If Jack Bristow was surprised, he did not show it as he walked up the brick
path leading to his front porch. His daughter, a lonely figure in black,
sat silently on the wide wooden steps and smiled up at him as he
approached. In her hands she held a beverage, half-full, ice clinking
against the green highball glass.
"Lemonade?" She offered, holding it up to her father.
Jack eyed the glass, his expression unchanged. Taking it from her, he lifted it to his lips. Instead of drinking, however, he waved the glass beneath his nose, inhaling quickly.
"Dad," Sydney's embarrassment peppered her nervous laugh. "It's just lemonade."
Jack handed the beverage back to his daughter without partaking. Slowly lowering himself to the step beside her, the wood creaking as it received his weight, he rested his well-worn leather briefcase at his feet.
"You let yourself in."
"You gave me a key."
"I know," Jack finally met her eyes. "I just wasn't sure you'd actually use it."
Sydney looked away as they settled into an easy silence. Over the years, more had been spoken between them in those calculated silences than any words they'd ever uttered. The same was true in that moment, and Jack felt the weight of Sydney's spirit as it permeated the still air around them.
"You let yourself into my house and made lemonade."
Sydney sighed, the small sound touching Jack in ways he still sometimes didn't believe was possible.
"Three years ago tonight," Sydney said. She turned the glass in her hands, condensation dripping from her fingertips.
"I know," Jack said, his voice matter-of-fact and yet also a comfort.
"Vaughn dropped me off to pack," She continued, staring out at the growing darkness, the fading sunlight reflecting in her eyes. "We were going to Santa Barbara. A vacation. Just the two of us, for the first time."
Jack was silent, rapt even as he listened to a story he knew too well.
"But now, today, three years later," Sydney shook her head. "Vaughn's in Europe, with Lauren. On vacation with his wife," Her voice caught in her throat despite her best efforts to keep her emotions in check.
Jack studied her face, unsure if she wanted him to speak, to offer support and comfort, or just to merely listen. He chose to remain quiet, watching with controlled compassion as Sydney wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
"I hate acting like this, Dad," She confessed, her eyes red-rimmed and wet as she turned to face her father. "Like a high schooler whose favorite crush took another girl to the prom. Try as I might, I can't get my heart to let go."
Jack broke his silence, drawing up his knees and resting his forearms against them.
"Our hearts don't know any better," He said, catching Sydney by surprise. He was not known for openly emoting or freely speaking on matters of the heart. His eyes darkened as his voice deepened, the words coming from a place that was raw from repeated probing and self-examination. "I'm not sure that letting go is ever possible, especially when dealing with the love of your life."
Sydney inhaled sharply, her eyes wide. "Dad," She said carefully, sensing that her father's words came from experience and yet refusing to believe. "Irina Derevko is not-"
"I believe I'll take that lemonade now," Jack started to get up, but Sydney clamped a hand on his arm.
"I'll get it," She was on her feet before he could protest, wanting to get away from both the words he had stopped her from speaking and the ones that never needing saying, not ever.
When his daughter returned, Jack smiled and thanked her as she placed the cool drink in his hand. Easing back down beside him, Sydney shrugged off her sweater, the strap of her tank top catching in the sleeve and slipping down her shoulder. As she reached to pull it back up, Jack's eyes lingered on the dime-sized scar on her tanned skin, the ragged edges spiraling out from a darkened center.
Sydney noticed and let her fingers graze it before adjusting her strap to cover it.
"I'll always have that," She said, gazing out across the lawn as the crickets began their nightly chorus.
"Some wounds don't leave scars," Jack said, gently sliding an around Sydney's shoulders. "But we remember them just as well."
Dropping her head onto her father's shoulder, Sydney sniffed as tears once again burned her eyes.
"We know them by heart," She said, resting against him as he began to stroke her hair.
Jack lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long drink, not the least bit surprised when the taste of vodka warmed his throat. He smiled into the darkness and leaned in to kiss his daughter's face.
******
"Lemonade?" She offered, holding it up to her father.
Jack eyed the glass, his expression unchanged. Taking it from her, he lifted it to his lips. Instead of drinking, however, he waved the glass beneath his nose, inhaling quickly.
"Dad," Sydney's embarrassment peppered her nervous laugh. "It's just lemonade."
Jack handed the beverage back to his daughter without partaking. Slowly lowering himself to the step beside her, the wood creaking as it received his weight, he rested his well-worn leather briefcase at his feet.
"You let yourself in."
"You gave me a key."
"I know," Jack finally met her eyes. "I just wasn't sure you'd actually use it."
Sydney looked away as they settled into an easy silence. Over the years, more had been spoken between them in those calculated silences than any words they'd ever uttered. The same was true in that moment, and Jack felt the weight of Sydney's spirit as it permeated the still air around them.
"You let yourself into my house and made lemonade."
Sydney sighed, the small sound touching Jack in ways he still sometimes didn't believe was possible.
"Three years ago tonight," Sydney said. She turned the glass in her hands, condensation dripping from her fingertips.
"I know," Jack said, his voice matter-of-fact and yet also a comfort.
"Vaughn dropped me off to pack," She continued, staring out at the growing darkness, the fading sunlight reflecting in her eyes. "We were going to Santa Barbara. A vacation. Just the two of us, for the first time."
Jack was silent, rapt even as he listened to a story he knew too well.
"But now, today, three years later," Sydney shook her head. "Vaughn's in Europe, with Lauren. On vacation with his wife," Her voice caught in her throat despite her best efforts to keep her emotions in check.
Jack studied her face, unsure if she wanted him to speak, to offer support and comfort, or just to merely listen. He chose to remain quiet, watching with controlled compassion as Sydney wiped a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.
"I hate acting like this, Dad," She confessed, her eyes red-rimmed and wet as she turned to face her father. "Like a high schooler whose favorite crush took another girl to the prom. Try as I might, I can't get my heart to let go."
Jack broke his silence, drawing up his knees and resting his forearms against them.
"Our hearts don't know any better," He said, catching Sydney by surprise. He was not known for openly emoting or freely speaking on matters of the heart. His eyes darkened as his voice deepened, the words coming from a place that was raw from repeated probing and self-examination. "I'm not sure that letting go is ever possible, especially when dealing with the love of your life."
Sydney inhaled sharply, her eyes wide. "Dad," She said carefully, sensing that her father's words came from experience and yet refusing to believe. "Irina Derevko is not-"
"I believe I'll take that lemonade now," Jack started to get up, but Sydney clamped a hand on his arm.
"I'll get it," She was on her feet before he could protest, wanting to get away from both the words he had stopped her from speaking and the ones that never needing saying, not ever.
When his daughter returned, Jack smiled and thanked her as she placed the cool drink in his hand. Easing back down beside him, Sydney shrugged off her sweater, the strap of her tank top catching in the sleeve and slipping down her shoulder. As she reached to pull it back up, Jack's eyes lingered on the dime-sized scar on her tanned skin, the ragged edges spiraling out from a darkened center.
Sydney noticed and let her fingers graze it before adjusting her strap to cover it.
"I'll always have that," She said, gazing out across the lawn as the crickets began their nightly chorus.
"Some wounds don't leave scars," Jack said, gently sliding an around Sydney's shoulders. "But we remember them just as well."
Dropping her head onto her father's shoulder, Sydney sniffed as tears once again burned her eyes.
"We know them by heart," She said, resting against him as he began to stroke her hair.
Jack lifted the glass to his mouth and took a long drink, not the least bit surprised when the taste of vodka warmed his throat. He smiled into the darkness and leaned in to kiss his daughter's face.
******