Hall of Fame: Laura (Let me tell you a secret. You and me, we're in the same boat. I don't even know how I'm going to end this story.), Lady Prongs of Rohan (a.k.a. Miss Cleo), Melissa (I was so hesitant about putting that part in! Much thanks for letting me know it was appreciated.), and chopsticks (I will surrender gracefully to save myself some dignity--and writing space--with one last, heartfelt thank you. Thank you for the thank you for the thank you for the thank you for the thank you.).

Chapter Five

When Jack slipped unobtrusively into the room, Sydney was sleeping soundly on the bed in the aftereffects of the pill Vaughn had dissolved into her last meal, and Vaughn was tightly curled within the restrictions recliner. Sydney was immediately aware of his entrance, slitting her eyes to regard him hazily, and welcoming him with a slight, dreamy smile. "Dad."

Vaughn struggled to slip into wakefulness, blinking his eyes in the fluorescent lighting a few times, but ultimately failed. There were deep purple circles under his eyes, like fresh bruises. Jack touched his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Vaughn."

His puzzled gaze was drowsy as he rummaged for a coherent thought. "Jack."

"I'd like to talk to Sydney for a few minutes." Alone, another harsh squeeze to Vaughn's shoulder added silently.

"Oh. Yes. Of course," he mumbled, almost as if he was unsure of what he was agreeing to. He gathered up his jacket, which had served him as a makeshift blanket, and with a last glance around, he quietly exited the room and shuffled down to the nurse's station at the end of hall to wait.

"How long has he been here?" Sydney was sitting up in her bed now, straining to see him long after he had disappeared from view.

"Three days. Two nights." She motioned for him to move closer, and Jack joined her in her seat on the bed.

"And he hasn't left at all?"

"Judging by his appearance, I'd have to say no."

Jack saw that it was an idea that sat uneasily with her by the she crossed and uncrossed her ankles repeatedly, looking with frustrated impatience like she would rather be pacing. "You have to tell him to go home."

He tried on his best expression of fatherly disapproval. "I don't think I'm the person he will listen to."

She gave into her impulses, springing to her feet to take an aggravated turn around the room. He watched from where he was until she threw herself into one of folding chairs with all the violence of her vexation, then he moved himself to stand at her side, his hand resting on the back of her chair, so close to her neck but so far from touching her.

"You're going to make yourself sick worrying like this," he observed with dispassionate poise.

She disregarded the comment with a down-turned corner of her mouth. "You obviously came to tell me something. What's happening?"

"The killings have stopped."

It would have been impossible to see her flinch unless you had been looking for it. "That should be good news, but it only seems to make my situation worse. I suppose I'm still the only suspect as well?"

"Primary suspect," he corrected doggedly. "I'm pursuing some leads."

"And? What am I supposed to do here?"

"Exactly. It was a commendable idea, Sydney, but you're clearly not doing anyone any good cloistered in here. The question is, how do we get the CIA to let you walk free when they have you precisely where they can best keep an eye on you?"

"You already have something in mind, don't you?"

"Something." The wavering in his voice conveyed more skepticism than it should have. "If I can get you a clean bill of mental health from a professional they'll respect and listen to--and if they haven't formally charged you with anything--they wouldn't dare hold you here indefinitely. It's illegal, and it's not something they'd want to come under scrutiny if I dropped a word or two to some old friends."

"Anything is worth a try at this point."

"Sydney, I'm sorry." The simple statement surprised both of them with its suddenness and sincerity; Jack involuntarily backed away from her and his own remark, and Sydney blinked her astonishment.

"Dad, you've done everything possible to help me through this. I don't know where I would be without you. What could you have to be sorry for?"

"Nothing." His hand strayed from his side to scoop a stray hair back behind her ears. The dark dye was fading after several washes. "Nothing."

~~~~~~~~~~

From the moment she stepped inside, Judy Barnett was instantly rearranging the room to her personal specifications. Dragging two folding chairs onto the rug, she positioned them far enough away so each woman would have enough room to cross her legs, but not far enough for Sydney to feel any comfort. Dr. Barnett slipped effortlessly into her finest bedside manner, her smile forcing its path through well-worn lines in her face, and she seated herself with an air of purpose and belonging, as if a visit such as this was commonplace. She tapped the other seat lightly with her nails in an invitation for Sydney to join her and paused to arrange her clipboard across her knees. "Sit down, Sydney. You and I have a lot of catching up to do."

Outside, the two men had put as much distance as possible between them in the cramped corner disguised as a sitting area, each attempting to conceal any lingering glances down the hall from the other.

"This will work?" Vaughn broke into the silence that had automatically fallen between them. He had resourcefully spent the minutes Jack had been speaking to Sydney prying what details he could out of Dr. Barnett.

The terse reply of "Something has to," was not the encouraging assurance he had been eager for, and it quickly obliterated any other prospect of conversation in his mind. Silence lengthened into another prolonged period, but his name on Jack's lips drew his head back up again. "Vaughn," he repeated once he had the younger man's attention.

Vaughn felt the weight of Jack's gaze, accompanied by the irrational stirring of terror in the belief that he could see straight through him. He had done foolish things, said foolish things in the past few days. It had seemed the right thing to do in that secluded part of the Naval Hospital's lowest levels, when he had been apart from the rest of the world. He had let his fears for Sydney undermine his best judgment, and Julia had appeared as a perfect vessel for voicing all the thoughts that were stifling him. She was the one person he was confident would never breathe a word of it to Sydney, and it had been so much more sane than talking to himself.

But now, his reason was surfacing as he discovered reality again in the tiny waiting room. There was the memory of people, real people with real feelings to consider. Foolish.

"Perhaps--" Jack folded his hands, looking as socially uncomfortable as his face would allow him, the slightest tinge of red coloring his ears. "Perhaps it would be best it you went home and patched things up with your wife."

Defensiveness was an unthinking reaction, undaunted by the prudence of Jack's suggestion. He only had an instant and pervading sense of none of your business. "For Sydney's sake, or yours?"

"For your own." His eyes relayed the rest of the message: Go home. I can handle everything here. She's mine to take care of.

The realization that Jack was ultimately and infuriatingly right broke through the cloud of outrage. The truth was uncomplicated enough: Jack was watching over Sydney--his plan was in progress a short walk from where they sat. He was useless here. But Lauren needed him.

He shrugged his coat over his shoulders as he stood, but an unusual heaviness weighing down one side lured his hand to his pocket. He ran his fingers wistfully over the familiar cracks eroded into the spade emblazoned on the package, before heaving the object at an unsuspecting Jack.

"Give her those. And tell her I'm sorry I couldn't stay to say goodbye."

Jack opened his mouth in an effort to produce some sort of comment he had yet to decide on, but the door to the stairwell was already closing on Vaughn's back as he set his foot on the first step that would lead him back into the world he had temporarily forgotten.

But he had left his heart behind, in an old, shabby pack of cards.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Barnett pushed her glasses up to rest on the bridge of her nose with a deliberate, leisurely significance that only added to the air of expectancy hanging on her good diagnosis. Jack made a noise in the back of his throat that fell somewhere short of rudeness, but was an unmistakable hint at impatience. He had been kept waiting far too long.

"Well," she flipped the pages of her notes without really glancing at any of them, "I have to say that I agree with every you told me, Jack. With the stress Sydney's endured since she returned to the CIA, it's not entirely unthinkable that she might be splitting her personality to enable her to cope. Certainly it's not a unique case, becoming another person in order to evade especially difficult problems.

"But," she punctuated by leaning forward, "what's of the greatest interest to me is a pattern I've noticed in her behavior. Every time she escapes into the guise of 'Julia,' she unconsciously returns to a place that holds comforting--let's say good--memories. She associates good things with the site of her old house, her own bedroom now, and the park. It seems her body is triggering a reflex to calm down, to heal itself in a sense, so she will feel relaxed enough to be herself again. If we could assist her in doing that--give her a chance to get away for a little--even if it's not a familiar place, so long as she can forget her problems long enough to recover, I think it might have unlimited therapeutic capacities. I can't guarantee it, but we might even see a full return to her usual self."

She placed a neatly typed document in his expectant hands. "Everything just as you would like. I made my recommendation that she be released, but it's under the condition that she take a few weeks leave to recover. It won't happen any other way. The rest is up to you now."

~~~~~~~~~~

They nearly escorted her to the airport in handcuffs, but they settled for Jack and two CIA agents.

Sydney pulled her father aside just beyond the line for the security checkpoint, and out of the corner of his well-trained eye, Jack caught the skilled melting of their escort into the crowd. The black had finally washed completely out of her hair, and bouncing on her sandaled feet in front of him with her eagerness to ask the question she hadn't dared to in the car with the agents, she was well on her way to becoming his daughter again.

"I thought we didn't trust Sloane?"

"We don't." One of the guards circled in close on his left, but not near enough to overhear him speaking. "It would have been impossible for you stay here with me, or any one else I could have imposed upon, without doubts being raised over whether or not I was aiding you in covering up anything you might do. Sloane was kind enough to offer the use of his home in Spain, and he promised to bring plenty of work to keep him occupied. The CIA agreed to discharge you to his care under the assumption that if he was indeed abetting your activities, he would be in violation of his pardon, and he would be immediately executed."

"Kind of makes you wish it was me doing all this." An acknowledging smile fell quickly into silence, and she looked desperately first at her carry-on, then at him for some hope of delaying the inevitable farewell.

Struck by sudden inspiration, he dug into his pocket for his wallet, and grabbing at several of the bills inside, unconcerned by the amount, he pressed the money into her hand. He ignored the murmurs of her protest; others fathers did the same thing, and so he could do it as well. "Take it," he placed an underlying note of authority in the words that forbade further argument. "Buy yourself a swimsuit. Take advantage of the little stretch of beach he owns. Or maybe a dress. Have him send someone out to dinner with you one night. I know it can't help to know, but you won't do any of us any good is you don't relax."

The hug was unexpected, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him close, dragging straight out of his comfort zone. It was unnerving--and breathtaking.

"I wish you could come with me."

"I wish I could, too." He squeezed her closer momentarily so her ear was a sufficient distance from his mouth to whisper confidentially in. "If worse comes to worse, you have my permission to kill him."

He had the overwhelming delight of seeing her smile--albeit a bit ferociously--as she wove her way through the line, through the metal detectors, and beyond his line of vision. He stood rooted to the spot until he was sure he caught sight of two men detaching themselves from the throng, flashing badges discretely at the airport employees, following her where he could not.