Jack let the door swing shut behind him and surveyed his apartment. Maria, he noticed, had been visiting regularly. Neat stacks of junk mail stood on his breakfast table, organized by month, mute testimony to the passage of time. Bills and other mail would have been passed on to his lawyer, he knew.
Grimly he observed that she had done a competent job at putting his belongings back in some semblance of order after what he was sure had been a thorough search by the NSC. For that he could be grateful. It would probably, though, take several weekends before he had rooted out all the bugs they had placed.
He headed to his bedroom, eyes lingering longingly on the soft bed. Tempting. Very tempting. He had barely slept for the past seven days, since they had first told him Sydney had returned. Firmly he turned his back. He planned to shower then head straight in to work. He'd be damned if he'd let the NSC think they'd had any impact on him.
As he turned his gaze settled on a picture of Sydney on his dresser. Picking it up for a moment, his heart swelled. She was so. . . beautiful, he thought to himself.
Jack sat patiently at the interview table. His arms and legs were shackled, as always, during his interrogations. Not that he was likely to escape from a maximum-security prison. No, just to establish who was in control.
"Ah, Bristow, you're here," remarked Sherborne, striding into the room. Jack didn't respond. Where else would he have been while Sherborne drank his coffee for the past 30 minutes? But time was something Jack had a lot of. He shifted his legs in a vain attempt to get comfortable. Sherborne came infrequently, usually leaving the interrogation to lower level agents. It was seldom good news when he came in person.
"I've brought you something," said Sherborne. Jack noted the gleeful look in his eyes with irritation. Sherborne whipped out a chocolate cupcake from behind his back and, with a flourish, lit the single candle and placed it on the table in front of Jack. "Your one-year anniversary, Jack. Blow out the candle and make a wish," he taunted.
I wish I had some C4 and a short fuse, thought Jack to himself. He adopted a bored expression. "Make sure you get some help next year when it's more than one candle. The math gets kind of complicated," he said solicitously.
The NSC agent's eyes sparked with anger, but he recovered quickly. "Ooooh, good one, Jack. Keep polishing that standup act. Never know when you might get an audience again." He scooped up the cupcake and tossed it into the trash. Jack watched it go regretfully. He'd always been partial to chocolate frosting.
"How about a gift instead, Jack?"
Jack continued to look bored. A gift. Terrific, he thought sarcastically.
"Come on, Jack. What do you wish for - more than anything?"
Jack gazed at him in disdain.
"Would it be. . . your daughter?"
Jack's hands clenched together under the table. B*stard.
"No answer? Strange. Your file indicates you'd do anything - and I mean anything - for your daughter."
"She's dead," replied Jack without inflection. God, what did they know? "I can't do anything for her."
"And if I were to tell you.that she's not dead?"
"I'd tell you that we had DNA evidence to declare her death. So I'll believe it when I see her."
"Then you wouldn't be interested in a picture?"
Blood began pounding in Jack's ears. He shrugged carelessly. "It's my anniversary. Why not?"
Sherborne dropped a snapshot onto the table. Sydney, sitting up in a hospital bed, chatting with Weiss. Jack stared at it for a long moment, scarcely breathing. She was so.beautiful, he thought to himself. He could have wept.
"Well?" the agent prompted.
"Weiss has lost weight," observed Jack in a thoughtful tone.
Sherborne snatched the picture back off the table in annoyance. "Well, smart guy, that's the closest you're going to get to Sydney for a very long time. Unless, of course, you'd like to cough up Derevko."
"I've told you a thousand times. I don't have any idea where she is," said Jack in a weary voice.
"Too bad. There's no one left at the CIA to watch Sydney's back when she goes on her next mission. You *did* do that before, didn't you Jack? Double checked all the mission specs, put backups in place?"
"Sydney's perfectly capable of taking care of herself," said Jack, controlling his rising fury with difficulty.
"Oh, is she?" sneered Sherborne with a predatory gleam. He reached over and pushed the button on the tape recorder on the table.
"I. want. my. Dad," came Sydney's distraught voice from the player.
Jack put down the picture frame with a snap and wheeled toward the bathroom to turn on the water. He needed a hot shower. He felt. . . dirty.
IwantmyDadIwantmyDadIwantmyDad. Stop it, Jack pleaded. It's over. Rapidly he stripped off his clothes and tossed them in the laundry hamper. Stepping into the shower, he let the hot water run down his back.
IwantmyDadIwantmyDadIwantmyDad. Jack shuddered as the echo filled his head, unable to halt the memories that flooded back. Arrested at home, shortly after Laura's funeral, Sydney watching in horror. "I want my Dad!" she'd screamed as they'd led him away. His phone call home, four months into interrogation, arbitrarily cut off after 60 seconds. "I want my Dad!" she'd wailed as they pulled the phone out of his hands.
"I. want. my. Dad,"
Session over, Jack stumbled back to his cell, dazed. Sydney was back, and she needed him. More than she knew. And Irina would not be able to protect her. All he had to do was. give up Irina. Sign her death warrant.
He huddled on the concrete slab that served as his bed, using his blanket to temporarily shield him from the omnipresent surveillance of the cameras. All of the defenses he had carefully constructed over the past year had just crumbled to dust. For, in reality, his decision up to that point had been straightforward. He was protecting Irina so that she could protect Sydney.
A business decision. Defensible with cool logic. Impervious to any interrogation ploy the NSC had attempted during his imprisonment.
But now? When Sydney's and Irina's interests were no longer aligned? And he had to choose? Jack shivered under the thin blanket.
Jack shivered uncontrollably under the hot water, leaning against the wall for support.
"Bristow!" There was a pounding on Jack's cell door. "Get that blanket off your damned face. You know the rules."
Focus, Bristow. Sydney's strong. She can do this without you. With a superhuman effort, Jack controlled his features and lowered the blanket, feeling naked in front of the cameras. Knowing that Sherborne would be watching for any hint, any crack.
'Be strong, Sydney,' he whispered as the hours ticked away. 'It was only a business arrangement,' a voice chanted in his head.
'Be strong, Sydney,' he whispered as he forced down the food. Failure to eat would be a dead giveaway. 'They'll find out Sydney's a murderer,' the voice taunted.
'Be strong, Sydney,' he whispered as he tossed sleepless on his bed. 'Irina doesn't love you. She never loved you,' the voice mocked
'Be strong, Sydney,' he whispered as the days blurred. 'And if you lose Sydney again?' the voice screamed.
Jack's whole body began to shake, and he sank to the floor of the shower, head in his hands. Knowing he had been only days away from whispering
"Tell Sherborne. . . . I'm ready to talk."
He heard the sound of sobs echoing through the room. It was some time before he realized they were his.