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spydadTitle / Prompt: Faith Lost / June picture prompt
Character: Jack Bristow
Warnings:
Fandom: Alias
Word count: 532
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: JJ Abrams owns Jack. Which makes me very sad. :(
Jack lost what little faith he'd ever had after Sydney died. The words spoken at her memorial service seemed hollow, dry and useless.
He walked out of the church wondering if he would ever find the sense of closure that service was supposed to have given him. Knowing, at the same time, that he would not.
He thinks he remembers believing, once. But there isn't much left to believe in now. It was always Sydney that he held out hope for. Sydney who was going to be greater, do more, than he had ever dreamed of doing. Sydney, who was not so anchored to this life that she could not get away. Sydney, who he never meant to let his world so entangle.
Now she is gone, and all Jack has left is a handful of condolences he doesn't know how to accept, and doesn't want. Words from people who loved his daughter, but are all but strangers to him. Faces he recognizes from around the office, or from file photos, names he knows from after-action reports.
The only thing he has ever had in common with these people is the faith that they shared in his daughter. The faith that somehow, Sydney was good enough, and strong enough, that she would never falter. That she would never fall.
How many times, how many missions, had it been thought- even said, he's sure, when he wasn't around to hear it- How often had they thought that this time, this time, the task was impossible, the time too short?
How many times had he heard her voice on comms, breathless, triumphant?
Enough times that he had come to expect it. Come to depend upon it.
Much as he sometimes hated to admit it, Sydney was her mother's daughter. In some ways she is- she was- more Irina's daughter than his. And Irina, damn her, had been a force of nature.
He misses her, too. Misses her, and hates himself for that. Among so many other things. So very, very many...
He can try to lay the blame with Irina, can say that she started this, and that he only finished it. But he'd be lying. He's lied to more people than he can ever count, but somehow this is one lie he can't tell anymore, not even to himself.
It was Irina's departure when Sydney was still a child that had been the catalyst for Jack's own actions, but he knows himself well enough to realize that he likely would have done the same things, regardless.
He remembers Project Christmas, remembers puzzle pieces coming together in Sydney's hands, her movements quick and sure. Her small, sweet face turning up towards him, looking for approval. Asking if she had put the pieces together correctly.
When he closes his eyes at night and tries to sleep, this is all he sees.
He is going to find out who killed his daughter, no matter how long it takes. No matter what it takes.
But in a way it almost doesn't matter who started the fire that destroyed his last hope for the future.
In his heart, Jack knows that he is the one who killed her.
Character: Jack Bristow
Warnings:
Fandom: Alias
Word count: 532
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: JJ Abrams owns Jack. Which makes me very sad. :(
Jack lost what little faith he'd ever had after Sydney died. The words spoken at her memorial service seemed hollow, dry and useless.
He walked out of the church wondering if he would ever find the sense of closure that service was supposed to have given him. Knowing, at the same time, that he would not.
He thinks he remembers believing, once. But there isn't much left to believe in now. It was always Sydney that he held out hope for. Sydney who was going to be greater, do more, than he had ever dreamed of doing. Sydney, who was not so anchored to this life that she could not get away. Sydney, who he never meant to let his world so entangle.
Now she is gone, and all Jack has left is a handful of condolences he doesn't know how to accept, and doesn't want. Words from people who loved his daughter, but are all but strangers to him. Faces he recognizes from around the office, or from file photos, names he knows from after-action reports.
The only thing he has ever had in common with these people is the faith that they shared in his daughter. The faith that somehow, Sydney was good enough, and strong enough, that she would never falter. That she would never fall.
How many times, how many missions, had it been thought- even said, he's sure, when he wasn't around to hear it- How often had they thought that this time, this time, the task was impossible, the time too short?
How many times had he heard her voice on comms, breathless, triumphant?
Enough times that he had come to expect it. Come to depend upon it.
Much as he sometimes hated to admit it, Sydney was her mother's daughter. In some ways she is- she was- more Irina's daughter than his. And Irina, damn her, had been a force of nature.
He misses her, too. Misses her, and hates himself for that. Among so many other things. So very, very many...
He can try to lay the blame with Irina, can say that she started this, and that he only finished it. But he'd be lying. He's lied to more people than he can ever count, but somehow this is one lie he can't tell anymore, not even to himself.
It was Irina's departure when Sydney was still a child that had been the catalyst for Jack's own actions, but he knows himself well enough to realize that he likely would have done the same things, regardless.
He remembers Project Christmas, remembers puzzle pieces coming together in Sydney's hands, her movements quick and sure. Her small, sweet face turning up towards him, looking for approval. Asking if she had put the pieces together correctly.
When he closes his eyes at night and tries to sleep, this is all he sees.
He is going to find out who killed his daughter, no matter how long it takes. No matter what it takes.
But in a way it almost doesn't matter who started the fire that destroyed his last hope for the future.
In his heart, Jack knows that he is the one who killed her.
