Sydney.
Alive.
He stared transfixed at the images before him. His hand raised of its own volition to touch the screen, delicate tracing, afraid somehow that he would erase it and she would be gone. He would have clawed his way into the screen if he could, so desperate to seize her and hold her and keep her real. She was alive. He didn't understand how. He didn't care.
Sydney.
Alive.
He rewatched the video clip. Brushing aside the sight of his child slitting a man's throat. Focusing only on her existence. She was there. It was her. The details didn't matter.
Irina. He needed to tell Irina. She'd be with him again in a matter of days. Too long to wait. He began to bury the information within his computer.
Keep it safe. Keep her safe. Tell Irina. Find Sydney.
He didn't even hear the door being broken down as the NSC burst into his home.
A small bag was open on her bed. She was packing. Her travel arrangements were set. She still hadn't decided what she was going to cook him for dinner. She grinned at the thought. It was so domestic. It warmed her.
She'd answered the phone with no expectation and listened quietly as the caller spoke.
She replaced the receiver. Dazed.
He'd been taken into custody.
"Oh." It fell from her lips and crashed on the floor. She stared as it shattered, as she felt herself break.
She clamped a hand to her mouth as bile rose in her throat. She forced it down. Forced herself to breath. Forced the cracks to seal.
Forced her feat not to run to him.
She'd promised.
It would break her heart. She wouldn't break her word.
They had proof that he'd been working with Irina.
Solitary. Indefinite.
Sydney. Alive.
Irina didn't know. He'd made her promise not to come for him. She wouldn't come. She'd be looking of Sydney's killers, not for Sydney. She wouldn't come.
Time ticked in his head. A countdown until she would come for him. Until they could go to her.
Sydney's death had killed her. Jack's incarceration had buried her. Each day another shovel of dirt thrown upon her grave.
She still had nothing. No fresh leads. No child. No husband. No feeling.
Nothing except time pulsing by until she could go to him. Until they could disappear.
Sydney before him. Flesh and blood. Real. Glass separating them. The despair radiating from her and piercing him, unequal to the elation that thrummed through his veins at her presence. Perhaps selfish in entirety, all else dimmed in comparison.
Sydney.
Alive.
Jack.
Free.
She clawed herself from her grave.
His steps were heavy as they connected with each stair. He wanted to sleep, to escape the noise. It had only been two days. The irony of so much time in solitary causing him to need time from people. Even Sydney. A year thinking she was dead. Nearly a year knowing she was alive and out there somewhere. He had to keep himself in check around her for fear that he would bundle her up and take her from the world to keep her safe from everything that was hurting her now.
Jack shrugged off his suit jacket and reached to hang it up. Placing it next to a line of others he noticed something out of place. It took him a second to realise that there was a shirt hanging in his closet that had not been there that morning. A white shirt, wrinkled with wear. He reached out to trace the line of the sleeve as his heart contracted. He compelled himself to hold still.
"Are you returning this?"
"No."
He turned to face her in the doorway. Her eyes drank in the sight of him.
"You're an hour and 10 months late. Dinner's ruined. You should have called."
"I apologise. It won't happen again."
She almost smiled. She couldn't move.
"Irina."
The word tore from his mouth and wrapped around her, reeling her to him. Arms encompassed his shoulders as she pulled him to her with ferocity. His arms wound around her waist, crushing her. He could feel her trembling and squeezed tighter, frantic to be as close to her as possible. Not a whisper passed from their lips. A sliver of light could not have passed between their bodies. When he tried to pull back Irina dug her fingers into his shoulders.
"Not yet." She burrowed closer. She didn't care if she bruised him. She didn't care if he broke her ribs.
"Miss me?"
The words loosened her grip. She pulled back an inch or two, her hands finding purchase on his face. Her mouth pressed to his as she separated his lips with hers.
"Yes." The word rolled from her tongue straight onto his.
"I missed you, too."
She smiled into his mouth.
"Sydney. How is she?"
"Alive. Healing. She doesn't remember anything from the past 2 years."
There was no word for what she was feeling at that moment. There was no way to articulate the cacophony of emotion that was thriving inside of her. Her daughter alive. Her husband in her arms.
"We'll find out what happened. We'll do whatever it takes." She pushed into him, nuzzling her forehead into the crook of his neck. He lowered his head to her shoulder and kissed it.
"Irina, take off your clothes." It wasn't a request. It wasn't an enticement. It was a plea. He needed to see her, all of her, every inch of skin, he needed to see that she was alright and that she was real. She took a step back from him. Their gazes fused. Shirt, shoes, socks, pants, underwear. She stood before him naked and unashamed. His eyes raking over her as he took in the sight of her. She was thinner then last time he'd seen her. A scar he didn't recognise marred her left arm. He gave a tiny nod assured that she was ok.
"We should get to work." Confusion flitted across her face as a grin broke out on his. "You owe me 10 months worth of conjugal visits."
She smiled and laughed and reached for him. "I like to settle me debts."