boasted one of the best pickproof locks on the market and a matching deadbolt. Running quickly down the stairs, she retrieved her handbag and pulled out her picks and began the process of manipulating the tumblers. Focusing on the task, everything clicked into place and she finally opened the door.  The room was dusty from lack of use. Several frames were stacked against one wall and several sealed boxes were scattered about. Leaning against the far wall were the header and footer to the sleigh bed.  The dressers and end tables were pushed up against another wall. 

She ran a finger along the intricate carving on the headboard.  Their initials were intertwined in the center circle, surrounded by carved ivy leaves and flowers.  Her finger ran across the 'L'. She always pretended it was an 'I'.

The set came with two dressers, one long with a mirror and the other taller and more narrow. She pushed the long dresser away from the taller one and opened the bottom drawer.  She tried turning the sconce to the left, but it wouldn't budge.  Turning it to the right proved futile, as well.  She pulled the drawer completely out and peered at the turning mechanism.  Several small screws had been inserted in the wood, holding the rod in place.

"They're still all there, if that's what you are worried about."  Jack stood in the doorway, watching with that stony look she had grown to hate.

.....................................................................................................

Jack opened the door from the garage and was immediately greeted by the smell of something burning.  He moved quickly into the kitchen and turned off the burner under the spaghetti sauce.  Sydney had mentioned she would be stopping by the house to pick up some music cd's she'd left behind.  Had she made dinner for him? He supposed she'd forgotten his distaste for the sauce. 

He started for the den, but a sound drew his attention.  Listening, he realized someone was in the room he kept locked.  Quietly, he eased up the stairs.  Through the open doorway, he caught a glimpse of the intruder.  He watched as she bent to inspect underneath of the dresser, her long chestnut hair trailing along the floor.  Irina. 

"They're still all there, if that's what you are worried about." 

"Jack!  Where have you been?  It's nearly nine o'clock."

Jack ignored the obvious attempt at deflection. "I have a tool kit in the garage," he told her impassively.

He watched the emotions flit across her face.

"How long?" she asked quietly.

He didn't pretend to misunderstand.  "He showed me the mechanism when I went to pick it up. The challenge excited him and he was quite proud of his work."

"You've known from the beginning?" she whispered faintly.  "And you never said anything?"

"I admit I was angry at first. I couldn't believe you would want to hide anything from me." Jack didn't bother concealing his bitterness. "Little did I know that the dresser was merely the tip of the iceberg."

"Did you ever...?"

"Did I look to see what you put in there?  Yes."  He sighed heavily.  "When I saw it was your diaries, I didn't bother looking any more. I didn't understand why you didn't trust me not to read them without your permission, after all, it's not like I didn't know about their existence"

"I wasn't hiding them from you, Jack. I didn't want the KGB to find them. In case they searched the house. You didn't read them?"

"Your journals? Of course not."  He gave a harsh laugh.  "Hindsight is 20/20, though. If I hadn't respected your privacy so much, I'd have found out what a fool I was a lot sooner. I wouldn't have had to go through 20 years of thinking you dead."

She looked at him, her expression hooded. "You wouldn't have found that information in my journals, Jack. I never kept any of that in the house. Except the books. I couldn't do anything about those."

He stared at her silently for a few moments.  "Your spaghetti sauce burned. I'll go down and order something for dinner.  There might be a screwdriver in one of the drawers." He glanced around the room. The furniture had accumulated a lot of dust.  He supposed he should have let his housekeeper clean the room occasionally.  In shutting it away, though, he hoped to shut out the memories.  No, he amended, not the memories, but the pain those memories brought with them.

"Jack..."

"Not now, Irina. I'll be downstairs when you're ready."

.............................................

With shaky hands, he poured a generous amount of the amber liquid into the glass. The whiskey felt like an old friend and the familiar numbness settled the frayed edges of his nerves. It was too late to stop the flood of memories and the pain. 

"Thank you for taking care of my daughter while I was away. Do you have a card, in case I need your services again?"  Jack carried the nanny's suitcases to her car.

"I left my number by the phone in case you need me to baby-sit again. Sydney told me you have to travel a lot in your job."

"Yes, I'm sure I'll be needing your services again."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you.  I made your dinner for you. All you have to do is reheat the sauce and boil the spaghetti noodles. Sydney told me it's your favorite meal and I found your wife's recipe in one of her cookbooks."

Jack nodded as he helped her into the car.  "I'll be in touch."

He walked slowly back into the house that had once held so much happiness for him. Sydney was standing anxiously at the door.  He pulled her up into his arms and carried her to the den. 

"Why don't we watch television for a little while, sweetheart."

"Cinderella?" She pulled the tape from their tiny collection of videos.

"Cinderella it is."  He started the video and let his daughter crawl into his lap.

"Daddy?"

Jack cringed.  Sydney never asked simple questions when she used that tone. "Yes, baby?"

"How did Cinderella's mommy died?"

"Die," he corrected automatically. He realized her young mind was drawing parallels from the cartoon. Cinderella was her favorite fantasy and he didn't want to destroy that innocence. He gently ran a hand through her hair, choosing his words very carefully. 

"Sydney, the story never tells us how her mommy died. It's a mystery."

"Misty?"

Jack laughed.  "Mystery. Something we will never know the answer to."

"Oh." Sydney thought for a minute.  "I don't want a stepmother, Daddy. Cinderella's daddy gave her a stepmother and then he died."

Jack squeezed his daughter.  "Not all stepmothers' are like that, Sydney. But there's no need to worry about that for a very long time, honey. Daddy isn't ready for you to have a stepmother just yet."

"Promise?"

Jack looked into her earnest brown eyes and his heart ached.  "Cross my heart."

She put her hand to his heart and nodded.  "I'm hungry. Can we have the sketti now?"

"I've got to heat it up. Are you going to watch the rest of the movie while I get it ready?"

She shook her head no.  "I wanna help."

Jack gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and lifted her from the chair.  "Sketti, here we come."

Sydney giggled.  "I can say it right. Spa ghet ti.  I like sketti better."

"Me, too."

After they finished their dinner, Jack prepared Sydney for bed.  The excitement of the day had taken its toll on her and she drifted off after only a few pages into her bedtime story.  Jack tucked the covers around her and returned to the den.  By nine o'clock, he decided he needed to rest, too.  He had avoided their room all day, but now he knew he needed to confront his demons. 

The room was exactly like he left it. Almost like he left it, he corrected himself. Before his arrest, he would come to the room for solace, remembering the love he and Laura shared.  Now the room shouted out her betrayal.  He looked at the dresser.  Had the FBI discovered the hidden compartment?  He went over and pulled out the drawer and inspected the rail.  The screws were still just as he'd placed them on the day of her funeral. 

A wave of temptation engulfed him.  He had never before felt the need to violate her privacy; but surely her betrayal had made a mockery of his honor? The top drawer still held the screwdriver he'd used that day. He pulled it out and placed the flat part of blade against the screw. 

"Daddy, can I have a drink of water?"  Jack looked up at his daughter, rubbing sleepily at her eyes.  He looked at the drawer and sighed.  Putting the drawer back in place, he set the screwdriver back in the top drawer. 

"Of course you may." He picked her up and carried her into his bathroom, setting her on the countertop while he pulled a Dixie cup from the dispenser. "That enough?"

She nodded and gave a big yawn.  "Bedtime for you, my little one."

"Daddy, is the dresser broken?"

"No, honey. Daddy was just looking for something."

"Oh.  Night, Daddy."

"Night, honey."

Jack tucked his daughter in and waited until her breathing evened out. He took a hot shower before dressing in his pajamas, then slipped into the bed.  The sheets were cool against his skin and he shivered.  It had been six months since he'd slept in the bed.  His stomach started to churn.  He willed himself to lay still, to keep his mind blank, to not remember.  Her side of the bed mocked him and his stomach tightened even more. Ten minutes.  Fifteen minutes.  He made it to twenty before racing to the bathroom. 

He heaved until his body was spent and even still his stomach continued to twist and fight against him. 

"Daddy?"  He looked up to see his daughter standing white-faced at the door.  "Are you going to die?"

"No, baby." He gave her a shaky smile.  "Daddy just isn't feeling well.  I'll be okay. Go back to bed, sweetie." His heart ached to see the fear in her eyes. "I'm not going to die, Sydney.  I promise.  Now, be a good girl and go to bed. I'll be there in a minute." 

He took another Dixie cup out of the dispenser and took small sips of water.  Feeling a little stronger, he walked back into the room.  He gave the bed a baleful look and made his way to the guest room. 

"DADDY." Sydney's scream pierced the air and he ran to find her standing at the door of his bedroom. She was crying uncontrollably, her body shaking with the strength of her tears. He lifted her into his arms, whispering words of comfort.  When she quieted down, he took her back to her room.

"Sydney, I thought I told you to go to bed?"

"I got you some pepper bimbo."

"Pepper bimbo?"

"Mommy always gave it to me when I had an upset tummy."

"I see. Did you leave it in the bathroom?"

She nodded and tears started again.  "I was scared when you weren't there Daddy. Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Jack brushed away her tears and nodded.  "Why don't we both sleep in the guest room tonight?"

"Okay, Daddy." She reached out for him and he carried her to the guest bedroom.

"I'm going to get the Pepto-Bismol from the bathroom, sweetheart, and then I'll be right back, okay?"  She nodded, anxiously watching him as he left the room. "I'll only be a minute, I promise."

Jack went back to his room and picked up the telephone, dialing a familiar number.  "Hello, Arvin? Yeah, it's me. They let me come home today."  He listened as Arvin called to Emily.  "Listen, I need a favor. I need to move some furniture, but it's too heavy to move by myself.  You will? Thanks. You are a good friend." He started to hang up, when Emily came on the line.  "I'm okay, Emily. You don't have to fix dinner for us. I'm sure I can manage."  He smiled as Emily scolded him for not calling earlier. "If you insist. Tomorrow will be fine. And Em?  No spaghetti, please."

Arvin helped him move the bedroom furniture the next day while Emily entertained Sydney.  Arvin never questioned him and Jack never offered explanations. 

"Jack..." Irina stood at the door of the den.  "I want you to read my diaries."