No More Words
by Anne Bristow
Summary: The possible exchange between Jack and Sydney after her discovery in Wittenburg.
Author's Notes: Contains spoilers for/information from season four, episode two.
. . .
Jack quickly exited the elevator and hurried to the vault that held the safety deposit boxes. He had arrived in Wittenburg faster than he ever thought possible, but somehow he knew that Sydney had made it there first. As he approached the vault he could hear her attempts to suppress her cries.
He found her sitting at a table reading the documents from the box. He called her name; she turned to look at him, and the hurt in her eyes wounded him more than she would ever know.
"You were never supposed to have found this." That was as close to an apology as he could get and still maintain his cool facade.
Sydney stared at him for several long minutes - vainly hoping for answers - as tears streamed down her face. Finally she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, almost choking with pain. "What . . . is . . . this . . .?"
"Sydney," Jack began firmly, "the threat that Irina posed to this country--"
"I've read your report," Sydney's voice cracked only a little as she started to regain her composure. Her tone was cold. Her disbelief was subsiding; anger was taking its place. She stood, glaring at him. "How could you?"
"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS?!" Sydney shrieked, sweeping the telling papers off of the table as she turned away from him. Yet again, her world was crashing down around her. Exasperated, her hands flew to her head, her face frozen in a twisted reflection of her indescribable rage and sorrow.
Seeing her like this, Jack's face fell with compassion. He ached to tell her the truth. He could hardly believe that he was protecting the memory of a woman who had hired a contract killer to execute their daughter. But, no. It wasn't Irina that he was protecting. Sydney was strong, but learning the full extent of her mother's evil might literally be more than she could bear. In an instant, Jack regained his previous demeanor.
"Sydney, " Jack's voice was business-like, but not harsh," I realize that this is difficult for you to accept--"
"'Difficult to accept'?" Sydney repeated incredulously as she whirled around to look at him. "You killed my mother!" Saying it aloud brought a fresh wave of fury over her.
"Irina Derevko," Jack's voice rose slightly in return, speaking authoritatively to give the impression that he was defending a simple, logical act, "was a dangerous, criminal pyschopath--"
"Don't give me that," Sydney growled, her anger palpable. She crossed the room quickly to stand face to face with him. "You have hated her from the moment you learned that she was still alive. All those years . . . so much hate . . . finally, you saw your chance for revenge . . ." Grief was starting to overwhelm her, but she fought back the tears. She would cry no more in front of him. She looked him straight in the eye and finished her accusation. "And you took it. Never pretend with me that this was anything more, because you and I both know better."
Jack said nothing. He returned her glare, his expression matching his assertion that Irina's death was more than warranted. Sydney gave him a look of utter contempt as she turned and started down the hall toward the elevator.
Watching her, Jack knew that there was nothing he could say. At this point, not even knowing what Irina had done would justify his actions in Sydney's eyes. So he did what he seemed to do best where his daughter was concerned: he let her go.
. . .