The East China Sea
Sydney slipped into the loose coverall with a sigh of gratitude; the white-leather pants were great to look at, but they were hell to move in, particularly after they got wet. She flipped over her head to towel her hair, taking care not to bump into the door of the painfully small restroom aboard the ship.
Now that it was over, and her parents were safe, Sydney was free to consider her first mission and how she felt about it. She'd had no expectations for the experience; early on, she realized it wouldn't resemble anything she'd known before, and that she'd only find out what it was like when she finally did it.
And so now she knew that it was absolutely, totally FANTASTIC. She'd had to use her brain, her instinct, her body, her will - God, it was like sex, but with more shooting. When they'd explained the mission to her, why hadn't they told her how exhilarating it was? The exhilaration didn't make you sloppy; it just made you stronger. This was the best she'd felt in, well, a long time. Months, maybe.
She tried - as she'd tried so often during the past few months - to push her melancholy to one side. Today of all days, she deserved to feel happy. Sydney finished tidying up and went out into the ship; her father was standing outside, waiting for her and trying not to look like it. "Bathroom's free," she said.
"I wasn't - I mean -" Her dad looked as flustered by normal human conversation as ever; once, she thought that was so funny, even cute. Finally, he just said, "You did good work today."
"Thanks." Unwillingly, Sydney felt a small flare of pride.
Apparently encouraged, he stepped a little closer. "Also - when you came back for us the dock - we needed the help. I wanted to say thank you."
"You don't have to thank me for doing my job." The momentary satisfaction she got from saying it died when she saw the brief flash of hurt in his eyes. She moved past him and up into the bridge, which held only Dixon, safe company and never more welcome.
"What's this I hear about a Jet-Ski?" Dixon grinned over his shoulder before turning back to the controls.
"I just remembered what you said in training: Don't be afraid to improvise."
"You're a natural." He patted her once on the shoulder. "Some sunset, huh? The volcanic ash does that - separates the colors, makes it more vivid."
"It's amazing," Sydney said, letting herself escape to a place where she perceived nothing but the brilliant reds and purples on the horizon.
This time last year, she thought, I was living in Los Angeles. It was a big deal if I got an A on a paper or drove up to Napa Valley for a week off. Now I serve the government, and I save lives, and I travel across the whole world.
So why was I happy then, and why am I miserable now?
She knew the answer, of course. It came from her unceasing anger at her father, and increasingly, her distance from her mother. As hard as her mother tried to patch up their damaged relationship - so hard - they only seemed to be pushing each other farther apart. Sometimes, Sydney thought, it felt as though she'd lost both of her parents instead of getting one of them back. Syd didn't understand why it was happening, but there was no denying it, no matter how much the fact depressed her.
A cell phone chimed merrily from her duffel bag, which she'd stowed with Dixon before the mission. Sydney dived for it, grateful for the distraction. "Hello?"
"Syd! Oh, thank God. I'm sorry to call so late, but I've been trying to get you all day."
"Sorry, Francie. Crazy day at the bank. Mega-crazy. Like you would not believe." That last part, at least, was true, which comforted Sydney; she wasn't used to lying to Francie, and she was sure she'd always hate it. "What's wrong? Don't tell me the florist flaked on you. Because I'm telling you, the flake factor on that guy is high."
"The florist is fine. I'm kinda more worried about the groom."
Sydney was silent for a second; she didn't want to have this discussion in front of Dixon, so she gave him an apologetic wave before heading back into the cabin, ducking her way through the narrow passage. "Francie, you have to talk to Charlie about this."
"It's almost our wedding day!" Francie moaned. "I kept telling myself that it was nothing, that I was being paranoid, and that when we got closer to being married, all the fear would go away. But it hasn't, Syd. It's only getting stronger."
"Maybe it's just cold feet. Every bride gets that, right?"
"Not every bride finds matchbooks with handwritten notes from strange women in her fiancé's jacket. Or notices how he keeps taking calls in different rooms, but when she answers the phone, it just hangs up."
"Talk to him." Sydney could hear footsteps approaching, and was angry with herself for wanting to rush Francie off the phone. "There's no way around it. You're not going to feel secure no matter what you do, not until you've talked to Charlie."
Her mother walked in, looking as polished as it was possible to look with wet hair. Sydney wondered if female agents picked this trick up, over time. She was smiling sadly over at Sydney; clearly, she'd overheard the phone conversation and felt bad about Francie's plight.
Correction: Clearly, she'd overhead the phone conversation and really wanted Sydney to know she felt badly about Francie's plight, so she'd be seen as sympathetic and caring. Was that unfair? Sydney didn't know. All she knew was something Mr. Sloane had told her a few months ago. It was possible for one person to need another person's love a little too much.
"It's five days until the wedding, Syd. Five freakin' days. If I ask him this now, he'd gonna think I haven't trusted him all along.'
"Well, you kinda haven't," Syd pointed out.
"Since when do I pay you to be objective?" The tension dissolved into laughter. "Okay, listen. We'll talk about it when you get back from - where is it?"
"Seattle. Starbucks Ground Zero. Talk to you then."
That left her alone with her mother, who stretched out languidly along the cabin sofa. "He's betraying her."
"You don't know that," Sydney said. In truth, she thought it was pretty likely - but they didn't have proof. "Charlie's a good man."
"As a famous author once wrote, a good man is hard to find." Her mom tucked her hair behind one ear, still studying her daughter with her laser-sharp eyes. Sydney knew her mother saw a lot, but Syd still wondered: How much of it was what she wanted to see? "You need to take care of your friend, Valentina. To give her the perspective she lacks, before she makes a terrible mistake."
"Don't even start."
"Start what?"
"Talking about what Dad did to you." The silence that followed this was ghastly, and Sydney didn't dare meet her mother's eyes again. "I'm sorry - it's just, I know what he did, okay? I know, and I hate it. But I think your situation doesn't exactly apply to Francie's, for more reasons than I can begin to get into."
"Believing in love instead of rationality will always destroy you, Valentina. That's as true in Francie's situation as it was in mine."
"I told you not to start." Sydney went out of the cabin without another word. Maybe it would be safe on the deck. Safe, and quiet and - while the sun was still setting - beautiful.
How many years had she longed for her mother in her life? And sometimes, she could be so wonderful - the mother Sydney had always remembered, loving and warm. She had even brought pashka to the office, baked just the way Sydney remembered it. In some ways, Irina was even more extraordinary than Sydney's childhood memories claimed, in ways she could never have known if she hadn't joined SD-6. Irina could break codes, defuse bombs and speak languages Sydney had hardly ever heard of; more than that, she could show Sydney all the tricks to learning how to do these things herself.
Of course, it turned out Dad could do everything too.
Sydney sighed and stared after the last bit of orange light left on the horizon; the air smelled of salt and spray, and she ran her hands through her damp hair, trying to use all of this to calm herself.
God, she thought, I'm even starting to miss the Number 5 special at Jade Dragon.
She was still angry with her father; she didn't think her anger would ever run dry. He'd made her entire life a lie, and that would never go away -
But her mother needed Sydney to hate him, and Sydney couldn't hate him. And, as Mr. Sloane had pointed out to her once, it was unfair of her mother to ask; her fury at her father was her own.
After the sun had finally set, and the whipping wind had dried her hair, Sydney went back inside the cabin - and instantly regretted it. Her mother and father were standing a few feet apart, arguing. Again.
"You keep trying to interfere in Sydney's life, including those areas that don't concern you."
"I'm Valentina's mother. What isn't supposed to concern me? Those barriers are hers to draw, not yours, and so far, she's mostly drawn them around you."
Sydney slammed her hand against the nearest desk; the sound startled both her parents into turning to stare at her. "Listen to me," she said, breathing hard with anger she didn't bother concealing. "Neither of you gets to decide how I'm going to feel about the other one, okay? My relationship with Mama is between me and Mama." She met her father's eyes for only a moment before staring at her mother. "My relationship with Dad is between me and Dad. I am not a poker chip in your own personal high-stakes game. You are both going to stop it, and you're going to stop it now."
The cabin was completely silent for a few seconds, until her father said quietly. "You're right, Sydney."
"I'm sorry, Valentina."
"And another thing - from now on, I'm using one name. Just one name. Out of all the things I'm sick of hearing you two argue about, my name has got to be number one." She took a deep breath. "My name is Sydney. That's what I've used for years, and that's what I'm using from now on. And Dad, don't even think about treating this as a victory. I chose this one because that's the name Mr. Sloane gave me. The name my friends use, Danny and Francie and Will, the people who care about me more than they care about their own baggage. Got it?"
Silence.
"Good," she said.
Her mother's eyes were dark with something that could have been pain or rage or a terrible mixture of both. Sydney had the sense that she'd crossed some line, one she couldn't define, but one that had meant a lot to her mother.
Just a few months ago, when her mother had taken her in her arms, Sydney had thought she'd never be able to imagine being separated from her again. At this moment, it felt as though they'd never be anything but separate.
"You really want that name?" her mother said. "The name they gave you to hide you from me?"
"It's my decision. It's my name."
Her father was looking between her and her mother. Apparently he'd never realized before that they didn't exactly get along. He didn't look happy about it, though. In fact, he looked just like her mother: tired, wet and lost. They both stood there awkwardly, not acknowledging each other, not saying a word.
Before she could start to feel guilty, Sydney turned and went to the bridge. Thank God for Dixon.
**
Pachebel's Canon in D rang throughout the chapel, and the first bridesmaid had already begun her walk down the aisle.
"This is NOT the time!" Sydney said, grabbing Francie's hands in hers; their bouquets tumbled to the floor. The other bridesmaids were beginning to look backwards and stare; Will, in his usher's tuxedo, was gingerly stepping toward them, as if both afraid to intrude and afraid not to. "The ceremony - Francie, this is happening!"
"Maybe this shouldn't happen," Francie said. Behind the veil, Sydney could see the tears welling in her eyes. "Oh, God. You were right; I should've talked to him. A long time before now."
"To put it mildly," Will said, glancing as the next bridesmaid hesitantly began her own journey down the aisle.
"Listen - maybe we can stall." Syd smoothed her hands down the front of her ice-blue strapless gown, which gave her an idea. "Say there's some kind of emergency. Like, with the dress."
"What kind of emergency can she possibly have with her dress?" Will asked.
"There are always emergencies with formal dresses. Every time. Every wedding or prom that's ever been held has had a dress emergency. I don't know why, but it's true." One more bridesmaid began her walk, but Sydney began to suspect it would be the last "That'll buy us half an hour, and I know we can get Charlie back here, and he can explain." Maybe, Syd thought sourly, but didn't add.
"We don't need to do that," said Francie's father. He had been standing back slightly, watching his daughter cling to her friends, but now he walked forward and put his arm around her shoulder. Both Sydney and Will stepped back in deference, and also in a kind of awe. Syd had thought only her father could suddenly take charge of a moment this way, but maybe it was a dad thing. "Baby, there's only one question you need to ask, and you don't need to ask Charlie. You need to ask yourself."
Francie stared up at her father, holding on to his arm in perfect trust; Syd remembered that feeling, and tears begin to well in her eyes. "What's that?"
"Do you trust the man standing at the end of that aisle? If you do, if this is just your nerves getting the better of you, then put those aside and walk up there. But if you don't, then end this wedding right now. You have to trust this man with your future, Francie. With the children you hope to have, with your money, with everything that matters to you as a person. Your mother and I have only made it this far in life by depending on each other. Don't walk up there and promise yourself to someone you can't depend on."
For a few moments, everyone was still, and only the Canon in D broke the silence. The flower girl, blithely unaware of any problem and bored with waiting for maid of honor Sydney to begin, walked through the doors, flinging rose petals as she went. Then Francie whispered, "Dad - you and Mom have paid for this ceremony, and the dress, and -"
"That's just money," Mr. Calfo said. "That doesn't matter to me as much as your happiness. So answer the question. Do you trust Charlie?"
The organist swung into the bridal march, playing the fanfare with flourish. Francie sobbed once, then drew in a shaky breath. "No. I don't trust him."
"Then this wedding is over," Francie's father said. Will and Sydney stared at each other in shock for a second before hurrying to Francie's side.
"I have to tell everyone," Francie whispered; when Sydney hugged her, she could feel her friend's body shaking. "I have to go out there -"
Mr. Calfo shook his head. "I'll do it, baby. You go with your friends, now."
Will rubbed her back. "You have a totally great dad, you know that?"
Francie nodded, then winced as her father went through the door alone and gasps of shock resounded through the church. "I should go down to the rectory and wait for Charlie. I owe him an explanation."
"That's the mature thing to do," Sydney said. "The considerate thing."
"Agreed," Will said. "So - what are we actually going to do?"
They all looked at each other for a long second before Will answered his own question: "Run."
**
"Hellooooo," Francie crooned, waving at some patrons who were staring at them across the bar. Her wedding dress was tucked up around her in the booth, crinkling as she moved. "I didn't get married today. How are you?"
"I think she's had enough," said Danny, who had responded to Sydney's phone call by meeting them at the bar, and now sat next to Sydney with his arms folded across his chest.
Will sighed. "In this particular situation, I'm not sure you can have enough." He studied at the empty cosmopolitan glasses that littered their table for a moment. "Then again, if there's a barrier, Francie may have found it."
"Two words," Danny said. "Alcohol poisoning. I see enough of that in the ER without watching Francie do it to herself, and I honestly don't think she needs the extra trauma today, do you?"
Sydney took her friend's hands and felt them, smooth and warm in her own; Will had pocketed the engagement ring a couple hours ago. "I don't think she slept at all last night," Syd said. "She could probably stand to go home and get some rest."
"And that is the cue for Will's Chauffeur Service to spring into action." When Will stood up and held out his hand, Francie burst into giggles. "Your chariot awaits, milady."
Still laughing, Francie took his arm and allowed herself to be hauled more or less upright. Leaning heavily against Will's shoulder, she said, "Love you guys."
"Love you too," Sydney said, watching after her friend as Will steered her outside. Then she sighed heavily and looked at Danny. "What a nightmare."
"And people always say weddings are boring. Don't know where they get that." Danny let his head fall back, as though he were exhausted. "You should have heard Mr. Calfo. Speaking ex tempore under stress must be a specialty of his. Without actually saying so, he somehow managed to make it quite clear that, while Francie was leaving, it was all Charlie's fault in some greater cosmic sense. Which I'm pretty sure it is - he made a couple of jokes 'with the guys' that always made me wonder."
"You never mentioned it," Sydney said absently.
"Seemed rather skimpy evidence on which to convict. In retrospect, I should have said something. I apologize."
Francie's father had been so calm today, so loving, so absolutely in control. Could her father have done that for her? Sydney thought - no, she knew - that he could have, and would have. Dad screwed up so much of the little stuff - the day-to-day moments - but when everything fell apart, he came through.
Then she remembered when her mother's life fell apart, and why.
According to Francie's father, it was all about trust - and there had been none between her parents, not really, not ever. Her father had betrayed that before he even met her mother. All Syd's childhood memories of tenderness had been lies. And yet, as Mr. Calfo had talked about marriage and love, Sydney had found herself imagining her father stroking her mother's hair as they lay in bed together on a Saturday morning.
"Maybe there's no such thing as trust," Sydney said. "I mean, real trust. The kind Mr. Calfo was talking about."
"I beg your pardon?"
"He was talking about trusting somebody with your whole life, your whole future. All of yourself. And does anybody actually do that? I mean, for real?" Sydney tugged up her strapless dress as she spoke, suddenly aware of how tight and uncomfortable it was and how badly she wanted to change. "Is it ever a good idea if you do? I'm not sure it is."
Danny ran a hand over his hair, looking as ill at ease as she felt. "That's awfully cynical."
Sydney shrugged. "It's like Mr. Calfo said. In the end, there's only one person you can trust, and that's yourself."
"I don't believe that was exactly his message," Danny replied. "And I think that's my cue to go."
"You're headed home?" She swirled the inch of Chardonnay left in her glass and wondered if it was worth drinking.
"Well, yes. But I meant - Sydney -" When their eyes met, she knew.
"Oh, Danny, no. I didn't mean it like that."
"But you meant it." Danny rose to his feet; his face was sad, but so sure, as certain as Sydney had ever seen it. "Besides, it's more than that, and you know it."
"Is this because of the time I've been spending at the bank? I know it's a hassle, but we'll adjust. You just have to give it some time."
"It's not about the bloody bank. I'd never hold that against you, not with my schedule at the hospital." He paused before adding, "It's about the fact that everything between us has changed in the past seven months, and not for the better. You used to tell me everything, Sydney, and now you tell me nothing."
Because I can't tell you, she wanted to say. Because there are rules, and regulations, and I'm doing important work, work that matters more than you'll ever know. Instead, she just had to nod. "I realize things are different between us, but Danny -- I still love you as much as ever. You know that, right?"
Danny leaned his head back, as if to stare at the ceiling. "I still love you too, Syd. I always will, I think. But - lately - it seems as though love isn't enough. You're unhappy now, Sydney. I'm making you unhappy, and I don't understand why, and I can't bear that. There was a time when I thought - when we were -" He closed his eyes, then said, "The best is past us. We both realize it. Let's try and behave like adults about it."
"Adults?" Sydney found herself remembering a spinning kick they'd taught her in training. "Adults don't run out on each other -" She had meant to add, "the first time things get hard," but then she remembered her father and mother again and choked up.
"Don't make this more difficult. Please," Danny said. "Today has been awful enough already. I'm sorry to add to it."
She let Danny get out the door before she started crying. The patrons were staring again, and Sydney figured one more Chardonnay wouldn't be the world's worst idea.
**
After she got home, she had to talk to somebody. Francie - passed out across her bed in her wedding gown, looking like a rogue blancmange - was not an option. Besides, Sydney needed perspective, maturity, emotional support. So she knew who to call.
"Oh, Sydney. I'm so sorry." Just the sound of Mr. Sloane's voice soothed her aching spirit. "I know you must be hurting."
Sydney wiped tears from her cheeks. "I keep thinking - there's something I could've said, or done, that would've made him realize I wasn't talking about us. That he's not the one who's been making me unhappy."
"Your parents have left you with a lot of scars. That's not your fault. The man who's worthy of you is going to have to understand that."
"How is Danny ever supposed to understand when I can't tell him?"
Mr. Sloane sighed; he was speaking softly, so as not to wake Emily. "If he loved you the way he ought to - he'd understand without being told. Love is about faith, after all."
That's not right, she thought. I've become distant and secretive and moody - of course Danny feels threatened. "There has to be a way I can put this right. If I can just talk to him -"
"To win him back? I don't think that's your responsibility. He's the one in the wrong here, Sydney. Don't forget that."
Sydney felt herself beginning to cry harder. Mr. Sloane was probably right. He always was. And of all the people she knew, he was the only one who'd ever made a relationship actually work.
"Shhh," Mr. Sloane whispered. "Don't cry. I never could bear that, hearing you cry."
"I wish I could talk to my mother about this." When she'd been a teenager, going through her first breakups, she'd longed for the presence of her mother, imagining comforting hugs and long talks and impromptu trips for consoling ice cream. The images flickered before her like a mirage. "I mean - I guess I could do with some man-bashing right around now."
"This might be a good time to reach out to her." Mr. Sloane didn't sound wholly convinced. "She said something - well, I take it the two of you had something of an altercation after your first mission. Or did I misunderstand?"
"It wasn't a big deal." Sydney knew she was lying - worse, she knew Mr. Sloane knew she was lying. Somehow she'd managed to forget about that fight for a little while. Just the memory of the betrayal and anger in her mother's eyes was more than enough to keep Sydney from calling her for gentleness and comfort. "Dad - when I would split up with some boy or another, he never knew what to say. He'd always just end up buying me something."
"Doesn't sound very comforting."
Sydney remembered a CD player that had been sitting on the foot of her bed once in tenth grade. "He wasn't ever somebody I could talk to about stuff like that. But still - it helped, just knowing that he cared. That he had gone to the trouble, you know? Sometimes that was enough."
"But you're not a child to be consoled with toys anymore." As she sighed, Mr. Sloane confided, "I suppose I may as well say it - I never thought Danny was the one for you."
"You - you never said anything."
"It wasn't my place. But now, I think it might do you some good to hear it."
"I guess so." Sydney thought, now that Danny's gone. When she'd phoned Mr. Sloane, she'd been sure that she would at least try to win him back. But already she could feel that slipping away from her; Danny was drifting away, fading into her past.
"You deserve so much more than Daniel Hecht. You're meant for greater things. Don't ever doubt that. Don't ever stop believing in yourself."
Despite the tears still streaming down her face, Sydney found herself smiling. Even if she had lost Danny, even if her parents spent the rest of their lives tearing each other apart, she would always have one person who truly believed in her. She would always have her missions. And - most secret of all, so secret that it was only between her and Mr. Sloane, that she had never dreamed of speaking it aloud to another human being - she would always know that she was the woman destined to uncover the power of Milo Rambaldi's work. The woman of the prophecy - for good or for ill.
She whispered, "Thanks, Mr. Sloane. For everything."
**
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