The Perfect Weapon Ending 1 Chapter 1003: Part 4 section 1 of 3

[camillecarelli]

Chapter 1003: Part 4 section 1 of 3

Hearing the elevator doors open with a ping, she cocked her head, took a deep breath, just as she did every time she heard the bell down the hallway signaling that someone else was alive in this area of the prison. The quiet ever since she had arrived a few days ago was...difficult. Even with her memory book, through which she had been paging ever since she had sat in that helicopter and watched her safe haven grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared, she had trouble shutting out the questions, the answers, the words.

In the silence she could hear his voice, hear that 'Gotcha.' Or hear her own thoughts. Hear her traitorous mind ask questions, questions she hated, “What if?” questions, questions she was sure had no answers, questions with answers she did not know, did not want to know. But, she decided, listening to those footfalls, so soft, coming toward her, soon she would have real answers and would be able to stop having to forget the question 'What if?' or his words, that could not be the answer 'Gotcha.'

“Jack!” she called out. She winced hearing the shrillness in her voice. She stood up slowly, wiping her damp hands on her pants. He stood on the outside of her cell, behind the bars. Why, she wondered as she looked him up and down, was he wearing blue? Had he forgotten she liked black? He had looked so nice, she sighed, on their trip in India, in the black.

Remembering that trip, the return home, she thought she heard a thread of sound, their voices in harmony, whispering, “This could be heaven or this could be hell....”

The black would have been best, although, he looked nice, she sighed, very nice. Like a broader, more solid version of the young man she remembered in those blue jeans, the blue pullover sweater, the sleeves pushed up on his forearms, his hands in his pockets. Remembering a similar outfit the night she had pushed him down on the ice rink, she smiled. Then smiled again, as she noted that his hair was a little longer than it had been for a while. That was nice too. She allowed her gaze, finally, to drop to his eyes, not fully aware that she had been avoiding it until she gasped slightly, feeling the first frisson of anxiety. Unaware until this moment, how the waiting, waiting for his appearance had taken a toll on her nerves.

Because he was just standing there, his face betraying nothing. Again. Wearing that damn mask. Those opaque eyes. Again. That face that was not ‘her’ Jack. That face she hated. And if she were honest, feared. But honesty was not her strong suit in this game. She would only admit that she had expected, hoped to see humor, even triumph in his face. But this nothingness.... What did that mean? What game was this? “Jack?” she asked softly this time.

“Irina,” he answered quietly. “I understand you wished to speak to me.”

“You...." She bit off her anger. Gauging the coldness in his eyes, she decided that a dispaly of anger would ill serve her game. "Of course I....I need to speak to you.”

“Need? A little late, isn’t it, to admit to need?”

“What does that mean?” she asked, tensing. How did he know that she hated that word, ‘need’; hated to admit that it even existed, because need was a weakness, after all. Wasn’t it? Stop, she told herself, stop asking questions whose answers did not, could not, matter.

“Forget it. It hardly matters at this point. What did you want?”

“What did I want? Are you joking?” He just stared at her, giving her ‘that’ look, that look that said, ‘I am not amused.’ She sighed. Once again, as always, she would have to make the first move. “First, why did you wait to see me? I asked Vaughn if he knew when I’d see you, where you were-“
“So I heard,” Jack said dryly.

“But he said...” she swallowed, her mouth dry as she remembered that moment, Vaughn's honest comment that, she realized now, had started her anxiety.

“When will I see Jack?” she had asked, wondering why he did not answer the simple question. How many times did she have to ask? Was there some magic number Jack had told him, some magic number of times she had to ask? Or did he simply not---

“I honestly don’t know, Ms. Derevko.” Vaughn sighed deeply and pushed his hand through his hair. Thinking both that he could not wait to take a shower and that he would hear her voice for a long time in his head, asking over and over, “Where is Jack, when will I see Jack?” as she had asked over and over and over on the trip home. She might be wearing self-deception, he thought, in place of one of those burkas, the veil of delusion seemed to cover her so completely. Jack clearly needed to see her, make it all clear to her, but when.... He frowned thoughtfully, his forehead wrinkling, as he commented, “Well, given Jack’s mania for symmetry, let’s see. How long passed between the time of his arrest and when he heard from you again?”

Twenty years? She had thought in a panic. She had slumped down on the bunk, hearing again that Gotcha, as Vaughn walked away. But no, he wouldn’t wait twenty years. Would he? That would be symmetrical but.... Or maybe he just meant her to think it would be perfect symmetry. Maybe he’d show up tomorrow. Or the next day? Or next week? Or next year? Or... Or maybe....

Or maybe, she thought suddenly, her head jerking up, he just wanted her to live with some uncertainty?

“Jack, why didn’t you tell Vaughn you were coming? Why make me live with the uncertainty?”

“Oh, is living with uncertainty difficult? You wanted to know how long you have to wait? Hmm. But that would give you a clue, a hint, a portent of when the silence would end, wouldn’t it? And what did I live with, Sydney? Uncertainty.”

“You-“

“Oh, yeah, I do remember living with uncertainty. How many kinds? Let me count the ways. Let’s see...“ What would make her, if anything, break out of the cautious little compartment into which she had shoved all doubts, all needs, all questions. Wondered if it were even possible. Wondered if it might be kinder to allow her to live in that safe, warm, if ultimately empty, box of self deception. He looked at her, hard, as she stood there in her little cell.

He paused, thinking and in the silence she began to open her mouth to say, ‘Let me count the ways? Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese,’ but before she could utter the words he continued.

“Uncertainty, well, there was the uncertainty of being in a cell, wondering if the next person coming down the hall was some official to tell me I’d been convicted. Or the uncertainty about whether or not they would seek the death penalty. The uncertainty that my daughter had completely forgotten me. The uncertainty wondering if they would ever find my wife’s body. There was that uncertainty. Then there was the uncertainty, after Sydney figured out that you were alive, of wondering just when - because there was never any of ‘if’ in my mind about it -- you would drop back into our lives. The uncertainty of just how you were using me and your own flesh and blood for your own purposes and what the costs would be. And then the uncertainty after you escaped of just how you would drag Sydney into your games, how she would become emotionally wounded or physically hurt by your latest notion of mother-daughter relations. Let’s see, you used a stun gun, your elbow... a sympathetic face.... What’s left, a knife in the heart? So, yeah, do tell me about uncertainty. I can...empathize.”

“Damn you and your need for symmetry.”

“If it was good enough for me, why wouldn’t it be good enough for you? I mean, surely, you believe in do unto others as you would have them do unto you, don’t you? Turnabout is fair play? What comes around goes around? Or, your personal favorite? The mirror play?”

“Jack. Stop it. I want to talk to you.”

“Get in line,” he muttered to himself. The last month or so, the last day or so, he’d done more talking than he had in the last ten years. Kendall on the way up here, uncharacteristically babbling endlessly, driving him crazy...Although at least he hadn’t had to listen solely to his own thoughts then. He sighed. It seemed like everyone wanted to talk to him.

“Jack, it’s Michael Vaughn. I was wondering...if I could talk to you.”

“Of...course,” Jack said slowly, wondering what this was about. “There’s a bar on-“

“No. I mean, if you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you in private,” Vaughn said firmly.

“Someplace where Sydney won’t find us?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then. The best place would probably be my apartment,” Jack said dryly.

Ending the call, he looked at the phone. With a deep sigh, he pressed the number one on his speed dial and waiting, finally sighed again. Voice mail. “Sydney, this is Dad. I need to talk to you tonight. It’s important. And Vaughn will be here too. Call me back.” That should do it.

Vaughn paused outside the door to Jack’s apartment, shifting the sixpack of beer in the one hand, as his other clenched the bags of snacks in the others. Cheese puffs and chips. He could do this, he could knock on Jack Bristow’s door. It was no big deal. It was just a door. And Jack was just a man. Yeah right.

So much of Sydney’s life revolved around her father, even if she was unaware of it. She alternated between wanting to irritate him, love him, prove something to him, hurt him, anything to get some reaction out of him. And Jack...everything he did was, in some way or another, no matter how twisted it might appear to an outsider, was for Sydney. The two of them needed to... get their act together. So, yeah, this was a good idea. A doubleplay, as Jack would say. Thank Jack, which he deserved. And get him and Sydney on the path to functional family life. Well, Bristow style. Then, maybe she’d spend more time thinking about him, than she did about how to annoy her father.

Two men sat on the couch, a beer in one hand.

“What did you want to talk about, Michael?”

“That’s the first time you’ve called me Michael,” Vaughn said as he took a sip of his beer and looked at the game playing on the television with the sound off. Jack shrugged, his eyes also on the tv. Vaughn looked at him cautiously and began with the easiest first, “I wanted to, first of all, thank you for letting me handle the op.”

Jack waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the least I could do. I owe you. I can’t bring your father back, but...”

“Jack, we’ve been over this. You don’t owe me anything,” Vaughn asserted.

“But my thanks for handling it so professionally. And you have it.”

Vaughn nodded. “I have closure now. That’s....”

“Important. I know,” Jack said softly.

“But do you have it? Final closure?”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked, with a slow smile. And what the hell did that mean, Vaughn wondered.

“Jack, I think you need to see her. She won’t believe it until she sees you, until you make it clear to her that the game is over. She thinks, persists in this belief---”

“Her self-delusion is...infinite. I am slightly aware of that fact. But--” beep, beep. Jack pulled out his phone and glanced at the display. Standing up, he said, “Excuse me, I’ve been waiting for this call.” Jack vaulted off the couch and went into the kitchen, saying “Judy? Hi, I wanted to ask your advice on this...”

‘Judy?’ Vaughn mouthed. Since when do you call your therapist by their first name? He’d been seeing her almost as long as Jack and she had never suggested that he call her by her first name. In fact, she was so formal, he could not imagine... He silently rose from the couch and crept toward the kitchen. What the hell, he was nearly a member of the family. If you couldn’t eavesdrop on your family, who could you---Oh. My. God. He was sounding like Jack now. And wait, had he thought again about being in a family with..... Wait, shut up voice in head, what was Jack saying?

“Yeah, Michael’s here telling me that- yeah, Michael Vaughn. Yes. Without Sydney. She's out with some friends tonight, relaxing I hope. He’s here alone. We’re sitting on the couch pretending to watch the ball game while having some awkward male bonding moment. You know, so we can avoid looking in each other’s eyes.... Yeah, beer is involved.” He laughed. Jack Bristow laughed with his therapist? Former therapist, that is. “What kind of game is it? I neither know nor care. I guess some ball is being flung around.. . I’m too busy trying to deal with the fact that in today’s world I’m supposed to be - can I gag - bonding with the man who’s sleeping with my daughter instead of ripping his face off and feeding him to the sharks......Yeah, you can laugh.”

Vaughn swallowed hard and then took a long drink from his bottle and began peeling off the label into smaller and smaller strips. Yeah, go ahead and laugh, Judy, he thought. This is all so funny. Very funny. And wait a minute. She was laughing? What the hell? Susan would-

“I have the papers ready to go. No, I’m totally fine. Don’t worry,” Jack said softly. “I’m ready for tomorrow. In every way.”

Papers? Vaughn looked sharply over at the coffee table. What was this file on the table anyway? He padded over to the table, keeping an eye on the doorway. He swallowed hard as he scanned the first page. This...was important. This was the moment, he thought, deciding that yes, Sydney needed to be here. It wasn't meddling, not really. Well and if it was, it was for a good cause, anyway. He dialed her number quickly and left a voice mail message telling her where he was. That should do it, the curiosity factor alone.... Putting his phone away, he cued back into Jack’s conversation.

“But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you, specifically. Although that was...yes, friends do talk like that, tease. I do remember. Moreover, I do have some friends, let me remind you! Oh, yeah, what did I want? You distract me. I need a recommendation for a therapist. For Derevko.”

“So, Michael, any questions about what you overheard?” Jack asked as he sauntered back into his living room, tucking his phone away.

“I....Damn it.”

“You need to work on your...sneaking up skills,” Jack said with a smile.

“Sneaking up...” Vaughn rolled his eyes. “Oh, alright, I’ll bite. A therapist for Derevko?”

Jack stared for a moment, then asked, “When Judy’s call came in you were ready to talk to me about something. What was it?” Jack asked as he flung himself back down on the couch and gave a deep sigh. Would that bit of misdirection work?

“Wait. Judy? You call Dr. Barnett, Judy?”

“Yes. So?” Jack asked, thinking that was too easy. Why had Vaughn cued in on that irrelevant fact, rather than taking the cue to discuss whatever it was that was eating at him, making his forehead wrinkle like one of those Shar-pei dogs. What was Vaughn’s dog’s name, again? Dogbert? Donald? No, no, it was Weiss who had given his dog a human name, Alan, it was. He let his mind wander while waiting for Vaughn to work up the courage to have the real conversation he wanted. Finally, Jack sighed, “Why are we having a conversation about what name I call my former therapist?”

“Why are you calling your former therapist?”

“Why are you asking me personal questions?”

“Why is speaking of your former therapist a personal question?”

“Why are you interrogating me? What’s next, are you going to offer me a soda?” Jack rolled his eyes and looked around. Where was a pencil when you needed one, anyway? Oh, wait, there was a pen, on top of the files on his coffee table.

“I’m just curious. Dr. Barnett is so formal, I can’t even imagine calling her-“

“Barnett? Formal? She threw a pencil at me during our last session,” Jack laughed.

Jack laughed? Vaughn thought as he took a deep swallow of his beer. How many of these had he had? How many had Jack had? Wait, Dr. Barnett had thrown a pencil at Jack? The woman was braver than he was. How many times had he wanted to take that pencil of Jack’s and stick it in his eye, he thought, as Jack began tapping that damn pen now.

“She threw a pencil at you? Why, were you tapping it incessantly?” Vaughn gritted out as Jack began tapping that pen against his knee. Must he do that?

“No, I was-“ He stopped. He didn’t need to explain that he had been teasing Judy. Wait, he had been teasing Judy? He shook his head. He must be more tired than he thought, after several days of analyzing the intel streaming from Derevko’s various estates. “Surely,” Jack began, “You did not come over here to discuss Dr. Barnett.”

“No. I want to talk about Derevko. And Sydney,” Vaughn said firmly, knowing he was doing the right thing.

“What about Derevko?” Jack asked curiously.

“Lord knows I would never try and tell you how to do anything---”
“Liar,” Jack laughed. “You’ve told me plenty about Sydney, haven’t you?”

Vaughn grimaced. “Tried to, anyway. But...”

“Derevko first. So, what happened on the ride back home? We haven’t had an interrupted chance to discuss it. Start there.”

“She slept after we gave her the sleeping draught as Amina called it.. She ate when we told her that you had insisted she do so. You know that, you read my report . Aside from that she...looked off into space. Thinking, or maybe just dealing with the shock.”

“She was probably paging through her memory book,” Jack shrugged. “Like she’s done for the last two decades. Using her memory book-“

“What’s that?”

“When we were together, she was always trying to make a memory, always saying that she had to remember this or that, put in her memory book, because---”

“She knew she was going to leave but she wanted to take the memories with her,” Vaughn said slowly, shaking his head.

“Yes. What did she say?” Jack asked, although he knew the answer. “That wasn’t in your report.”

“I didn’t think you’d want Kendall to read it. The only words she uttered were-“

“Let me guess. ‘Where’s Jack?’ I know. Thanks for keeping that out of the report. But...” he sighed. “She’s dealing with the reality, with the shock by retreating into her other crutch, the game.”

“Don’t you think she needs to face reality?” Vaughn asked challengingly.

“Of course. That’s why I’m going to see her tomorrow,” Jack said nonchalantly and sat back.

“You are!?” Vaughn said in surprise.

“I told you before that squeaking is unbecoming in a man, Michael,” Jack said, clearly far too happy that he had taken Vaughn by surprise.

Vaughn shook his head, “Of course, you are. You would not be so cruel as to leave her with that uncertainty. Maybe...hoping...like you....” Vaughn ventured, then wanted to bite his tongue. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to have a conversation about emotional truths with Jack? But then he shrugged. What the hell, Jack was good a pointing out truths to him. Turn about?

“Maybe. I honestly...don’t know. I don’t. But no, to make her stay in a sticky...web of uncertainty would be cruel, as I do know. After all, symmetry is all well and good, but a wise player knows when the game is over. It’s over. And she must understand that. That’s why I’m really going to see her. Not to lessen her anxiety so much as to try to make her understand the notion of endgame.”

“And Sydney...”

“Yes?” Jack asked curiously. Sydney had not once mentioned going to visit Derevko. He had tried to broach it once and gotten the cold shoulder. Had decided to let it go for a while because...He sighed, because he had needed a while himself to ascertain the best way to suggest that she had to see that woman again. Hoped that phone call would work. Or else he’d have to force the issue, which was tricky with Sydney.

Vaughn admitted, “I suggested that she visit her. For closure. But...”

“But she doesn’t quite know what she wants, needs,” Jack said as if it were blatantly obvious.

Which, Vaughn thought, was no doubt blatantly obvious to Jack! “Of course. But she does need some sort of closure. I know. But she won’t listen to me,” Vaughn admitted. “I tried, but-“

“What makes you think she will listen to me?” Jack asked. “I tried once, the other day, but...” Shifting around uncomfortably next to the younger man, he looked down at the beer label his hands were peeling away from the bottle. Stifling an oath, he set the bottle down on the table in front of him.

“Jack.... She will. I think she’s ready now that a little time has passed.”

“How do you know?”

“Instinct,” he snapped out. Then raised his eyebrows, when Jack merely nodded in acquiescence.

“Instinct is good,” Jack admitted.

“So,” Vaughn began, taking a breath. “She’ll listen to you. She may pretend not to, but she will. And I need to warn you that....” Vaughn glanced at his watch. “I think....She’s gonna call in a few moments. I just know it. She should be about done with the girls and I left her a voice mail that I was here and that means she’ll get her butt over here so fast-“ Vaughn laughed as Jack spit out some beer.

“You what? Are you trying to manipulate her?” Jack asked, biting his lip and looking away.

“No! I’m trying to get her to do what is best, for everyone, because I care about her. There’s a difference between caring and manipulation!”

“Oh, really? Be careful, that’s a fine line. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m aware of that!” Vaughn said with a laugh. “Now all we have to do is wait. Want some chips?” he offered, holding the bag out to Jack.

“Wow, a new technique. Chips instead of soda,” Jack quipped. “Nice to see you’re expanding your repertoire of-“

“Oh, shut up. Watch the game,” Vaughn grumbled.

“Quick, without looking at the tv, tell me what kind of game it is?” Jack challenged.

Vaughn sighed deeply, “Not a frickin’ clue, Jack. I don’t have a clue.”

“Well, at last he admits the truth,” Jack quipped.

Vaughn rolled his eyes. “Is there hockey on somewhere?”

“Sure, hold on,” Jack changed the channels.

“You knew when the hockey game was on?” Vaughn asked in surprise, wondering what other surprises might occur this night.

“I’m originally Canadian, remember?” Jack commented.

“Oh, that’s right. So...did you ever skate?”

“You might say that,” Jack commented as he reached for a chip.

“Sydney only remembers her mother taking her skating, but...” Vaughn trailed off.

“Laura did take her skating quite often to teach her because she wanted it to be a family activity for the three of us, that’s true.”

“But...Family activity? Did you all go at least sometimes?” Vaughn knew he was fishing, perhaps in dangerous waters. But the only way to know was to ask, after all.

“Yes. I liked skating, always did. And it had fond memories for me of when I first was going out with Laura. So we went skating quite a bit, actually. I remember lacing Sydney up in her first skates, how Laura was afraid that she’d fall down. Which she did, but she just bit her lip, got back up and pushed off, so determined, so unafraid. She’s never been afraid of anything, physically. I remember the first time I tossed her in the air on the ice rink...” Jack smiled reminiscently, thinking of the little skating game in their kitchen too, hoping she would remember that some day as well.

“You all skated...” Vaughn said, trying to picture a young Jack holding Sydney by the hand...Maybe some day... He shook his head. First things first.

“Yeah. It turns out we all excelled at skating on thin ice,” Jack commented, with a wry twist of his lips. “A family trait, apparently.”

“But Sydney doesn’t remember you skating....” Vaughn said, realizing the sadness Jack must feel at Sydney’s loss of memories. If you didn’t remember the past...

“No, “ Jack sighed. “But....You are aware that her memories prior to Laura’s death are like swiss cheese. And much of the missing pieces of the puzzle have to do with me.”

“Jack... What are you going to do about that? She needs her memories.” And so do you, he thought, to himself.

“When this is all settled, when...the time is right, I have an idea,” he said quietly, looking in the direction of the second bedroom of his apartment. “I have some.... items that will help jog her memory. But to do it precipitously would be counterproductive. I can wait for her to remember---”

Vaughn sighed. “You’re good at waiting. That...patience of yours can be deadly.”

“For whom?” Jack asked with a smile.

“Your enemies.”

“As long as you’re not my enemy, what difference does it make?”

Vaughn swallowed his beer. “Yeah. So...how long does it take to go on a Barbie shopping expedition, anyway?”

“Is that what they were doing?” Jack asked, smiling. “Well, then they’re going to take them back home and play with them.”

“They’re grown women!” Vaughn said in surprise.

“It’s easier, isn’t it, to engage in an activity while you’re trying to...establish a relationship, friendship, especially if you’re somewhat introverted like Sydney can be, on a personal basis?” Jack suggested.

“But still....dolls?”

“Let’s see. Grown men sit around and pretend to watch a ball game so they don’t have to look each other in the eye while-“

“I get the point,” Vaughn said sullenly. And his phone rang. Thank god! he thought as he flipped it open.
“What in the world are you doing at my father’s place?” Sydney asked shrilly.

“Watching a hockey game,” Vaughn said simply.

“Watching...I’ll be right over,” Sydney said quickly and hung up.

“What were up to tonight?” Jack asked as Sydney came in and tossed her jacket onto a chair. “Or rather with whom?”

“Sorry. I turned my phone off. Kendall told me to take it easy, take tonight and tomorrow completely off, so I missed both your calls.”

“Both?” Vaughn asked, and turned an accusing look on Jack, who just shrugged.

What was that about, Sydney wondered, then shook her head. She’d never understand the two of them. Continuing the conversation, she said, “ I was out with Amina and Carrie and Susan,” she said, as her eyes went from Vaughn to her father and back again. What was up with those two? Why in the world were they....could it be hanging out? “You were watching hockey?” she asked slowly, looking over at the tv.

“Sure. Your father skates. He’s Canadian, remember? And Canadians and hockey...” Vaughn warbled on obviously nervous about...well, who knew, it could be anything after who knows how long in her father’s company.

But...her father skated? Watched hockey? Vaughn knew that? Why did she get the feeling sometimes that Vaughn knew more about her father than she did? And...was that all they were doing? And in her father’s apartment? Which, she decided, looking around, was quite possibly the most boring abode she had ever seen in her life. For the love of God, there was not even a single picture on the walls. The white walls, she thought in disgust.

“Susan?” Jack asked casually, interrupting Vaughn’s nervous chatter, reaching for a chip, looking down at the bag on the table.

Sydney grimaced. “Can’t you two even find a bowl!” she sniped as she stalked into the kitchen and began banging around looking for a bowl. “And napkins!”

“Boy, someone’s knickers are in a twist,” Jack said, leaning back.

“She spent time with Susan,” Vaughn said in a whisper. “But what I can’t imagine is how that came about....” He trailed off, giving Jack a speculative look.

“You can’t?” Jack asked, reaching for another chip.
“To say nothing of coasters!” Sydney snarled as she came back into the room. “And another thing-“ she began while the men looked at each other in alarm.

Vaughn mouthed, “PMS?” and Jack bit his lip, hard.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Jack asked carefully, “ I probably have a chocolate bar somewhere if you -“

“I. Am. Not. PMSing!” I’m freaking out at the sight of my boyfriend and my father sitting there eating snack food, while...What the hell had they been doing? They both had far too innocent looks on their faces. Her eyes narrowed.

“Sure,” Vaughn said, nodding.

“Whatever you say,” Jack agreed.

“Aaagh! Don’t do that male condescension...thing! It’s just...Well, let’s start with this apartment, Dad! It’s as boring as those....ties I gave you for years for Christmas. You need a new place, new ties, new everything!”

“You’re absolutely right,” Jack agreed sincerely, if quickly.

“Do you even own a pair of jeans?” she accused. “Or-“

“Of course I own a pair of jeans,” he retorted, starting to get aggravated himself. She could push his buttons, he knew it, but still heard himself say, “I have on a pair of jeans, as a matter of fact! If you’d actually bother to pay some attention and-“

“You do? Oh. They’re black. Why do you always wear black, anyway?” Sydney demanded.

“Because it looks good and it’s easy to match when you’re dressing in the dar....Anyway, Sydney, why are you obsessing over the....accessories of my life?’

“Susan was driving me nuts!” she blurted out. “And then you two....”

“Oh, I was sure it was something other than the PMS Vaughn was trying to convince me that it was...” Jack said, with a sly grin.

“Oh, really, Vaughn?” Sydney turned on him.

“I...! Damn you, Jack!” Vaughn growled. “One of these days, let me tell you-“

“Do you have a problem, Vaughn?” Jack asked with a smirk. “I mean, a specific problem attributable to this moment, as opposed to general-“

“Must you manipulate the situation?” Vaughn asked snappishly.
“Must you meddle?” Jack asked laconically.

“Pot meet kettle,” Vaughn said sarcastically.

“True. But then again, I hear I look good in black.” Jack shrugged. Sydney burst out laughing at the light of mischief in his eyes. When was the last time she had seen her father look like that? His friend..... “Sydney, what’s up?” Jack asked.

“Susan, she....”

“What?” Jack asked curiously.

“She was being...funny and friendly and nice in a kinda obnoxious way and...don’t you think she should meet Weiss?” Sydney asked. When both men nodded, she continued, “And I just couldn’t stand it!”

“You couldn’t stand it that she was being funny and nice?” Vaughn repeated slowly, knowing the problem. Sydney still saw Susan as a rival for Jack’s attention..

“And friendly?” Jack added. Knowing in an instant the problem. She was afraid that if she was friends with someone, someone close by, that it might feel like she was replacing Francie. Amina was safe, even though she and Syd had hit it off right away, because she lived far away and was more than a few years older. But this...with Susan living so close, so close in age, it might have felt disloyal to Francie, perhaps.

“Nia said-“

“Oh, this will be good,” Vaughn muttered.

“Shut up. There we are in the Barbie aisle and she pulls me aside into the Bratz doll section-“

“Uh-oh,” Vaughn and Jack said simultaneously. Pausing, they gave each other a horrified look.

“She said, ‘Here, look at yourself. Possibly in the oversized heads of these dolls you might see a reflection of your own self-absorption.’ And and...that’s what Susan accused me of - And don’t tell me that I just dangled a preposition, Dad!”

“I’m not saying a word!” Jack protested.

“What else did she say? I know Amina, that cannot be all,” Vaughn urged her to continue.

“She said, basically, that Susan was being friendly and asked why I didn’t want to be friends. That very few people, especially in our line of work, have the luxury of turning away friends. And she was right,” Sydney sighed. “So, we went back to the Barbie aisle and I apologized to Susan and...after that, we had a good time.”

“Oh. Well. Good. I’m glad,” Jack commented. Good that I was right and Nia could be something like an older sister. Lord knew Nia was bossy enough.

“And...why did Susan call me anyway?” Sydney asked, starting to wonder.

“What did she tell you?” Jack asked, casually reaching for a chip.

“She said, she hoped we might get to know each other better. That she regretted we got off on the wrong foot. That you said you had always thought she and I could be friends and-“ She reached out and slapped the chip down that Jack had been about to put in his mouth. “Dad! You did it. I know you did it!”

“Who? Me? Did what?” Jack asked in that innocent tone of voice that made her just want to slap him, as he wiped his hands on a napkin.

“You....You set it up. Like a....play date!” She fumed. Then stopped, wondering if he had been trying to make amends for the past. Then stopped again, as she remembered the past, remembered how as a child she had held back at the playground, in school, never feeling comfortable about stepping forward. How her mother would always give her a push and her father would talk to her...What had he done, she thought furiously...He had...

She looked at him, her brow creased. He had given her strategies, told her how to pick someone to approach or how to appear approachable, how to.... She closed her eyes, he had given her strategies. Of course, he had given her strategies, he saw everything as game theory. But no, she told herself, that was unfair. Not everything. But... how had he known that approaching the playground that way would help? And it had, imperfectly, but better than if left to her own devices her shyness would have kept her on the sidelines forever. How....had he known, she wondered?

“I merely made a suggestion to Susan,” Jack protested, watching her carefully. “So, what happened after Nia said you were the living embodiment of a Bratz doll?”

“Well, like I said, I...decided she might be right. I mean, Susan said the same thing and maybe if two people tell you something... So I just decided to act like I had met Susan without worrying about...” She ducked her head and muttered, “Well, without being jealous.”

“I knew it,” Vaughn whispered. Jack gave him a startled look. Jealous? Vaughn was right about that? Great.

“And what else?” Jack asked. Vaughn stared at him. What else was there? Jack knew what it was? Fabulous.

“I...Francie,” she said softly. Jack nodded. Vaughn shook his head in confusion. “So, anyway, we finished shopping and took our stuff-“
“You bought stuff?” Vaughn asked incredulously.

“Sure. Hot Look Ken needed some clothes and then he needed a Barbie of course. I mean, Ken is really just an accessory to Barbie, after all. Although I bought a Teresa doll - she’s a brunette and-“

“You all bought Barbie stuff?” Vaughn asked again.

“Are you deaf? Of course, we all bought stuff. Why did we go to the store except to buy stuff?” She rolled her eyes. “Then it was 9:30, so I called Carrie, because of course she’d be home on her date with Marshall by then, given that it’s the night for MacGyver reruns on TNT. And she came over to my apartment and we sat on my bed and played with the dolls for a while, changed their clothes mostly-“

“You played with the dolls? On your bed?” Vaughn asked. Jack bit his lip and reached for a chip. Maybe he’d get to actually eat this one. Hmm. Ruffles. Good, Vaughn had guessed correctly. He much preferred the chips with ridges to the smooth, over processed sort. Like those Pringles. What kind of anal compulsive wanted chips that were all the same, anyway? In a can. That was just unnatural. Nope, he liked reaching a hand into the bag and never quite knowing what he might pick. And the Ruffles, he did love the sound they made as you bit them. Yup, loved that satisfying crunch between his teeth, he decided, as he watched Vaughn’s forehead wrinkle. Yup, could plant enough corn in those furrows to have everyone over for a barbecue and corn roast. He reached over and handed Vaughn a cheese puff.

“Of course. Why would we have bought them if we weren’t going to play with them? Honestly. Then we were done and we stowed them away under the bed and-“

“There are Barbies under your bed? Right now? When we go back home, there will be Barbies under the bed?”

“What is your problem, Vaughn?” Sydney asked, walking back into the kitchen to get herself a drink.

“Hmm, Vaughn, what is your problem? Thinking that having dolls staring up at you from under the mattress might have, and this is such a shame, a dampening effect on-“

“Shut up. Now.” Vaughn hissed, “I hope that your next wife-“ He looked at the file on the table and continued, “Collects dolls and sets them around your bedroom with their eyes just staring at you as you-“

“Hi, Syd!” both men exclaimed as Sydney walked back into the room and stopped, staring at them curiously.

“What were you two talking about?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Vaughn said firmly. “Just about what kind of...snack food we each prefer.”
“Oooookay,” Sydney said, pacing to and fro.

The men looked at her. Vaughn looked at the file on the coffee table, at which Jack was also staring. Then Jack nodded at Vaughn and slowly picked up the file and opened it. Pulling the pen out of his pocket, he looked at the first document and began signing it. Then another, then another. Sydney came over slowly and sat down next to him.

“What are you signing?” Vaughn asked, knowing what Jack was doing, knowing he had taken the cue, but now hoping to bridge the silence as the two Bristows sat there, next to each other. Sometimes the two of them could connect so easily. Other times.... What was it, he wondered. Then seeing the identical sideways glances they slanted at each other when they thought the other was not looking, he knew. They were both worried about hurting each other.

Jack kept signing and said nothing until he signed the last paper and closed the file. “Sydney, these are the annulment papers, I’m filing them tomorrow. First thing.”

“You are?”

“Yes. This connection has no use, no value to me now,” he said carefully, watching her face. “Whatsoever.”

“I see,” Sydney said equally carefully.

Vaughn looked from Bristow to Bristow and got up as silently as he could and went into the kitchen. Hoping that Jack would not realize fully that he had meddled. But...he had done it for their own good.

Now, damn it though, he was hungry. He hadn’t been able to eat dinner for worrying about what might happen when Sydney and Jack finally talked about Derevko. Opening the door of the refrigerator, he sighed. What a surprise. Nothing but condiments and assorted take out boxes. Okay, try the cabinets. The man must have something there. Okay. A loaf of bread. Okay, that was okay. He’d make some toast, that would help his stomach, which was churning after the events of the last few days and in anticipation of the next. Pulling two slices out of the plastic wrapper, he looked around Jack’s kitchen for a toaster. Huh? No toaster? Who in the world didn’t have a toaster?

“Sydney, you need to know that I’m going up to see Derevko tomorrow. To...put a period to the end of the story between us. I would like it if you would consider going as well.”

“Dad...I’m okay. I said that.”

“But...”

“The truth is you were right, Sark made the difference. But what made me first realize, truly own the problem to use that psychobabble term,” she said derisively, making Jack smile. “Was after she jumped off that building in Mexico City. I realized something.... What it’s been like for you. Just waiting for her to pop in and out of our lives, stir them up and then leave, diving into a river, jumping off a building. Always expecting that she can just reenter, that all she has to do is give us some attention, tell us she loves us, believes that we will just....just....” Her chin began to wobble and Jack put his hand on her shoulder. “Dad...I can’t live like this anymore. I want her to stop....”

She began to cry. “I just want it to stop. I want this damn game of hers to end.”

Jack pulled her closer. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” As she sobbed into his shoulder, he said softly, “That’s why I’m visiting her tomorrow.” He pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to her.

“Thanks, Dad. Vaughn never has one,” she said in a few moments.

“Why are you crying around him?” Jack asked in mock indignation. “Do I need to have a talk with him about making you cry?”

“Oh, Dad, stop the pretense,” she hiccuped. “You like Vaughn.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “Well, I don’t want to kill him. That’s the best I can say,” he said lightly, knowing that Vaughn was once again eavesdropping.

‘I don’t want to kill him,’ Vaughn mouthed at himself in the gleam from the stainless steel sink as he ate a piece of buttered, untoasted bread over it. ‘Very funny, Jack. You’re a regular laugh riot.’

“Sydney,” Jack began again. “Are you truly okay? This has been a... hard time for you. First, Francie’s death. And Will coming so close to death. You do know how very sorry I am about Francie?” He asked as he put his hand on her arm and looked at her carefully.

“I know. You told me before and I can tell.... “ He saw a click in her eyes. “You know what it’s like to lose your best friend, don’t you?”

“You remember...”

“Dave was your friend, your best friend. Uncle Dave. Always laughing. You were always laughing around him. Before...Mom died. And after...after, even then, you were different around him. But he died when I was about seven?” Sydney asked, thinking about what a grief that must have been for her father. First to lose her mother, then to lose her again with the truth, then to...she wondered, had he lost himself? Is that what...But, she shook her head. But, focus, they were talking about friends. To then lose his best friend. “Was he killed? He was an agent too, wasn’t he?”

“Yes. Although in psych ops. He specialized.”

“Did Sloane kill him to get to you more easily?” Sydney asked.

“Everyone asks that question. But no. He was betrayed by his long-time contact and died in a minefield,” Jack explained.

“A minefield! That’s why you were so...hyper about that minefield,” Sydney said connecting the dots.

“Hyper! Sydney, I don’t think I’ve been ‘hyper’ a day in my life. I was... concerned,” Jack said trying to smile.

“Dad, for you, the way you were behaving on that trip was the equivalent of someone else being hyper.”

Jack rolled his eyes, “Whatever. But...in Kashmir, in that minefield, all I could think of was you...and her blowing up in that minefield like he did. And then when it was me on that mine....I thought, well, the truth is that I acted more nervous than I really was, just to see Derevko's reaction. But I was also thinking that wouldn’t it be some awful irony, some godawful symmetry if I were betrayed by my contact - her - and died in a minefield like my best friend?”

“But that was one circle that did not close.”

“No. Well, not yet anyway,” Jack quipped.

“Don’t be morbid. But...Dad. Do you ever get over losing your best friend like that? The way we did? Violently? At the hands of a betrayer? Even if you get to exact revenge like I did when I killed - Wait. What happened to Dave’s betrayer?”

“He did not survive the interrogation,” Jack said blandly.

“Your interrogation, I assume,” Sydney said, knowing the answer. Knowing that a month or two ago, she might not have understood, but remembering that moment, the realization that this woman had killed her best friend.... She could empathize now. “But Dad... How did you recover from that loss? How do you?”

“Well, when you don’t have the closure of a face-to-face meeting....” Jack paused. “As we unfortunately did not with Dave and Francie, then the first step has to be, I learned almost twenty years too late.... Well, if you can’t say goodbye, then, first...you have to cry.”

“Did you? Cry for Dave? You?” She asked incredulously, not sure which was more surprising, that her father had cried or that he admitted to crying. Then, she blinked, remembering seeing him cry the night he had told her that Laura was dead, had seen him try to hide it, knowing now that he had done so to protect her from his own grief. Protecting her, she knew, was what he did. Was it...sometimes, she wondered, at his own expense? “Dad.... Did you?”

“Yes. Recently. Finally. And then you can truly grieve and then you can let go and just remember the love.” And maybe that’s what they needed to do for Laura, he thought. Hmm. He gave his daughter a cautious hug, while Vaughn nodded approvingly from the doorway - and really, did he need approval from Pretty Boy -- he wondered. Then he began to make a list in his head of the supplies he would need for tomorrow. “Will you think about going up to the prison with me tomorrow to see her?”

“I’ll think about it,” she acquiesced.

“You do realize that you have a choice. You don’t have to go. And if you do go, it doesn’t have to be the final goodbye. Not if you’re not ready.”

“No?” Sydney asked, some relief in her voice. Vaughn started. Was that what the problem had been?

“No. The timing has to be your own. I’ve had more time, much more time, to acclimate myself to saying goodbye, than you.”

“Because you always knew she would betray us and leave.”

“Yes. But for you, it’s been more of a rollercoaster because you were more open, trusting. So, say goodbye according to your schedule. No one will blame you. As long as you don’t hurt yourself or anyone else by your choices. Do you understand?”

Sydney nodded.

“Good. I know you’ll make the right choices now and later. I have faith in you.”

In the kitchen, Vaughn nodded. She would do it, visit tomorrow, Jack had laid the groundwork well.

“So. Talk it over with Vaughn tonight,” he suggested. Knowing that not much else would go on anyway in that bedroom with those dolls staring up at Vaughn from under the bed. Who wouldathunk some dolls would freak him out so much? Aahhh, a doubleplay that came out of nowhere. Life was getting better all the time.

He gave her a quick hug one more time and they both stood up. Vaughn handed Sydney her jacket and put his arm around her as they left. Jack looked at them as they left and smiled when they both looked back over their shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said hoping. But knowing it was more than hope. Sydney would make the right choices. He trusted her to do so. Whether it was farewell or something else, he had to trust her. He would make the right choice himself by trusting her.

The next morning, Sydney called as he was getting dressed to say that she and Vaughn would meet him at the prison. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then, as he picked up his shirt, Kendall called to say he needed a ride up to the prison. Grumbling, he agreed to it. Here it was a day off, courtesy of Kendall and now he had to spend part of it with him. Was there no justice in the world?

As he began to wind the tie around his collar, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and stopped. What was he doing? He looked...perfectly normal, in his suit and dress shirt, as if it were any other day. But this was hardly a normal day, was it? He stripped the tie off, another ‘boring’ rep tie that Sydney had given him and walked over to his closet. Opening the door, he wondered, what kind of day was it? His hand, of its own accord, went to his black funeral suit. He fingered the soft weave of the wool, thinking that, well, today was like a death and he was planning on that last visit to the cemetery, so....

But then he lifted his hand from the suit, ran it through his hair, thought absently that maybe he should get a hair cut. But no. He wanted to leave his past behind, to build on this day, to move forward. Grow, change. He closed the closet door and reached into his dresser. Pulling out a pair of jeans and blue pullover sweater, he shrugged. Well, a double play anyway. This was better attire for his plans afterward and when she saw he wasn’t wearing black, it might help drive the message home.

But then again....

TBC at Chapter 1003 Part 4 section 2 of 3