A/N: Apologies for the last few chapters being so long! I just have so much to put in and get to the FLUFFY BITS! Thank you so much for sticking it out with me. My brain is so very excited to write the fluffy bits, it's been poking me with ideas and cute moments for a while, and I can finally stop pushing it aside.
Part 29
"You don't have to be nervous," Sydney said as Will attached the small clip-on microphone to the folded collar of the button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone as she sat casually across from the other fidgeting journalist.
Greg laughed, but even that seemed nervous. "I'm sorry. I just spent two weeks learning everything about you. You're like...a legend."
He could tell that his words had made her uncomfortable, so he backpedaled. "I mean...this is just...the weirdest interview I've ever done and I don't want to screw it up."
Sydney chuckled, Will moving to Greg and making sure the microphone attached to the edge of his tie was secure before stepping around the cameras to the recording booth behind the pane of glass that separated the two rooms.
The walls around the pair were shrouded with black curtains and they were about six feet apart, each in front of their own camera-laden tripod. Sydney watched Greg furiously read over the pages on his lap, her hands straightening the cream-colored shirt, the feminine cut hugging her curves and contrasting the charcoal grey dress pants. Greg had gone full business formal, a black blazer and blue tie over a deep navy vest and a crisp, white oxford, and as the sweat beaded on his brow, he knew he'd overdressed.
"Are...are you nervous?"
He looked surprised when she nodded. "I have no idea if any of this is going to do what I hope it does, but I can't live in a basement for the rest of my life. This will probably be easier than having every person I meet point and wonder where they've seen me before."
"Well, hopefully, we'll be able to help with that," Will interjected as he came in from the booth. "You both sound good in the mics and we have about four minutes until we go live. Any last requests?"
"Lots of alcohol," Greg mumbled as he flipped through his many pages of notes, and the others laughed. "Will is going to be in my ear feeding me random follow-up questions if they're needed, but everything he and Vaughn have approved is right here. At any point, if you don't want to answer the question, all you have to do is say so, okay?"
The professional mode he slipped into made it seem like a new person was sitting before her, and she flashed a smile before nodding. "Got it."
"CNN is going to do an introduction - but...they don't know what they're introducing, so it's going to sound awkward. You'll hear it in the earpiece, Greg, but I'll put it through the speakers for you, Syd, and then mute them once you're live to prevent any feedback."
Will headed back into the production booth and closed the door behind him, Greg taking a few deep breaths through his nose before whooshing it between tight lips, the business-man slipping away as he flew headlong back toward a nervous day-one intern. Sydney jumped in to help calm him down.
"Take the jacket off. Trust me, it'll help."
Her voice was soft but commanding, and he found his arms obeying before his brain realized that she'd told him to do something. He tossed it across the room out of the way and had to admit that it felt a thousand times better without it on.
"You've got this. Just remember, if I really don't like it, you'll take my place in the basement."
He glared with a grin, "that's not funny."
Her giggle forced him to release a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "It's a little funny. Seriously, relax. Yes - this is a big deal. For you and me both. Dwelling on that won't make it any less of a big deal. Go opposite of the worry and opposite of the fear."
"I...don't know how-"
"Sixty seconds," Will interrupted over the speakers in the room.
"Shit." The young man was in a full panic mode, closing his eyes and mumbling to himself as he tried reciting his opening lines.
"Greg," leaning forward, she set a hand to his knee and pulled his attention with honest brown eyes, "if I can sit in that chair for six days, you can make it through this interview. There's no way this is harder than that, right?"
The dimple on her right cheek poked in a bit as she kinked the corner of her mouth upward, his eyes going wide when she put their current situation into some perspective.
"Five, four, three," Will went silent, but they finished in their minds as the opening music for the CNN program played over the speakers.
"Good evening, this is Newsnight for April 8th, 2003. I'm your host Anderson Cooper sitting in for Aaron Brown who will return tomorrow. Our show tonight has been advertised for what feels like a solid forty-eight hours, and yet…I'm at as much a loss as you. I join you tonight as both host and excited viewer as we go live with a broadcast so secret," dramatic pause, "not even the president knows its subject."
The speakers in the room muted as Greg sat up straight in the chair. He took one last deep breath before focusing on his notes. For Sydney, the conversation was one-sided, and butterflies bounced around her stomach while she waited.
"We go now to an affiliate in Los Angeles, Mister Greg Thomas."
"Thank you, Anderson."
"Mister Thomas, we're all very curious about this broadcast. Are you able to shed any light now that we're live?"
"Do you recall what you were doing on August 18th, 2002?"
Though the people in the room couldn't see it, Will watched on the small, muted television in the booth as the famed CNN journalist shifted uncomfortably in his seat before looking down and shuffling the pages of his notes.
"I had the unfortunate duty of being live on the air that night."
Greg nodded. "I myself was sitting at home with yet another take-out dinner, my eyes glued to the television as the whole, horrible six days came to a tragic end. I remember those long two or three minutes where no one, not even you, made a sound. I feel that everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing when Sydney Bristow died, and the immense feelings of heartbreak that followed."
Whether it was to liven up the mood or cover his emotions, the CNN host spoke up. "We've done dozens of programs covering every angle of that situation. What more could you have to add?"
"I've spent the last two weeks with Agent Bristow's friends, family, and coworkers in an effort to really understand who she was and what she did before she became the woman in that chair. It's been an incredible experience, but...none more incredible than getting my chance to sit with her and ask every burning question in the minds of every...single...American."
"I'm sorry," Anderson loosed a surprised chuckle, "could you clarify your statement, Mister Thomas?"
"We've all been traumatized by the 'where we were' moments. Where were you when Kennedy was assassinated, or Martin Luther King Junior? Where were you when Armstrong walked on the moon or when the Berlin Walls came down? Where were you when the towers fell? This will be the first time, but hopefully not the last in human history that we can replace the question of 'where were you when Sydney Bristow died', with 'where were you when she reintroduced herself to the world'."
Will switched from Greg's camera to Sydney's, grinning at the open-mouthed gape from the news anchor.
"Tonight, we sit with Sydney Bristow. That's it; that's the whole program. I hope now that the secrecy makes sense." Greg flashed a smile, a bit of his confidence boosted by the relaxed pose of his interviewee. "Good evening, Sydney. It really is an honor to sit with you."
"Thank you for the time and opportunity."
"The first and most obvious thing to get out of the way," Greg started, looking down at the front page of notes and then right back up to her eyes, "you're not dead."
She laughed, "I'm not physically dead. On paper, I'm dead."
"Why is that?"
"It had to be that way, whether or not I got out of that room."
Greg nodded, "so what we saw wasn't the whole truth?"
Sydney paused for a moment, her eyes sliding to the side as she carefully chose her words. Meeting his once more with a revered softness, "I would love to tell you and everyone else watching that it didn't end the way you saw, but it did."
"You died."
She nodded. "Our director made the impossible decision to wait out the camera. I can honestly tell you that...I wouldn't have been able to make that call, even though it was the right one to make. What you all saw was real; I died in that chair. But," she paused, a dimpled smile breaking the somber air, "there's always more to the truth. My team was outside waiting, and the moment the feed went down," Sydney snapped her fingers for emphasis, "they were there."
Greg commented, "you were revived."
Another nod. "A couple times. You can't lose three-quarters of the blood in your body without some...complications."
"What was your first thought when you woke up?"
'Ooh, good question.' She had been most nervous about the comprehensive list of questions he had in tow. Clearly he was as thorough as Will had made him out to be, but she was relying on the trust of the two that knew her best that Greg wasn't going to hit her with any 'gotcha' moments.
"Confusion doesn't really cut it, but it's as close as I can get. I genuinely didn't understand who I was, where I was" she paused, "when it was."
"How long were you out?"
"Forty-two days."
Greg balked, somewhat staged, for the camera. "Forty-two days?"
"Yep," she grinned.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
'Another good one.'
A sad smile hit her lips as a shadow darkened her eyes. "I remember it all. I'm one of those unlucky few that are hard-wired to not block or forget under...intense circumstances. The last thing I remember is saying goodbye."
Greg winced. "Have you watched any of the footage? On the news or in...another capacity?"
"No," she answered honestly.
"Really?"
Sydney nodded. "You can't let it go if that's where you choose to live."
"How did you get through it? Any of it?"
"It was my job. We're trained to get through it."
"Not that. Nothing like that."
The want to skip the question bubbled up from her stomach, but she pushed it back down. This wasn't a hard one, and it was so early in line. Charging up behind the want to change the subject was emotion, and her eyes flitted over to the camera that sat before her, the red light to the left of the lens giving her comfort much like it had back in that room.
"The red light."
He was confused and it showed on his face. Greg had spent two weeks talking with everyone but her, and he'd been working day and night with Will and Vaughn to perfect the list of questions. It only took him five to go off-sheet asking how she got through it all, and this was a different direction than what was on the page, and also the first time he was pushing. Will's voice in his ear bolstered his confidence as he jumped in with, 'that's exactly what I would have asked. Follow it up.'
"What's...what's the red light?"
She laughed as a light sheen of tears shone in the directional lights. "On the cameras, the red light shows when it's recording, or in this case," she gestured at their current cameras, "broadcasting. It was the same on the camera that had been set up. Very quickly I found comfort in that stupid red light. It was the only thing I had telling me that I wasn't alone."
Greg let her statement hang for a moment, Will chirping into his ear, 'write this down for follow-up: how did you get through the two days without the camera being on?' He winced but obeyed, his pen scratching a note on the next page. That might be one he didn't ask.
She continued. "The rest of it was training. My father saw very quickly that his job with the C.I.A. as a lead on several projects could make his family a target. When I was little, my dad put me through mental tests to help me with compartmentalization, distraction, and awareness. Part of my hardwiring was his doing, and the rest was training once I started my job."
"Training with the C.I.A.?"
Sydney shook her head, catching him off guard. "Training with the organization that captured and tortured me."
His blue eyes met hers quickly and conveyed that he clearly hadn't been brought up to speed on whatever she was mentioning. She laughed, de-escalating his panic, "I know a lot of it is still classified, but it's well-known that I was a double agent. I was originally recruited by an organization that called themselves a black ops. division of the C.I.A. That's how they worked - on a lie."
"That seems risky."
Sydney shrugged, "not as much risk as you would think. The organization was made up of a board of directors of ex-government employees, mostly military or intelligence, from around the world. They had a finger in every pie and recruited whole offices of people under the guise of representing that country's intelligence. Plausible deniability was their bread and butter, and no matter how intelligent the officer, every question was answered with the i's dotted and the t's crossed."
"So you worked with the C.I.A. to bring them down?"
"Not at first," she admitted. "I worked for them for seven years before I learned the truth; before I switched to the side I thought I was on the whole time. And after eighteen months of finally doing the right thing, I guess I pushed enough buttons," she laughed.
"You said that they were an organization, and that was how they worked. Is this past tense rhetoric why you're comfortable making this announcement tonight?"
Another bright dimpled smile and nod. "Just because I've been dead doesn't mean that I wasn't working. I spent almost five months doing as much as I could from a hidden bunker and access only to half a dozen people that knew I was even alive. Honestly, I didn't do much, but they let me feel like I was still part of the team."
"Pardon the child-like question, but the bad guys went down, right?"
Another chuckle. "If anything, they learned the hard way what an office full of sad, angry people does with their time after a colleague is brutally murdered. I'm proud of the work my office did in those short months, not only because it gets me out of the basement, and not in any proverbial way, but it saved countless more lives."
This time, it was Greg that smiled approvingly. "Tell me about your recovery."
She blew a chuckle of air between pursed lips, "that was the hard part. I had some understanding of the damage that had been done, but it was so much harder than I thought it would have been."
Frowning, he pointed his pen toward her with a squint to his eyes and a grin on his lips, "some?"
This made her laugh, her shoulders relaxing. She hadn't realized until that moment that the tenseness was sneaking up on her. "Okay, a lot. I forget that everyone was essentially there with me, and for a long time, I struggled with that."
"Struggled with that how?"
"Since the day I had been recruited, I was trained in secrecy. I lived for years as a spy while all of my friends thought I worked at a bank, and for eighteen months at the tail end, I was a double agent. I spilled one secret, one time, and it got my fiance killed, so," she paused, "secrets were my entire life. In six days, everyone knew who I was; everyone knew what I did; everyone knew what happened. I...didn't have secrets any longer. That's a hard one-eighty."
"I'll bet."
"My recovery was definitely physical. I took the beating of a couple of lifetimes and then laid on my back for a month and a half. My body took around four months before it stopped hurting just to get up from a chair or out of bed in the morning. The mental stuff progressed quicker thanks to a psychologist that refused to put up with my nonsense."
"When you talk about your work, you call it a job. Did you ever think of it as a career?"
Sydney quickly shook her head. "Hell no. I thought it sounded exciting and, honestly, it was. I sort of miss the excitement and the rush, but I never thought it would be my career."
"So what do you want to be when you grow up?"
They shared a laugh. "I was in school to be a teacher, just two classes shy of my Ph.D. in literature. I assumed I would finish up with my current assignment and then...go teach."
"Do you think you still can?"
"I really hope so. I want to get out of here and put my life together. I suppose the only good thing about being dead on paper is that my student loans are gone, though I imagine they'll find me one way or another."
Greg flipped to a new page. "I have to ask," he started, changing the words from what they were on the paper to something new in his head before meeting her honest gaze. "How can you ever know that you'll be safe?"
The hardest question so far. "I don't."
"Then why take the risk?"
Her face softened, her eyes once again moving around the room as she thought. "I guess I'm just hoping that's how it will be. I absolutely understand that I made enemies, and despite the fact that 99% of those enemies are never going to see the light of day again, they had friends. I got their message, and I was...severely punished for crossing them, and I will be the first to admit that I learned my lesson."
Leaning forward, "but?" Greg prodded.
"They got their revenge, and I would hope that would be enough."
Greg pressed more. "What if it's not? Do you have a plan if someone shows up at your door or, or at the grocery store?"
Sydney floundered a bit. Her father had been drilling her for months maintaining that if every loose end wasn't tied off she shouldn't consider leaving the facility, and this conversation was steering into that territory. It made sense, which is probably why she hated it so much.
"Secret service has been suggested and the plans are still being drawn up. If it comes down to it, I still have my training."
"That didn't help last time," he countered quickly.
'Careful,' Will warned in his ear.
She sighed. "Are you asking if I'll beg to be left alone? Am I going to beg for my husband and child to be left alone? Yeah. Consider this as me doing that."
Will jumped in again, loudly. 'Woah, woah. Hit that with a follow-up!'
"You're married? Can dead people get married?"
'Not that! The kid thing!'
Greg wrote a note on the paper, wanting to toss a glare at the other reporter in the glass box behind them but knowing he couldn't.
"Probably not? We've established, however, that my life is...unique. We signed a marriage license. It's invalid until today, I guess, but it's been real to us for a few months."
"You mentioned a kid? Are you...expecting?"
A slight blush hit her cheeks, but she shook her head. "N-no. I just mean in general."
"In general?"
Sydney squeezed her lips together, looking away for a moment before meeting his eyes, "yeah. In the, in the future."
A smile hit his lips but he breezed past seeing her sudden nervous flush. Everything inside him, including the manic voice in his ear, wanted him to push, but he moved to the next question.
"How does this undying process work?"
Sydney chuckled and tossed Greg a thankful glance, "I have no idea. I've done a lot of paperwork over the last few days."
"I know you probably don't want to announce on live television where you're looking to live, but do you think it'll still be in town?"
She shook her head. "Probably not. I've spent more than enough time in L.A., and I think it's time to live somewhere else. Who knows, though. I've never come back from the dead before, so I'm not exactly sure how it's going to work."
"Do you know what happened to Flynn?"
The sound of his name hit her harder than she thought it would, mostly because it came out of nowhere. For a moment, she was back in that hallway behind the glass watching the unhinged, rail of a man brutalize his hands against the barrier between them. That her first memory of him wasn't her in the chair surprised her.
"He was arrested the moment he left the building."
Greg's eyebrows lifted. "Isn't that what you said would happen?"
Sydney nodded. "He was held in our facility for a few months, some of our information for the take-down came from him in his more cooperative moments."
"I have to ask," he started, gesturing the hand with the pen wedged between his pointer and ring finger.
"Did I see him?"
Greg nodded.
Her nod was slow as she tried to pick through the myriad of paperwork she'd prepped on before getting Kendall to agree to this interview. Hundreds of pages of 'you don't get to talk about this' and 'this is classified, don't mention it' before his objections were reasonably pacified. Flynn was on the list, but only in the capacity that she couldn't mention that he was in F.B.I. custody.
"I did."
If his eyebrows could raise any higher, she assumed they would hit the ceiling. "What do you even say to the man that...killed you? I have no clue what I would say."
The corner of her mouth tilted minutely, "I wondered the same thing. I know that victims don't always get a chance to face their abusers, and I know that the idea once it's floated is tantalizing. I spent a long time imagining that I'd tied him to a chair and put him through all the same things he'd done to me, but...I didn't have that hatred any longer. I don't really know where it went, but the moment I saw him, I felt pity."
"Pity? Did you at least get to punch him in the face?"
Sydney laughed but shook her head. "No, no punching. When all was said and done, and all of his power had been taken away, he was a scrawny, sad man in a cage. I get to walk free from that life because I decided not to be a bad guy. In the end, he knew I'd won and he'd lost, and I think that was closure enough."
Greg nodded and looked down at his pages, peeking back up when she let out an airy chuckle, "though I'm sure punching him in the nose again would have been very satisfying."
"So you're done? With everything here?"
She nodded, and the relaxed look on her face made him feel warm. "I did everything I could and, even with a snag, it worked out for the better."
"You're amazing," Greg interrupted.
"I am not amazing. I got lucky."
"You're not like finding a nickel on the street, or...or losing your wallet to have it turned in with nothing missing. You're an amazing person, you've overcome amazing things, and I for one am very excited to be the first to welcome you back to society with open arms. If...if you have anything else to say, the stage is yours."
Sydney thought long and hard, swallowing the lump rising in the back of her throat, another light sheen of tears falling over her bright brown eyes. "I meant everything I said in that room. I had no regrets that I was taking one for the team," she turned to look into the lens, "and it was a genuine privilege to put myself between people like them and people like you. If we went back in time...I wouldn't do a single thing differently."
Turning back to Greg, her face was bright and cheery, her finger catching a small tear as it pooled at the edge of her eye. "Now it's my turn. I gave everything, and now I have a chance to get it all back. I can't waste it in hiding; I can't live in hiding. So I'll take the risk that to the good guys who'll get stuck protecting me when I'm out there, I'm worth the time. To the bad guys that might still be out there, I hope I've earned enough respect. Understand that I won't be a threat if they won't."
Greg chuckled. "You did take down a worldwide crime syndicate in record time from a basement while you were dead. Thank you for sitting with me, and I genuinely hope for the best to fall into your lap. You deserve it more than most." Turning back to the camera, "from Los Angeles, I'm Greg Thomas."
…
The rotunda was packed with at least two dozen swarmed around the monitors as the interview took place. What started as Jack and Vaughn hovering nervously ended up with the two of them sneaking to the back of the crowd as excited conversation wafted about.
Jack was still terrified that this was a bad idea, but he knew his hands were tied. While his daughter assumed that he wanted her to spend the rest of her life safe in a bunker, that couldn't be farther from the truth. Did he want her safe? Of course. Did he have a reason to be scared? They all did. He knew he didn't hold a monopoly on worry, and this was confirmed as he side-eyed Michael Vaughn. The young man stood beside him with one arm crossed over his chest, the other propped at the elbow letting him hold his hand to his mouth and nervously chew on the edge of his thumbnail.
"This was the right play, right?" Vaughn asked again, Jack's shrug the only answer given as the elder collected his words carefully.
"It's her play. Regardless if we think it's right, it was her call to make. As she so eloquently told me last week, she doesn't plan on living the rest of her life downstairs and she'll force my hand to let her go if need be."
Michael knew full well what backed her threat but kept that knowledge to himself. "Maybe this wasn't the right play," he muttered behind his poor, battered thumbnail as the two continued to watch.
Jack chuckled. "You're not going to have a thumb left by the end of this interview, son. Calm down. Every time I've doubted my daughter, she's proven me wrong. I suppose the lesson would be to stop doubting her, but...I have my doubts."
Sighing deep and wincing at the state of his thumbnail, Vaughn dropped his hand to fold with the other arm back across his chest. "Everything will be fine. We still have a couple of weeks before making any kind of move. She's agreed to take things slow. That's got to count for something, right?"
"How can you ever know that you'll be safe?"
Greg's question echoed the one in their minds, each wincing at the reality that loomed behind those words and both intrigued at her answer as neither had the guts to ask that one yet. Their want to pick a fight wasn't high as she'd spent the last two days being snappy and irritable, citing the interview as her apologetic excuse.
Vaughn switched hands, the unbearable need to fidget drawing now the right hand up to his lips and the nail between his teeth. He regretted leaving his coin on the nightstand that morning.
"That didn't help last time," Greg countered her reliance on her training quickly.
Sydney sighed, both men having heard that sound a dozen times this week, though each instance had been followed up by a glare and a snap. This time was thankfully different, though she did answer quickly and sharply. "Are you asking if I'll beg to be left alone? Am I going to beg for my husband and child to be left alone? Yeah. Consider this as me doing that."
The ball of lead nerves that had been pushing onto Vaughn's stomach bounced up and smacked his heart straight in the face. He was sure that the shock was visible, he couldn't keep it at bay, and nearly a dozen pairs of eyes were on him in an instant. His startled gaze, however, was on his wife. Details only he would notice emerged: the sudden flush of her cheeks, her eyes widening just a bit, and her normally articulate speech stuttering after the follow-up question.
Jack setting hand to his shoulder made him jump and look up, though the father was maintaining a steely glare straight ahead. "I haven't wanted to kill you in quite some time. Now...now is one of those times." His hand squeezed the shoulder tight just before releasing and folding his arms across his chest.
The conversation moved on, Greg thankfully not pushing it, and vibration against his leg made him jump a second time. Pulling the phone from his pocket, "Maman" shone in bright letters. Closing his eyes and turning, he slipped down the hallway into a secluded corner and answered.
"I'm sorry, mama," he said in quick French. "I would have warned you if I could. I...I had to keep it secret."
She sniffled on the other end and he felt the guilt double in his soul. "Michael, I...I'm not mad, son," she started. "I wasn't going to call. I'm...I'm just so happy it's turned out this way, my boy. I need you to do me a favor," she left hanging, and he could hear Sydney's voice over the speaker playing in the background of his mother's living room, and he could instantly picture her in her pajamas and robe curled up on the couch downstairs with a cup of tea or wine watching his life unfold on television.
"I'm...not sure I can get away right now, mama."
"Please, my boy? I need to see you."
Michael frowned at the emotion he heard in her voice. "Mama, is everything okay? I know this was a shock, and I'm sorry for that-"
"No. I mean...yes. I'm fine. I just...please?"
Vaughn sighed, looking at his watch and seeing that it was just after nine-thirty. It would take around twenty minutes to get to her house, and by then Sydney's interview would likely be over and they clearly needed to have a chat.
'But she said please.'
"Alright, mama, I'll be right there."
Jack wasn't going to like this one bit. The baby bomb gets dropped and then all of a sudden the father disappears? That won't look good. Looking around with panicked eyes he spotted Weiss. Darting out, he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back to the corner.
"Congrats, dad," his friend mocked jovially.
"Shut up. Can you...do me a favor?"
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Weiss regarded him with a curious squinting glare. "Maybe."
"That was my mom, it's kind of an emergency and I'm going to go check on her. Could you have Jack to go down and tell Sydney that I'll be back as soon as I can when the interview is over?"
He wasn't prepared for Eric's brow to raise and his eyes and mouth to gape open. "Hell no. There's no way I'm doing that. She lets it slip that she's preggers and you split? I'm not gonna be on the receiving end of Jack Bristow for that one."
"Come on, you know that's not what I'm doing. My mom is freaking out."
"I'll bet," Weiss chuckled, dropping the goofy act at Vaughn's glare. Raising his hands defensively, "yeah, of course. I'll talk to Jack while you slink out the back."
Michael bolted toward the parking garage as Eric moved back to the group, and a few minutes later, he was on the road.
'How long do you think she's known?'
He pushed the car on the highway, zooming through traffic as fast as possible to shave off whatever time he could.
'It won't do you any good to die on the road, calm down. Sydney wouldn't keep something like this from you for long. Odds are it's brand new and she just…'
'What? Didn't have time to tell me? All we have is time.'
Still, his raging thoughts were right, and he backed his foot off the pedal and slowed to just over the speed limit. He wasn't mad at Sydney, even if she told the whole world the one secret he would have loved to keep private and just for them. He just couldn't hide his shock. A month ago they decided they'd think about trying, and she'd worked out a three-week schedule with the doctor to slowly back off her birth control. That would give them a serious shot in a few weeks at trying around the same time they were set to move into the beach house outside town.
If Jack got cold feet all they had to do was tell him they'd already started trying. His own words of, "I won't have a grandchild grow up in a bunker, you just need to be patient" coming back to haunt him.
Bubbles of excitement filled his stomach and boiled over into his heart making it speed up against his sternum.
"I'm gonna be a dad."
Saying it loud put a permanent grin on his face, one he kept spotting in the rearview mirror. Pulling into the driveway he immediately noticed that very nearly every light in the house was on, and he recalled the many times in his childhood when his mother would follow behind him turning lights off with the classic, 'what am I made of money?' in ample supply.
There was a sticky-note stuck to the inside door telling him it was unlocked, and he grumbled with a frown and an eye roll before heading inside.
"Mama, you can't leave a note on the door telling the world that it's unlocked! I don't care if you're expecting me!" His French was aggravated and quick.
Her reply sounded far away, "down here, my boy!"
"Mama?"
They played echo until he found her in the basement lost among a clutter of boxes she'd pulled haphazardly out of the spare room. That room was a treasure trove of memories, and he found her sitting in the middle on a small step stool surrounded by smaller boxes she'd pulled from the larger, an ornate jewelry box in her hands. Playing in the corner on the small television was CNN recapping Sydney's interview, the only indication that it had ended.
"I don't want to keep you, I know you're very busy, but after watching that...I...I knew I had to get you a few things and it couldn't wait." She lifted the lid of the box and rifled with the tips of her fingers through what she'd stored, Michael grinning at the studious look on her face before flopping to his backside on the shaggy old carpet.
He was happy; he was insanely happy. Despite the shock and despite the way it was revealed, he couldn't keep the smile from his face and honestly didn't care who he showed. He turned to look at the broadcast wondering how long ago it had ended but knowing he'd be able to watch it a thousand times by just keeping any news channel on long enough.
An excited noise from her made him jump and refocus.
"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you, mama. Honestly, who would you tell? You kept the secrets of the game better than anyone, I think." She tutted through her teeth and held out her hand, something small behind her fingers.
Wearing a grin and a curious frown, he stretched out his arm and felt something small and metallic land in his palm.
It was a gold ring; a wedding band. Not ostentatiously wide or overly thin, it straddled the line between masculine and feminine, and he spun it around with his thumbs and pointer fingers. The bright light from overhead hit the inside and faint engraving caught his attention.
He read the words out loud as he squinted to make them out, "ALL MY LOVE, AUGUST 18'."
"I didn't connect it until that man doing the interview said the date out loud. Your father and I married on the eighteen of August. The...the same date."
Michael sobered as he realized what he held in his hand. "This...this is...dad's wedding ring."
"I was going to give it to you when you found the right person, I just...I didn't know you already had, else I would have given it long ago."
They shared a teary smile as he slid it over the ring finger on his left hand. It fit perfectly, another thing he shared in common with his father. He hadn't yet purchased a ring, promising Sydney they'd go shopping the first day she was able, though he'd broken the pact and surprised her with the engagement ring a few days after asking.
"If she wants it, this was your grandmother's. It's been passed through a few generations, but I chose to match mine to your father's. Still, it's hers, even if it sits in a box. Tradition," Deloreme smiled sweetly and handed him another, slimmer, band.
"She'll love it. There aren't many family traditions on her side," he admitted. He planned to never tell his mother the truth of his father's death, the truth he'd been told or the truth he'd been given last year. He'd deemed it best to leave that dog to lie.
"Come, I'll walk you out," she sniffled, wiping at her eyes and picking herself up from the small stool.
They stopped in the foyer and she pulled him into a hug, his chin hitting the top of her head as he wrapped her tight against his chest. "Thank you," he murmured, his thumb rubbing the edge of the ring as he got used to the feel.
Pulling away he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she moved into the front room to grab something off the couch. "It's probably too early, but," she paused on her way back, a light blue, fuzzy blanket folded atop her hands, "this was yours."
It was made of delightfully soft fabric, outlines of small teddy bears embroidered along the shiny, silk trim. Seeing it made his heart go back to pounding from his stomach and he realized that his mother, like most of the world, also didn't miss Sydney's slip during the interview.
"There's a lot more where this came from," she beamed, pointing a finger into the top of the blanket once it was in his hands. "Tell my daughter that I can't wait to meet her."
...
The moment the camera's red lights were off Sydney released a pent up breath of air and fell forward with her elbows to her knees. "I gave it away," she groaned, her hands covering her face. "I'm a spy for almost ten years yet I can't keep it secret for two hours."
Will tossed the door open, "why didn't you follow up?!" His ire was focused on Greg, the other man standing defiantly and undoing the buttons of the vest before pulling it off.
"I didn't need to follow up, she gave it away."
"I did," she groaned behind her hands, her eyes turning up to Will. "Do you think he noticed? He probably didn't notice, right? Maybe...maybe he wasn't watching."
"You think Vaughn wasn't watching your live, televised return from the dead interview that he helped put together?" His arms folded over his chest as a grin played on his lips, "everyone noticed, Sydney. I can hear the tabloids going to print as fast as humanly possible. Greg already has an article for 500 words due on Litvak's desk Monday morning."
"Maybe he didn't notice," Greg tossed out as he gathered up his things and tried to be the one consoling voice in the room.
Sydney sighed and flopped back against the uncomfortable folding chair, "I told the whole world before my husband."
Greg sat back down across from her with his jacket and vest lying over his lap. "Do you think he'll be more excited than upset?"
"Oh, now you ask a follow-up question." Ducking the glares they tossed his way, Will went into the production booth to shut down the equipment. From the room, "Francie is more upset than Vaughn, guaranteed."
Sydney sighed, shaking her head and changing the subject. "Thank you," she said, turning her attention on the man beside her. "Some of those questions made me squirm, but, thanks for pushing."
"Thanks for the opportunity. My resume looks pretty shiny after this one."
Will flipped off the lights, he and Greg heading for the door while Sydney stayed in her seat with a furrowed brow biting at the edge of her lip. "Syd, you can't hide here. He literally knows where you are right now."
They slowly walked to the elevator, and though she was finally able to join them on the upper floor, she wasn't entirely ready for a sea of people to swarm her with excited voices, hugs, and handshakes. Hitting both up and down buttons they all waited for the set to arrive. At the ding, both doors opening almost simultaneously, and Will grabbed her arm.
"Hey," he whispered, pulling her in and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Congrats. For serious. I'll talk Francie down tonight, but know she's already planning a baby shower and you're gonna have to be okay with that."
Laughing, she threw her arms around his neck and held him tight. "Thank you. For everything." Pulling back he used the back of his finger to wipe at an escaping tear as she sniffled.
"Hormones already? Jeez."
"Shut up," she growled with a dimpled smile, pushing him into the elevator with Greg before stepping into the opposite. Once inside, it was just her and her thoughts.
'He absolutely noticed. It wasn't hard to notice. Do I have an excuse?' She scoffed. 'An excuse for not telling him we're pregnant? No. I never thought I'd have to come up with that one.'
"This whole talking to myself thing will go away when I'm out of the basement, right?" Whispering into the empty air, the machine slowed, stopped, dinged, and the doors opened.
The hallway was empty and quiet, the bedroom door to her right slightly ajar. Poking her head in, Vaughn was nowhere to be found. Taking the blessing for what it was and realizing that he was probably stuck with the overwhelming hoard of people upstairs bombarding him with question after question, she closed the door behind her and decided to spend the time waiting curled up with a good book.
A knock at the door nearly fifteen minutes later made her jump, and she realized she'd been so engrossed in her reading that she'd missed the ding of the elevator. Looking over, she frowned, knowing it wasn't Vaughn. Why would he knock?
"Yeah?"
Jack poked his head in, nervous to speak to her for the first time in months. "Hi, sweetheart," he started before coming all the way in and standing awkwardly still wearing his full suit just inside the door.
Sydney grinned. "You know, you can come in and sit. Take your coat off, at least, it's almost ten."
The father chuckled and did just that, hanging the blazer on the hook near the door before moving in and sitting on the ottoman in front of her.
"It was...a good interview."
She knew that was hard for him to admit as he had nearly blown his lid when she'd suggested it to him a month ago. He'd gone along with the planning, but only if he was allowed to set parameters and have the ability to veto the whole thing any step along the way.
"That couldn't have been easy to say, so...thanks for saying it," she said sitting up and casting her book to the side table.
"How long have you and Vaughn kept your little secret?" He couldn't hold the question back as it was the only thing he wanted to ask. Jack had thought of nothing but her sentence since the moment it had left her lips.
'I have a way of forcing your hand dad, but don't make me do it just for that.'
"Was pregnancy really the only thing you could think of to get me to sign off on your release?" His steely blue gaze was hurt, Sydney surprised to see that he was being so open with the truth of how he felt.
"Dad," she started, lifting up she folded her legs underneath her while gathering her thoughts. "We didn't do this to spite you, I promise. This was...something we were planning anyway, it just happened earlier than we thought."
"Too early for Vaughn to even know?"
"Tonight. I...got the call tonight, about an hour before the interview."
Jack shook his head as he tried to temper what he wanted to say with what he felt should and shouldn't be said. She recognized his want to revert to his old school, overprotective, colder self and decided that he'd earned the right.
"Go ahead, dad. You don't have to hold back."
His face twisted in disappointment. "Do you think this would make things easier? How could you both be so careless!"
Though the concept of being a mom was brand new, Sydney felt protective and she pushed back. "Well, I'm sorry we didn't consult you, but I don't have to do that with these aspects of my life."
He rose and paced a few feet away. "Do you know how hard it is going to be to protect you when you're out there?"
"Do you?" She stayed seated.
Jack faltered a little. "Sydney…" he trailed off once again trying to keep from ruining the entire night, but slipping back into their argumentative relationship felt easier than trying to be understanding at the moment.
"Why can't you just accept that you don't get to control every aspect of my life, dad?"
"Your life was better when it was under my control," he fired back loudly, surprising them both.
Sydney frowned, "when was that? When I was five?"
"You've made reckless decisions before, but this? This is…" Letting the accusation fall short yet again and his hands fell akimbo to his waist as he stared down his defiant daughter.
What he didn't predict was the realization to hit her face.
"What?" he snapped.
She spoke softly, but he heard each word. "It wasn't your fault."
"That's...I'm not even," he let out a nervous chuckle trying to alleviate the tension he felt winding in his stomach. "That's not what I'm talking about."
"Yes it is. What happened to me was my fault, no one else's. Not yours, not Vaughn's," she paused and rose, sliding her hands into the pockets of the comfortable cotton pajama pants, "mine."
They'd never talked through most of his feelings surrounding her time spent with Mister Flynn, and Sydney had relegated herself into accepting that her father was going to deal with it on his own and would come to her if he thought it was needed, and not a moment before.
The moment was now.
"Do you honestly think I don't know that? I don't want you to make the same mistake that…"
"That you did? If you hadn't fallen in love with her, I would never have been born and you wouldn't have to live with watching me die. Is...that about right?"
"Sydney, I-" dropping his arms to hang limply at his sides, he felt his icy exterior start to melt, though the angry fire replacing it may not be any better for the situation.
"Dad, I've carried the weight of your regret for almost two years, but I won't let you make me regret this." The accent to her point was her hand flattening against her stomach. "This wasn't an accident. The timing is off, but it's what we want. A new house, a new life," she chuckled past the tears filling her eyes, "this new life. Dad, I can't do any of it without you. I need you on my side for this."
"What if," he paused, his words strangled behind the emotion building in his throat as the feelings he'd been repressing for months were beginning to escape from the holding cell behind his heart. Shaking his head, he stopped, though she could see the quiver of his chin and the extra shine in his eyes. "What if I'm not there when...if…"
Every feature she had softened as she watched her father try and hold back the tide.
"It wasn't your fault," she repeated.
Jack shook his head and kept his eyes looking at everything but his daughter. His steely exterior was fighting back against this new, softer, Bristow. "I'm...angry, Sydney."
"About what?"
He glared, "at you."
"Why?"
"You knew better than that - this. Than this."
He wanted her to fight him, it was truly the only real relationship he'd had with her. While they had been honest and cordial over the last few months, in the end, it always felt a little awkward. At least it had for him.
"It's okay that you're mad at me, dad. It was my fault."
The hands at his sides balled into fists. "No! It's...not okay. None of it...was okay. You just...you never listen! And now," he gestured with open palms toward her, though she was still standing before the chair with her hands back in her pockets looking at him with soft, gentle eyes. "This child is a liability, Sydney!"
Gentle brown flashed darker in an instant. "Be careful," she whispered. "There's plenty that can be said between us that can't ever be taken back."
Jack didn't heed her warning. "You've been my liability my whole career, Sydney, and I've hated every moment of worry...and fear. I don't know what to do with any of it now, and...and you've told the whole world that you're alive! I don't know how to fix...this." His chest heaved as he stared, though Sydney didn't seem intent on speaking. Much to his growing chagrin, he continued.
"How on Earth could you have thought a baby to be an acceptable risk, Sydney Anne?"
Silence fell between them again, and mercifully, he stopped talking. Through it all, her eyes stayed glued on him from where she stood while his darted to and from hers time and time again.
"The only time I felt alone that week were the two days he interrogated me without the camera," she started in a quiet yet firm voice. His reaction was immediate physical pain that balled his hands back into fists with one pressing against his stomach.
"Don't."
"I wasn't lying in the interview when I said that I clung to that red light on the camera. I had this...mantra I would say in my head every time it turned on. The light was love; the light was home; the light was Vaughn-"
"Don't," he growled, though it sounded like a gravelly, watery beg.
"That light was my dad. And when it wasn't there? When I was alone? It felt like darkness...overwhelming emptiness. You've never really been a part of my life; you've always been there, just...pushed into the background. That was a choice and it wasn't just one of us that made it, we both know that." She took a step forward, her eyes still boring into his, and Jack was transfixed, unable to look away.
"But I've never felt without you until those two days."
"Stop," his whisper was strangled, and he felt his pounding heart squeezed in his chest.
"You're mad that I got myself caught, and that's okay. You're mad that it wasn't you, and that's okay. You were mad when you picked me up at three in the morning dead drunk during senior year, mad when I was recruited into SD-6, and mad when I slept with Vaughn when he was my handler, and all of that is okay. But right now? You're not mad," she said decisively, stopping her slow walk a couple of feet away from where he shook above his locked knees.
"Yes...I am," he defended, though, at the moment, he wasn't sure what he was feeling other than like he was suffocating.
Sydney shook her head and pulled one hand from a pocket to reach out and take his fist, slowly loosening his tight grip and freeing his fingers. "You're scared. So am I. Right now, I'm scared to take the elevator up. I'm terrified of stepping foot outside this building, and I don't know how I'm going to do any of that, let alone move away."
Jack couldn't hide the shocked confusion from his face as he tried to blink his watery vision away and get every ounce of raging turmoil inside back into the bottle. "Then why?"
"Because this," she took his hand and placed the tips of his fingers against her stomach, "this doesn't scare me. This," she held her other hand up and spun the engagement ring with her thumb, "this doesn't scare me. What does is the idea that," she took a shuddering breath, "you won't be there to do any of it with me."
The pooling drops back held for so long in his crystalline blue eyes cascaded down his stubbled cheeks to his quivering chin, and with one step he engulfed her against his chest. She clung to him tightly feeling his shoulders bounce as he sobbed into her hair. Shedding a few of her own tears into the cotton of his shirt, the familiar scent of his cologne hit her nose catapulting her back in time. Him holding her when she broke her leg; her tucked against his side as he read Peter Pan in the ridiculously tiny child's bed; her when she'd thrown her arms around him the moment he'd stepped off the elevator the night the Alliance fell.
Calming minutes later, he loosened his hold, unprepared for her to pull back and cup his cheeks to keep him in place.
"I love you, daddy, and I genuinely can't do the rest of my life without you. I have no idea what to do with a baby," she laughed through her sob and wiped at his tears with the pads of her thumbs. "We can get over the fear together, I promise."
Jack nodded between her hands, sniffling against the runny nose, and stepped away. He didn't trust his voice, so he stiffly moved to the door and grabbed his blazer, looping it over his arm. Leaning back in he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head before leaving.
The steps toward the elevator were slow, though halfway there, it dinged. Out stepped Michael Vaughn, the silly smile on his face slipping away as he turned to see the tear-stained cheeks of Jack Bristow, truly a sight he'd never seen.
'Oh shit,' he thought. The two stared for a moment before Jack moved to walk past. As he did, he reached out his hand and set it flat against Michael's chest over his thudding heart. Pressing it there for a moment before releasing, the elder stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed between them.
Something must be wrong. "Syd?" He called, hurrying down the hall to the open door to find her standing near the reading chair wiping at her cheeks with a kleenex.
"Hey," she said quietly, the emotion still built up behind her voice.
"Is...are...is everything okay? I just passed your dad and...he looked, uh," he left off, not wanting to say broken, but thinking it heavily.
She shrugged and cast a genuine smile. "Yeah. We just...had a heart to heart. What's that? Where have you been?"
Sydney's eyes were on the blue blanket he had fisted in his hand, momentarily forgotten. "My mom had...called, she needed me to come by. Did...Jack not tell you? I asked him to tell you that I'd be back a little later."
Shaking her head, she shrugged. "That's okay. How - how did your mom take the news?"
"Which news, that I'm married, or that we're having a baby?"
Surprise dropped her jaw as a pained huff of air left her open lips. "God, I'm sorry, Vaughn. I just...I'd known for like, two hours and I just…"
He waved her off and reached for her hand, Sydney giving it willingly and stepping into his frame, their lips meeting for a soft, sweet kiss. "You don't owe me an apology, sweetie. Don't think I'm anything but excited. A little shocked," she mumbled her agreement behind another kiss and stepped back.
"I have a surprise for you," he grinned and held up his left hand, the band shining in the light. "I know we were going to go shopping but...my mom gave it to me. It was dad's."
New tears sprouted, "it's perfect."
"Also...she gave me this," he said, holding out another band in his palm. "Family tradition, it's always given to the new wife. It's yours whether it's worn or sits in a jewelry box."
In awe, she took it into her fingers delicately, as if it was the most fragile thing she'd ever held. "It's beautiful," she sighed, replacing the engagement ring with the new band and letting it catch the light on her finger with a wiggle.
"She doesn't even know me," Sydney said softly, and they both felt the weight behind the admission.
Setting the blanket on the desk he moved around behind to wrap his arms around her, his palms settling over her lower stomach. "She told me to tell her daughter that she can't wait to meet her," he said reverently before pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder.
Rubbing her cheek against his, they stood together until a yawn broke the moment, Sydney setting the back of her hand over her mouth to try and hide it as Michael chuckled when he yawned almost immediately in response.
Calling it a day they readied for bed, Vaughn spooning behind her once under the blankets as his free hand settled flat under her belly button again, hers joining as they drifted to sleep.
...
