"Dad, what was it like? Solitary?" Dinner finished, Jack and Sydney both sat at the table, relaxed.
Jack looked into his daughter's open and trusting eyes. IwantmyDadIwantmyDad IwantmyDad. Perhaps there were limits to this new closeness of theirs. "Nothing special, sweetheart. No thumbscrews. Boring, mostly." Jack fixed a reassuring smile on his face.
"What did you do to pass the time?"
Jack shrugged easily. "Slept. Thought about you. Played chess."
"Chess? In solitary?" asked Sydney skeptically.
"There was another prisoner…," Jack's voice trailed off. "I don't even know his name," he said reflectively. "I called him 'The Abbe' in my mind. We found a way to communicate."
"Codes through walls?" Sydney asked teasingly.
"Close enough," he replied, oddly reluctant to discuss it.
Jack pushed back from the table, effectively ending the conversation, and moved to the corner of the room. A box, clearly electronic in nature, sat on the floor with its lights flashing. Jack flipped a switch and a low hum could be heard. "That's better," he said to himself. He looked up to see Sydney watching him curiously. "Borrowed this from Marshall today. Industrial strength bug killer. Kills the video as well as the audio. If you're ready, I've got something to show you."
Jack pulled out his laptop, and with a few keystrokes began downloading the video he had stored on an anonymous remote server as a routine safety precaution the year before. He remembered the first time he had seen the video as if it were yesterday. It had been an image seared onto his brain, the edges still clear as he clutched it close during his days in solitary. Sydney sat down in the chair next to him, silently watching the progress of the download without comment.
"Almost a year after your apparent death, I was on an operation. One of the men I was tracking was this man." Jack handed her a black and white photograph. "Andrian Lazarey, a Russian diplomat."
"I've never seen him before, Dad." Sydney frowned at Jack's troubled look. "What's the matter? Why were you following him?"
"Lazarey led the Project Christmas research from the Russian side many years ago. I was hoping to obtain more information on Allison Doren, on the assumption that if we found her, we might find out more about what happened that night." He hesitated for a moment, then pushed a button on his keyboard. "Sydney, this tape was from a hidden camera that I placed."
Sydney watched as the tape began to play. Lazarey got up from behind his desk to greet a woman with blond hair, then moved to shut the door behind her. As the woman turned to watch him, her face was exposed. "That's me," she gasped, shocked.
"This is how I knew you were alive," said Jack quietly. "You. . . don't recall that man at all?"
"No. . . ," whispered Sydney, watching the tape as the blond woman slipped a knife out of her coat sleeve and slashed Lazarey's throat.
"No…," she moaned, turned her face into Jack's shoulder. "He was unarmed, Dad. I slit that man's throat."
"Your remorse is premature, Sydney. Without knowing the circumstances, you can't be sure you didn't have just cause."
"I know you don't want the CIA to see this tape to protect me, but maybe they should," said Sydney, pushing herself away from her father.
"Sydney, they'll detain you indefinitely. If they learn you murdered Lazarey, you won't be able to participate in finding out what happened to you over the last two years."
"I don't trust myself right now, Dad. Maybe the CIA shouldn't either."
"Well, I trust you. I'll keep looking into Lazarey. You deserve to get on with your life."
"Dad - ,"
"Sydney," said Jack resolutely, holding her close "Trust me. I'll tell you everything I learn. Your mother may be helpful...assuming she's still alive. You don't," he asked diffidently, "happen to remember seeing her at all over the past year, do you?"
Sydney shook her head vigorously. "I don't remember a thing."
Jack gave a sigh. "I haven't spoken to her, but we established a protocol for making contact. I'll try and reach her."
"Dad?" asked Sydney meditatively.
"Hmm?"
"You and mom. . .you worked together while I was gone?"
"Yes. I felt I could trust her, given the circumstances. We had something in common."
"My death," said Sydney lightly, but her brown eyes were huge. "Did you. . . ,' she paused, choosing her words carefully, "work together closely?"
"Yes," he said evenly.
"Oh," she said, chewing her lower lip. "I see."
"I doubt it," said Jack dryly. "Sydney, it was a business relationship. Both your mother and I understood that. Our first objective was to find your killers. Then, when I discovered you were alive, it was to find and protect you."
"So *that's* why you wouldn't tell them where to find Mom?"
Jack nodded.
"But you don't know what she actually did during that time?"
"No. But I intend to give her the benefit of the doubt until I've talked to her."
Sydney stared at him openmouthed.
Jack read her expression and sighed. "Sydney, I don't have a choice. If I thought that I'd spent a year in solitary for nothing, I'd go crazy."
Sydney squeezed his arm in understanding, reserving judgment. "So, will you be joining us tomorrow morning for the briefing?" she asked brightly.
Jack flushed. "No," he said shortly. "A welcome back gift from Lindsey. I need a psych evaluation before I get my security clearance back. No mission briefings for a while."
Sydney raised her eyebrows.
"It should be routine," said Jack wearily. "But I've got to get that clearance if I'm going to be able to help figure out what happened to you."
"I'm sure there will be no problems," said Sydney bracingly.
"And," Jack added reluctantly, "I need to requalify for my field rating as well. I'll be a little occupied for the next few days."
Sydney, who had been sipping her wine, choked. "What?" she spluttered, outraged.
"Lindsey's idea of entertainment."
"That. moron," Sydney ground out. Jack smiled at her ferocity. "Look Dad, why don't you relax while I go clean up?" She stood and began moving towards the kitchen. "I'd like the opportunity to break something," she muttered to herself.
Sydney walked out into the living room 15 minutes later to find her father fast asleep on the couch. Smiling to herself, she swung his legs up and covered him with an afghan. It was good to have him home. After a moment's pause, she bent over and dropped a kiss on his forehead. "'Night, Dad," she whispered, and turned out the lights.
****
A/N – "The Abbe" is a reference to the other prisoner with whom Dantes had contact in The Count of Monte Cristo.