A/N: Hello! It has been awhile, hasn't it? I thought it was only fair to mention that the first place I always post is I have the same screen name there and post this fic in the S/V fan fiction section. I've had this part posted there for months but like the part and kept refusing to post it in its entirety, so I got upset and didn't post, hoping it's something that would fix itself in time. It hasn't, so here I am finally updating, with this one story in two halves.
To the person who asked about signaling flashbacks, in general the italics are meant to be the signal. Other than that, all I can tell you is to read carefully. You'll note almost all stories are formatted to start in present, spend the majority of the middle in the past through flashbacks and have present again at the end. (Occasionally it will end with a flashback though not without revisiting the present first.) Enjoy :)
Thanks for the beta, Bek!
DISCLAIMER: As much as I'd like to, I don't own Alias or its characters. It is the property of ABC, Touchstone and Bad Robot Productions.
SUMMARY: Releasing silent screams…
10th in the Cry of Orphans series
RATED PG-13
GENRE: Angst! Angst! And more angst! Did I mention Angst?
SPOILERS: None. This is a Future-Fic
DISTRIBUTION: I'd rather this is not distributed anywhere without my permission. I'll put it where I want it. But you're still welcome to contact me and try to convince me that my story should be in your fine archive.
For Paty, who I shall miss dearly. Best wishes and huge hugsies.
FEARS OF ORPHANS
By Aliasscape
Copyright 2005
It was a collision of worlds. Of time. Past and present.
She stood in the center of the sitting room. The child was right beside her. Her mother emerged from the study and came to stand two feet away from them.
They studied each other. Three pairs of brown eyes. Three heads of golden brown hair.
Three generations caught in one endless moment.
A moment that didn't seem to be lost even on the child, who without the knowledge of who stood beside and in front of her, still seemed to absorb the emotion.
Sydney finally took a deep breath and stepped forward. "Taryn, this is my mother, Irina."
Taryn looked at Irina with curious eyes.
"Mom, this is my friend, Taryn."
Irina's eyebrow arched towards Sydney, but Sydney just shook her head. Irina directed her attention to the child with a wide, knowing smile. "It's very nice to meet you, Taryn."
Taryn returned the greeting with a hesitant smile.
"You've had a long trip. There's dinner in the kitchen for you."
Sydney gave the girl a hopeful look. But Taryn showed little interest in getting something to eat. She was instead taking in the room around her. Her eyes examined the furniture, the walls, what she could see of the landing beyond the staircase.
Irina followed the girl's eyes up the stairs. "We've prepared a room for you, Taryn. Would you like to see it?"
Taryn nodded, curious to see more of the compound.
Irina motioned to the maid. "Nina will show you to it. Let her know if there's anything else you need."
Taryn studied the maid a moment before looking at Sydney.
Sydney nodded to the girl. "It's okay."
Nina smiled. Taryn followed the maid up the stairs. Sydney and Irina silently waited until Nina and Taryn disappeared up the stairs and around the corridor.
Then, Irina turned to Sydney and wrapped her arms around her daughter. Sydney's eyes watered as she hugged her mother fiercely enough that she winced from pain to her shoulder when she finally stepped back.
Her mother looked concerned as Sydney shrugged her shoulder trying to ease the throbbing. "It's fine, Mom," Sydney began, hoping to put the focus on the fact that she was in one piece, rather than the hole in her shoulder.
Irina let it go for the moment and took a seat in a chair. "Any word on Sark?"
Sydney sat down on the couch. "I got a call just as the plane was landing. They finished the surgery. The doctor thinks he'll be okay to travel in a day or so."
"You look exhausted," her mother noted.
Sydney sighed. "It's been a tiring day. At least, Taryn slept a little on the plane."
Her mother nodded. "How do you think she's doing?"
Sydney frowned, uncomfortably, somehow unsure if she was really qualified to judge. "She's been… so traumatized. I can't get her to eat anything. She knows something's happened to her father, even though I haven't told her what. And, she thinks this is all her fault."
Irina studied her. "And you think it's all yours."
Sydney stiffened. "Everything that she has been put through over the past few days is because of me. Because of decisions I made"
A disapproving look crossed her mother's face. "Because of you, Sydney, Taryn is upstairs, alive and safe."
"And Sloane has Vaughn," Sydney responded.
"Sloane is only using him to lure you there."
Sydney's hand drifted to the slip of paper in her pocket. "It's working."
Irina's eyes narrowed. "Sloane will not take what he has perceived as your betrayal lightly, Sydney. It's suicide for you to go to him. Let the CIA rescue Vaughn."
Sydney shook her head. It would never work. She'd spent enough time with Sloane to know that. "If the CIA goes near Sloane, Vaughn's dead."
"Vaughn could be dead already," Irina stated calmly. "And you'll only orphan your daughter by going after him."
"No, Mom. I'll be orphaning her if I don't." Sydney stood up.
"She's already started to attach herself to you."
Sydney stared down at the rug on the floor. "When we were on that plane, she started to talk about everything that happened to her. She started to cry, and she looked at me like…like I was supposed to comfort her and I…I couldn't do it. I just…walked away." She swallowed and looked her mother in the eye. "I'm a stranger. Vaughn's her father. I came here to leave Taryn some place where she'd be safe. But I have to go after him."
Irina nodded. "Right now, you have to rest. Your room's prepared."
Sydney nodded. "I'm leaving first thing in the morning." She started up the stairs and walked into the bedroom that she hadn't used in over a year.
She knelt in front of the bed, pulled an album from one of the boxes beneath it, and flipped it open to the first page. She touched the very first picture. Taryn. Less than one hour old. Her eyes were closed and she held her tiny, perfect hands against her face.
It had been ages since she'd looked at that picture.
"Sydney?"
Sydney raised her head towards the doorway.
Sark looked at her with a concerned eye. "Is everything okay?"
It hadn't been. Moments before she had hung up from yet another non-conversation with her father. A lifetime before that she had finally seen a picture of a child she had never held.
Her baby had a face.
Sydney looked back down at the picture on the page. A face like Taryn's.
And she'd felt her world shifting around her. She had a new life, a determination to move on, a need to move forward, not back. And she had a picture in her hand that screamed at her that it just wasn't that simple. One picture couldn't change her entire decision. She'd given it up. That was for the best. And now she had to live with that.
She closed the album and put it back in the box, she stood up and looked at Sark. "I want us to go away for awhile."
Sark stared at her, still trying to read what was on her mind. "Where?"
"Anywhere. I just, I need some time away from here." Away from the pictures. Away from her mother. Away from her questions.
"How much time?"
"A couple weeks would be nice." She moved closer to him and managed a smile.
Sark debated. "I have a place in London."
Sydney nodded. "When can we leave?"
"I can begin arrangements. Perhaps late tomorrow?"
"Good. I'll start packing."
She had immediately taken a bag from the closet and started to fill it. Sark had hesitated only a moment before leaving the room to make several phone calls. She'd finished packing quickly and had to figure out what do with the rest of her evening. Several times, she'd found herself headed towards her mother's study, thinking of opening that drawer and looking at the picture again. She debating going out to the shooting range just to put some distance between herself and the study. Finally, she had just gone for a drive until late. When she returned, she went straight to bed.
Early the next day, Sark informed her everything was arranged and they could leave in the evening. She ran into her mother in the sitting room that afternoon. Their conversation had only made her uncomfortable.
"How long are you going to be gone?" Irina questioned.
"Two weeks," Sydney replied.
Irina watched her a moment. "Is there something bothering you?"
Sydney shrugged. "I just need a vacation, Mom."
Irina nodded, though her eyes stayed narrowed. "Have a good time, Sydney," she finally said.
Sark's two-story, stone house just outside of London was beautiful. The interior was hardwood floors, clean white trim. It was an open floor plan with the kitchen, dining room and living room flowing together. They settled in and unpacked in one of the three upstairs bedrooms. They'd cooked dinner together that night and then eaten before settling on the couch in front of the fireplace.
"Are you going to tell me what this trip is about?"
She had been lying with her head on his chest, and was thankful they couldn't see each others faces. She knew he likely wore a worried expression, and she couldn't hide the emotion that came to her face when she considered the answer to his question. She'd been silent before turning to face him on the couch, sitting on her knees and resting her hands on his chest.
"Right now, this is about us."
He had looked doubtful, until she'd kissed him. She'd been determined to distract both herself and him from the real reason she couldn't stand to stay at the compound another second.
They'd spent their time in London at museums and sightseeing, cooking their own meals and just enjoying each other's company. Sark didn't ask her again about why they were there. She knew he still wondered, but he was willing to leave it alone. She was thankful. She preferred to focus on spending time with him.
During the two weeks, she was able to avoid even thinking about what had prompted her need for a vacation. But as she packed to return to the compound, she knew she had decisions to make.
Would she talk to her mother? Tell her she'd found the picture? Ask her about the baby?
Ask her what?
The two-week old baby picture hardly proved anything. It didn't have to mean Irina had kept it or even knew where the baby was. Sydney realized that she really didn't know any more about the baby or what had happened to it than she had before she found the picture. She had her guesses. The thought of confronting her mother over her guesses seemed silly. It suddenly seemed best to leave it alone.
"Are you finished packing?" Sark questioned.
Sydney zipped her bag closed. "Yes. Though, I think we're going to have to do this again soon."
His eyes twinkled. "How soon?"
She grinned. "As soon my mother can spare the both of us again."
He smiled crookedly, and grabbed one of her bags off the bed and turned to carry it downstairs with his own.
"Sark?"
He stopped and looked at her.
"Thank you. I… I really needed this." The time to think. To return to her senses.
He walked back over to her and looked her in the eye. "I think we both did." He stole a kiss then headed down the stairs.
They were immediately back to work the next day. On separate missions to separate countries, though both with leads on Sloane. It seemed the drought of information on him was over. There were signs of his people being involved in operations everywhere. Sydney was in three different countries on three consecutive days. It was exhausting, but she'd found herself restless rather than tired when she came back to the compound.
Her normal wine and bath didn't calm her and she'd ended up working late into the night in her office, tapping away at her computer. She hadn't even realized how late it was until Sark came into her office with squinty eyes and bed hair.
"It's rather lonely up there."
"You're not lonely, you're just cold."
"I can't be both? Besides, I have a right to be; my room is draftier than yours."
"Then, sleep in my room."
"That only solves one problem."
"All right, I'm coming."
She'd gone to bed, but she hadn't slept well. Several times, she'd woken up out of breath from dreams she couldn't recall. She'd been up early that morning and back down in her office before breakfast. She'd led a team to raid a secure facility in Venice that night. But intelligence had been faulty.
"Sydney, you've been picked up by some kind of backup surveillance. Security teams are converging on your position."
She'd gotten out, unharmed but the raid had failed. She'd taken it hard at the time.
"You have to let it go, Syd."
She shook her head, leaning over her desk staring at reports. "No, I don't. He keeps winning, and we can't even get close."
Sark stood behind her chair. "We'll triple check the intel next time."
"That still may not be enough."
"It's been two weeks." Sark sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders, starting to massage them. "What do I have to do to take your mind off of this?"
She shrugged his hands off her shoulders. "I don't want my mind taken off of it!" she snapped. "I want to get him."
Sark arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure that Sloane is the only thing on your mind?"
She hadn't been sure. But she hadn't admitted it. And after being called into her mother's study around noon the next day, it was all she'd been willing to think about.
Irina turned her computer monitor to face her daughter.
Sydney's eyes widened, at the picture on screen. Sloane. Exiting a building. "This has been verified?"
"Yes, it is definitely him. The picture was taken in Berlin, twelve hours ago."
"What was he doing there?"
"He was at a hospital."
"Don't tell me he's ill," Sydney answered, coldly.
"No," Irina responded. "He was visiting a patient. A man in his seventies, who has been a scholar of Rambaldi for many years. He was apparently able to help Sloane decipher the manuscript he got from Egypt."
"The one we kept him from getting the cipher text key to decode," Sydney confirmed.
"Yes."
Sydney stood up. "We have to know what he told Sloane."
"That will be difficult. The man went into cardiac arrest less than an hour after Sloane visited. But if he was able to decrypt the manuscript, then the actions Sloane takes now will likely reveal to us what was on it soon enough."
Sydney had realized reluctantly her mother was correct. But the manuscript had been important enough to give them their first picture of Sloane in the open in years. Tracking leads from Berlin, they intensified the search. But even so, Sydney knew it could be months before they got another picture or glimpse of Sloane.
It could have been.
It wasn't.
They discovered a shipment of chemicals was transported from a lab in Beirut. Sydney had gone there, hoping to place a tracking device on the shipment and discover its destination. She'd gotten into the lab, located the shipment and placed the tracker. She'd been slipping back out of the sublevel room and there he was, heading down the hall to another room.
Sydney stealthily kept just a corner behind them. She took her gun from her holster and kept her hand on the trigger.
It was doomed to fail. She hadn't had a clear layout of the building or backup. Sloane had been accompanied by several guards. But none of that mattered to her at the time. One clear shot and she'd have accomplished a goal she'd had since the day Danny died.
She cautiously entered a storage room behind them and moved behind shelves to take her aim. Sloane's back turned as he carefully took items from a safe in the corner of the room then briskly turned to leave. She should have let him go. But as he neared the doorway, she'd known she wouldn't get another chance. She fired three shots before ducking for cover.
The guards, far more heavily armed, did the same. Alarms blared. The lights of the room sparked and rained onto the vial filled counters below. The room erupted into flames and choking smoke. Sloane was out the door, but the guards kept firing until the smoke and flames finally forced them from the room. After momentary panic, she braved the flames to try the doors, but finally found her only escape was out an air vent, filled with smoke.
Fighting for air, she emerged choking and coughing on the side of the building. As she went around to the front, she saw Sloane climbing into a car a few yards away. But for a moment, he'd stopped. She'd stared directly at him and he'd stared right back at her. A siren blared in the distance. His guards had urged him into the car. The car drove away. She fell into the shadow of the building, coughing uncontrollably.
She'd been examined by Dr. Andreas when she returned to the compound and placed on several days of bed rest. For once, she hadn't minded. Her lungs burned with every breath. Irina dropped in the first night, looking for details on what had happened.
"How did you get trapped in the building?"
"After placing the tracker, I was spotted by some guards, we traded fire. It ignited some chemicals, and at first the fire blocked my way out."
Her mother nodded, but her expression was unreadable.
"Sloane was there, Mom," Sydney continued. "I saw him. And he saw me." She started to cough again.
"Rest, Sydney."
She'd yielded her burning throat and gone to sleep. When she awoke next, the first thing her eyes fell upon was a vase on her night table, with a dozen pink-tipped white roses. She noticed movement by the window.
"When did you get in?" she grinned at him.
"Hours ago. You've been sleeping awhile."
"You could have woken me up." She sat up a little, propping herself up on her elbows.
He crawled across the bed and lay down beside her, propping a pillow behind his own head. "I don't think that would have gone over very well with your mother."
Sydney looked at the roses. "What's this?"
"I did promise you flowers. Now, seemed appropriate."
She smiled. "Thank you."
"So, how do you feel?"
She sighed. "Like I swallowed a cactus." She pulled a rose from the vase and smelled it.
"You definitely sound it," he noted with a chuckle.
"Shut-up," she laughed.
He smiled, slyly, running a fingertip up her arm. "Need anything?"
"Tea, apparently."
He rolled off the bed. "Coming up."
After the first full day of rest, she couldn't really keep herself in bed. She had tracking reports brought up to her and got a hold of her laptop. Though, since that didn't count as resting, if anyone caught her, they'd confiscate whatever paperwork she'd gotten the guards to bring to her.
And so she'd find herself alone in her room, either looking out the window or staring at the pictures atop her dresser and side table. Her eyes would lazily start to slide closed and a different picture would come to mind.
Mainly, the baby picture from her mother's desk. Seeing the back of the child's head live and in person didn't seem to haunt her nearly as much as the picture she'd held in her hand. Perhaps it was the face. Or perhaps it was how much she couldn't tell from the picture of a small, fragile baby. And why hadn't she noticed how small it was when she'd looked at it at birth?
She hadn't ever truly looked at it.
But when she looked at the pictures of Taryn, the difference in size was suddenly noticeable. And the words Dr. Andreas had spoken to her, that she remembered only through a foggy memory her own pain, stung her ears.
"This baby is underweight."
The next time she'd opened her laptop she'd searched on the complications that could arise from a baby being underweight. Her baby had only been borderline underweight so perhaps Sydney didn't truly have to worry about it, but she still found herself wondering. She had been so unconcerned at the time the doctor told her. And so angry at the doctor for her accusatory tone. Angry at the doctor for caring. Angry at the doctor for blaming her.
Sydney swallowed. The doctor had probably been right to blame her. She'd hardly been taking care of herself during her pregnancy. Often the bare minimum of what she could get away with under her mother's watchful care. And now perhaps this baby, wherever it was, was paying for that.
Her dreams were horrible that night. She'd awakened sweaty and trembling. She'd grabbed the phone and dialed her father for the first time in weeks.
"Jack Bristow."
She knew he could hear her heavy, uncontrolled breathing on the opposite end.
And he spoke soothingly to her, until she finally calmed.
She'd nearly repeated the process the next night, when again all she'd had were nightmares. Ones that explored the possibility that her baby wasn't sick somewhere, but dead somewhere. It terrified her that she had dreams similar to those when Taryn was a baby. Ones where the pregnancy had never made it to term. Or that she or the baby died during delivery.
She thought getting off bed rest would solve the problem but it hadn't. And she found herself dreading going to sleep. She was certain it unsettled Sark to have her tear from a dead sleep right into a sitting position, hyperventilating or crying too hard to speak. She burrowed into his arms. He hadn't asked her about it. While she hadn't had nightmares in awhile, it wasn't a completely new thing for him to witness. He'd probably assumed they were about the incident with Sloane, and she hadn't given him any reason to think otherwise.
Sydney was eager to return to work, but the doctor had advised her mother not to give her anything that could cause too much stress for her lungs. Sydney reluctantly had to accept surveillance missions two and three days apart. It hardly seemed like enough to keep her busy. And so she spent much of her time at home in the gym. She did workouts in the evening hoping to exhaust herself enough that she'd go into a dead, dreamless sleep at night. It worked at first.
She liked the sound of her fists pounding into the bag. The rhythm of her heart pounding in the chest. The focus it required. The way she could block out everything else.
She could lose herself in the exercise, unable to stop even when she felt the pain of her knuckles bursting open and the blood running between her fingers. Finally, she would sink to the floor, dizzy and out of breath. She'd take a shower and crawl into bed.
But she was thankful three weeks later that there was finally another solid report on Sloane's movements. She took a team and went to an installation in Crete. She met their contact the second they arrived.
"Have you already secured the data storage?"
The contact shook her head. "We were unsuccessful. There's a failsafe in place. That building is wired. Any attempts to access information storage could result in complete destruction. A raid would be impossible."
Sydney sighed and turned to her team. "But we still have our blueprints of the building?"
Lucas nodded. "Of course, but we don't have enough info about the security to--"
"Call them up," she ordered, cutting him off. Sydney turned back to the contact. "Data storage, show me where it is."
Lucas turned the laptop towards to the woman and she located the data storage room. Sydney pulled a headset from the van. "Good." She turned to Lucas. "I'm going in."
The contact's eyes widened. "It's too dangerous."
"You'll talk me through the building. I'll get in and get the data files myself."
Lucas stepped forward. "I'll go with you."
Sydney shook her head. "I'm not risking anybody else. I'm safer on my own in there. "
She'd gained access to the building through an empty drainage tunnel in the back and come up into the building through a manhole. It was eerily quiet and empty. She followed careful instructions on the best route to the data storage room, but three times had to turn back and find an alternate route when she discovered charges wired to the doors at various access points. But finally, at the fourth door, she simply went to her belt, ordered her tech onto the phone and described the charge.
"What wire do I cut?"
The tech was hesitant to respond but finally told her it was safe to cut a yellow wire and then a blue one.
She was through the door, down a corridor and finally into the data storage room. Her headset was overcome by static. She loaded the valuable files onto two discs and turned to leave. The second she was out of the room, the tech's voice cut in.
"Get out of there! Now!"
There was a floor shaking rumble somewhere deep in the building. She ran as quickly as possible down the corridor, headed for her exit. More rumbles, and she picked up the pace. But suddenly the explosions weren't so distant and heat and fire chased her towards the exit of the building. The door at the bottom of the stairs a hallway away was too far and she knew it. She grabbed a chair and broke a window at the end of the hall, throwing herself out into the dirt a story below her.
Her ankle screamed in a pain she ignored to get up and run from the building before it erupted into flames and flying debris. She felt the heat on her back as the force of the final blast threw her into the dirt once again. Her ears rung and she felt the heat against her back start to grow and she rolled, smothering the flames that had caught her hair and clothes into the ground.
Her injuries had included a sprained ankle, singed hair and minor burns on her back, arms and legs.
But the data files were in tact and invaluable. She'd hardly minded.
Her mother hadn't been quite as pleased.
"Lucas informed me that at the time you went into that building, you'd already been informed it was wired to explode."
"I wasn't aware Lucas was still supposed to be babysitting me," Sydney responded.
"He was concerned and quite certain your injuries could have been prevented."
"Lucas doesn't know what he's talking about. We would have lost all this information if I hadn't gone in there," Sydney responded. "And my injuries are hardly life threatening."
"Sydney, you took an unnecessary risk."
"I made a judgment call. I knew I could get in and out of that building alive and I did. If I was anyone else, you'd be glad I got that information. You're only upset now because I'm your daughter."
Irina's eyes darkened. "Whether my daughter or my employee, you are a liability if you continue to make decisions that carelessly endanger your life. If I can't trust you to act in yours and my best interests on field assignments, you will not be going on them."
Her mother's tone was sharp and she'd left the room abruptly. Sydney didn't rule out that Irina's concern wasn't somewhat motherly. But she hated to worry her mother and hated the thought that her actions could be reported.
She shoved Lucas into the wall of building harshly.
"Hey!" He pushed her away from him.
But she leaped towards him again, a fist connecting with his jaw and pounded him fiercely, blocking all his attempts to fight back. She kneed him in the stomach, and as he doubled over she kicked his legs out from underneath him. She kicked him in the chest several times. He looked up at her, angrily.
She held him to the ground with her boot on his throat.
He gasped for air.
"Let me be clear. You do not question my actions and you do not report them to my mother. Is that understood?"
He was wide-eyed but silent.
She bent over him with angry eyes. "Is that understood?"
He began to nod earnestly. "Yes. Yes!"
"Good." She gave him a parting kick.
He winced and curled up, trying to shield himself from any further blows.
She left him lying in the shadows between the officers' quarters. She'd gone up to her room and crawled into bed. Sark looked at her curiously.
"Where were you?"
She didn't say a word, only kissed him, harshly, barely letting him breathe. He seemed fascinated by her near aggressive behavior and began to respond with the same intensity.
She'd thought since she wasn't having constant thoughts of suicide, she was all right. That there wasn't anything for anyone to be worried about. She worked hard. She kept busy.
But she didn't keep control.
Durand, an informant, was compromised in Marseille a month later. She had been able to find out where Durand was being held, but when she'd gotten to the location, she'd found he was well guarded and she was alone. She considered calling for backup, but the minutes ticked by and she knew every minute he was in there, the likelihood of him being executed increased.
Four guards in one rather small room. There hadn't been much of a chance for distraction. The only way she was going to get Durand out of there was if she caught them by surprise and fought her way out. She had waited until they were relaxed into interrogating Durand. Two had left their weapons on a table on the opposite side of the room and the other two had theirs holstered.
She'd entered the room, weapon ready. She didn't dare announce her presence or toss out futile orders for them to remain still. She fired immediately at the men who were armed even as the other two rushed at her. Two bullets incapacitated one man, several more embedded in the wall and a minor wound to the other man who'd been armed.
Her gun was kicked from her hand. But she immediately began furious kicks to the men who rushed at her. She slammed a fist into one's jaw, a heel into another's chest and her other hand broke a nose of the man she'd already shot once. It had been a blur of arms, legs, heads, blood. A cacophony of bones breaking, grunts and gasps. Some hers. Some theirs. Two of them she took down and before they'd recovered she managed to retrieve her own gun, emptying it into the last man.
She'd gotten Durand out of there, which seemed to be worth the aching muscles and bones that a long warm bath after that mission had done little to ease. She'd been thankful that of the first five assignments that followed, two had been surveillance, and one had been on comms. It hurt too much to do her workouts in the gym and she'd forced herself to do meditation while sitting on her bed instead.
Several evenings the meditation had been refreshing and relaxing. But once her mind had refused to focus on anything except the two-week-old baby's face. And she'd been unsettled to realize despite the face, the baby was still an "it" in her mind.
She'd have thought she would have been able to tell if her own baby was a boy or a girl. Perhaps the face was boyish, but nearly all infants mushy faces made them look like little old men at first. Then again, it looked like Taryn. So it had to be a girl.
Didn't it?
Sydney had abandoned her meditation and gotten a glass of wine instead. Her mother had to know the gender of the baby, but Sydney wasn't sure how to ask. The doctor knew for that matter, but Sydney avoided her as much as possible.
Sark was one of the few people around that Sydney didn't have to contemplate questions with. She was thankful when he finished his week's assignments that had been separate from hers but staggered in such a way that she'd barely seen him.
She had been spending her evening on the couch in sitting room, pillows propped behind her as she reviewed several printed case files. A grin had formed on her face as she recognized the cadence of his walk as he came up behind her and began reading over her shoulder.
"Welcome back," she greeted.
He leaned over her and greeted her with a kiss.
"How was Santiago?" she questioned, as he came around to the front of the couch.
"Uneventful," he responded dryly. He glanced in the direction of the closed study. "Where's your mother?"
Sydney closed her folder and placed it on the coffee table. "She had some emergency meeting in Brussels. She left three hours ago. I don't think she'll be back for a day or two."
He lifted her legs and took their spot on the couch, letting her rest them in his thighs.
She sat up, sitting on his lap. "I made dinner. Are you hungry?"
He watched her intently, putting his arms around her. "Ravenous."
She started to laugh, but flinched involuntarily as his hand touched her side.
She hadn't had time to think of anything to say. His eyebrow arched and he lifted her shirt slightly to expose her bruised torso.
"When did this happen?"
"Sometime last week," she said, shrugging slightly. "I'm fine."
He frowned. "Are you?"
"We're spies, Sark. We get bruised up once in awhile. Don't worry about it. Bruised ribs heal in a couple weeks."
He ran his thumb lightly across one of her ribs. "They look more than bruised."
Her face contorted in pain, but she managed not to flinch. "I've taken some meds for them and haven't worried about it. I've had work to do."
"Sydney…you've been going on missions like this?"
"Successful missions," she emphasized. "It hasn't been a problem."
"There's swelling. You might have a fracture. You need to see a doctor."
She pulled her shirt down. "Dr. Andreas and I really don't get along."
"Any doctor. I'm sure you have enough contacts to find your own."
"Sark, I already have my mother being overprotective. I don't need it from you too." She climbed off his lap but he grabbed her arm before she could step away from the couch.
"Your mother doesn't even know about this," he stated with certainty as he stood up.
She didn't answer.
He didn't let go of her hand as he headed for the door. "We're going to see a doctor. Now."
She hadn't protested.
Three ribs were bruised as she'd suspected, and one was cracked. But there was nothing to be done but to continue pain medicine and rest. The doctor had been surprised she wasn't more bothered by the pain, but she truly hadn't been.
It had almost felt better.
As they'd returned to the compound, she'd turned to Sark in the car.
"My mother is going to wonder why I'm not going on missions for the next couple of weeks." She looked at Sark. "I'm not asking you to lie to her--"
"Good," he responded. "Because I wouldn't."
Still, she'd spent the next two weeks away from the compound. She'd bought a house in Australia. A place of her own to escape to. She'd spent the time buying furniture and getting it prepared exactly the way she wanted. But the first person she'd seen upon returning to her office was her mother.
"How was Australia?" Irina questioned.
Sydney kept her eyes on the tracking reports on her desk. "Fine. Beautiful."
Irina nodded. "Then, I expect that's where I'll find you the next time you feel the need to avoid me."
Sydney stiffened.
And she'd remembered being five years old and how impossible it was to ever hide anything from her mother.
"Mom—"
"It's been obvious for weeks. Sydney, is there something we need to discuss?"
Sydney wanted to swallow but her mouth was dry. She could ask anything. The questions were fully formed in her head. But she couldn't get them out.
"No," she responded.
Her mother's face made it more than obvious that Irina didn't believe her.
"Mom, I have work to do."
Irina left but Sydney had been able to do little work. She didn't want to be at odds with her mother. But she wasn't sure she was ready to hear the answers to her questions. What if her child wasn't okay? Or wasn't happy? What if it had been different than Taryn? Maybe if she'd looked at it and held it, she would have felt something and wanted to keep it. Maybe if she had agreed to her mother's help, she would have been okay raising it. Maybe she would have been better at it the second time.
Maybe she shouldn't have given up her baby without ever trying.
Her fists pounded mercilessly into the punching bag. She wouldn't stop until there was pain beyond a dull, throbbing. Then, she'd look at her battered hands and flex them. It didn't matter that it hurt.
At least it was a pain that would go away.
The sounds of her punches were the only sounds she was registering.
"You know, you owe me a--"
She hadn't heard him enter the gym or cross the mats. With her nerves on edge, that was enough for her to turn around and aim a kick towards his head.
"—rematch," he finished, moving his head just in time to avoid the kick.
She took a deep breath, watching him. "Do I?"
He looked at the bag. "You're out here almost every night, practicing. Must be getting monotonous."
She shrugged. "Gives me time to think."
"Time to think about what?"
She circled him. "Are we doing this or not?"
He nodded, taking a ready stance. "Though if I win, you have to talk to me."
She took a breath and focused on him, waiting for him to approach. They circled in silence. The room blurred around her, the only thing she could clearly see was him as she anticipated and blocked his first two kicks.
He smirked, seeming more amused with the exercise than she was.
She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for him to advance again. He aimed a cross, she blocked. He made a jab, and she ducked and immediately responded with a series of kicks, advancing. He blocked and managed a punch that made contact with her stomach.
She inhaled sharply but didn't give in to the pain, sending a series of furious punches his way, most he blocked, one that he didn't. Blood trickled from his nose. He finally stopped looking amused. Her knuckles stung but she kept punching, even when he suddenly broke stance. He opened his mouth, obviously talking but she didn't hear a word.
A sweeping kick sent her flat on her back on the mats. She kept her hands balled even as she stared up at him. He knelt beside her, looking at her as if he barely knew her. His battered knuckles resembled her own. She finally noted how much his nose was bleeding. She didn't even recall the punch that must have caused the cut above his eye.
She sat up carefully. He reached a hand towards her face and she realized he was wiping away tears. Her tears.
"Sydney?"
She finally unclenched her fists. "I'm sorry."
Sark stared. "You're the one that put that guard in the infirmary a few weeks ago."
She stared at her hands, flexing them. "I didn't want to hurt you. It's not that I want to hurt anyone. I just...don't want to hurt."
He grasped her hands carefully. "What hurts, Sydney?"
Her chin quivered and she pulled her hands away. "What doesn't?" She trembled, trying to hold in her sobs.
She was silent a long time and she thought he would get up and leave. But he finally just put an arm around her and hugged her to him. She let her head rest against his chest, knowing he was waiting for her to say something, anything.
She sighed. "When was the last time you were truly scared?"
He moved his head to look at her. He couldn't have been expecting the question, but he didn't show it. He spoke calmly. "The last would have to be when I walked into a bedroom to find a woman with blood pouring from her veins."
Sydney straightened. "No, it wasn't."
"Yes, it was."
"There must have been some field assignment gone wrong that was far more terrifying than—"
"No," he interrupted. "On field assignments there are options of success and failure that I know I can determine by my own actions. I'm in control of risking my own life and I'm always mentally prepared for any eventuality. But that night when I went into your room…." He trailed off and touched his hand to her cheek. "You were dying, Sydney, and I had no control. I wasn't prepared for that."
She leaned towards him and his hand dropped to her side. She closed her eyes and brushed her lips against his.
"Sydney, wait."
Her eyes opened, a question on her face.
He tilted his head and looked her in the eye. "When was the last time you were truly afraid?"
Her eyes became glassy and she started to look away.
He reached a hand and turned her head to face him again. The pad of his thumb rested on her bottom lip. "What?"
"I just don't know if I remember the last time…that I wasn't." She dropped her head into his lap and he ran his fingers through her hair.
Their work against Sloane continued. They intercepted intel that he'd sent a team to recover something from a bank vault in Munich two months later. Sydney donned a disguise and arrived at the bank vault before Sloane's team arrived. She switched the computer chip in the safety deposit box. She was out of the vault in time, but not out of the bank.
Sloane's men announced their arrival with shouts and gunfire. The customers and employees were instantly hostages. A much higher profile entrance than Sydney had been expecting. But she'd let herself blend into the customers, hoping that as long as she didn't interfere, they'd get the chip and leave. It had seemed to work, at first.
She remained calm, studying the hostages, hoping none of them would cause trouble. None had seemed to be much of a threat. A couple women in their early twenties, who huddled on the floor, clutching their purses. An elderly man. A couple in their twenties who held onto each other. A woman with a little boy, a toddler who couldn't have been more than one or two years old. She held onto him, trying to keep him quiet. A skinny man with glasses, who kept wiping sweat from his brow.
Two men that Sydney recognized from the intel as Schrader and Bertrand disappeared into the vault.
Minutes ticked by endlessly before they re-emerged. But instantly Sydney noted Schrader on the phone, speaking agitatedly. Bertrand began giving directions to the guards. Sydney watched carefully, but it was only moments before Bertrand was looking directly at her and she was dragged forward. He ripped the curly black wig from her head as the guards held her. He had her taken back into the vault. A cursory search was done of her person, before Bertrand looked her in the eye.
He slapped her. "Where's the chip?"
Sydney glared at him.
Bertrand shook his head. "We'll just have to take her with us."
The guards secured restraints on her and guided her towards a side door. Schrader came up behind them, but he stopped and nodded to the remaining guards.
"No witnesses."
Sydney's eyes widened, horrified. "No!" She elbowed one of the men in the stomach and twisted herself free from the other.
She heard an electric crackle from behind her.
The sound of gunfire mixed with screams. Then, everything went black.