I'm not sure anybody even remembers this, but I decided I was sick and tired of it not being done, so it's going to be finished, if only for my own sake!

0O0O0O0O0O0

It's impossible to say how long husband and wife would have sat there on the bench, caught firmly against one another as if they were the only two people in the world, had the little voice that made up the third part of their family not interrupted with a happy shout.

"Mommy, Daddy, look! Lookit me!"

So both parents looked, and both parents reacted.

"Sydney!" Laura was on her feet, rage and concern intermingling dangerously, "Sydney Anne Bristow come down from there this instant!"

"But Mommy, it's so much fun! Everybody looks so tiny!"

"Sydney, you heard your mother. Come down here at once!" Jack ended on such a bellow that half the children within earshot promptly burst into tears, and as their harried mothers rushed to collect them they shot bitter glares at the Bristows.

Had the Bristows noticed this, Jack would have been instantly apologetic and Laura immediately defensive, but circumstances were such that they didn't even notice; they were too busy staring in horror at their flushed, triumphant daughter, who had managed to make it not only to the top of the jungle gym, but from there to the very top of the sliding pole, where she was now perched in high state, grinning down at the playground some ten to fifteen feet below her.

"Sydney Anne, I am warning you!" Laura's voice carried a tone that her daughter knew far better than to ignore. With a sulky scowl, Sydney gripped the bar on which she sat and prepared to descend.

"Alright, alright," she could be heard to grumble, but whatever else she might have planned to say was immediately eclipsed by her own shrill scream as one shoe missed its purchase on the smooth side of the pole, and suddenly, terrifyingly, she was dangling from that same pole by only one hand.

Both her parents bolted forward, her mother crying out as her father shouted her name, and Sydney's answering shriek of terror set the few children who hadn't been frightened by Jack into fits of crying themselves.

"Sydney!" Laura reached the edge of the playground complex and began impatiently threading her way through the myriad equipment scattered about, "Sydney, hold on, sweetheart, we're- no, Jack not there, you won't fit! Go around!"

So Jack did, but as he did Sydney gave another wail and declared that her hands were slipping. By now Laura had cleared most of the equipment and almost reached the ground below her daughter, but Jack was still struggling to force his way past narrow bars and what suddenly seemed to be an army of children. It was all he could do not to use one arm to sweep them aside as he waited impatiently for the way before him to open up.

As he waited, though, two things happened- the first and most important being that Laura reached the base of the pole Sydney held, and the second being that Sydney's hand slipped from that pole and she plummeted down to land squarely on top of her mother, who may or may not have planned it that way.

Whether or not Laura had planned it, Sydney's momentum was such that it knocked her mother off her feet, onto her back, the solid little body driving her deep into the sand. The air rushed from them both and they were still lying there, stunned, when Jack reached them a moment later.

"Laura!" he shouted, as Sydney blinked up at him and then looked back down at her mother. "Are you okay?"

"Mommy?" Sydney peered down into her mother's face. "You caught me. Sort of."

"Sort of," Laura gasped, though whether in response to Jack's question or affirmation of Sydney's observation was impossible to tell. "Sort of. I- my ribs . . ."

So Jack eased Sydney off her mother, told her to stay put, then bent to gently ease his wife up off the ground. Laura's face was ashen and set as she kept one arm pressed to her side, and Jack helped her to her feet.

"Cracked, at least," she murmured through set teeth, and Jack, accepting her verdict, scooped Sydney up in one arm and wrapped the other firmly around his wife.

"We're going to a hospital."

"Jack, no! We can't . . . you know we can't . . ."

"Laura, we're going. We can't not go. Sydney, sweetheart, don't cry; your mother is fine. Or she will be, once she sees a doctor."

"I'm not seeing any doctor!"

"Mommy," Sydney was stricken, "Mommy, is it my fault?"

"No, precious one, of course it's not. It was an accident."

"An accident that can be fixed by a doctor."

"Jack, we can't."

"Laura, you've got to."

"Mommy, please go to the doctor- he'll make you better."

"Sydney, I appreciate your concern but this is a grown-up conversation and the decision here will be made by gown ups. Or the one of us who is thinking clearly enough to deserve the title. I cannot see a doctor and your father is going to have to accept that."

"I'm taking you to the hospital if I have to club you over the head, throw you in the trunk and drive you there myself."

"If you do that, they'll never believe me when I tell them how I broke the rib."

"That is immaterial."

They had reached the car, and it was only Laura's injured state that enabled Jack to deposit Sydney in the back seat and his wife in the front without any real interference. Then he got behind the wheel, and set the key in the ignition.

"Laura, kindly pick up that visitors' guide and tell me where we may locate the nearest medical practitioner."

"I hear there's a witch doctor in the French Quarter who specializes in warts and pigheaded husbands."

"Nothing he can do for us, then. How about somebody who didn't get his degree from Community College of Cameroon?"

"Jack. For the LAST time-"

"That's a promise?"

"JACK!"

"Laura?"

For just a second he thought she would hit him, but the arm she raised must have pulled something painful because with a little gasp she dropped it abruptly and leaned back in her seat, panting. Jack took one look at her and slammed his fist down on the horn, sending tourists scattering as he peeled out of the parking lot.

"Sydney," he tossed the traveller's guide over his shoulder, "you got a very good grade in spelling. Why don't you look for the word H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L-S in there? Daddy will give you a cookie if you find it in under a minute."

"Okay, Daddy!" pleased to be of service, her little brown head bent over the book and searching industriously, Sydney was silent for about forty-seven seconds of that minute. Then she bobbed back up and carolled, "Daddy, I found it!"

"That's my girl. Now, spell out what's under it for me, will you?"

So Sydney did, and Jack checked the street signs, and in less than ten minutes the shaking, wheezing car was double-parked in front of New Orleans General.

By that point too pale to even argue, Laura could only glare mutinously as her husband as he handed her out and beckoned at their daughter to join them. Then the three of them made their way inside, Sydney skipping, Laura bent over and trying not to look too infirm, and Jack right by her side.

The really marvellous thing about breaking a rib is you tend to get an audience with a doctor very quickly. The less fortunate thing is that getting in at all requires some form of insurance, and for that, you have to give your name.

Laura would have cursed, spat, scratched and done anything else necessary to keep Jack from handing it over, but she couldn't; one hand plastered to her side, she propped herself up on the back of a chair and silently loathed the room for daring to spin. Sydney stood at her mother's side, confused and concerned, and Jack gave them his name.

His real name.

"You idiot," his wife moaned, then the world spun round her again, and this time it took her down with it.

0O0O0O0O0O0

Laura regained consciousness in a hospital bed. Sydney was perched on a stool beside her, carefully sounding out words from a colourful magazine she held as Jack, settled in a vinyl armchair on the other side of the bed, coached her.

"The duke," Sydney sounded out carefully, "picked her up in his- his strong . . . sin . . . sinehh . . . sinawwy . . ."

"Sinewy."

"Sinewy arms, and care- carried her up the hill, to whirr-ee . . . to where the . . . cottizh? Cottage was. It was dark, and cold, but the Lady didn't care. Because she knew when they were inside, the duke would bane . . . bann-eye . . . baneesh?"

"Banish."

"Banish the chill by-"

"Sydney Anne, you put that down right now! Jack! Where did she get that?" On that furious note Laura tried to sit up, but quickly thought better of it when a wave of nausea overtook her. Jack glanced over.

"Oh, good- you're awake. I told them they could keep you under while they taped you up, but they didn't tell me how long you'd be out."

There were so many things she could have said to that, but none of them seemed really appropriate with her daughter sitting right beside her. So instead she spared Sydney a quick smile before turning her attention to her husband.

"What was it, exactly?"

"Ribs, dear. Just like you said."

Her expression may have warned him he was really pushing his luck, so he delivered the rest of his report.

"One clean break, two cracked and one bruised. She packs a punch, our daughter does."

"Mommy, did I hurt you very much?" Sydney wanted to know, and for one wild second Laura was tempted to tell her the truth, but in the end she simply shook her head.

"Mommy's had worse," she promised, so Sydney beamed, and would have gone back to reading about the duke and his lady in the dark, chilly cottage had her mother's hand not snaked out and plucked the offending literature from her daughter's hand.

"Censorship, Laura?" Jack smiled at her. "Is that the Communist in you coming out?"

It could have been offensive, but instead it just made her laugh.

"Burn eet," she decreed with as thick an accent as she knew how to affect, casting the magazine into her husband's lap. "I vill not tolerate zis . . . bourgeois Capitaleest Americano feelth in my presence."

"That's about three different nationalities you've managed to incorporate right there," Jack laughed, but he did slide the magazine out of sight.

Smiling fondly at him, Laura sobered long enough to voice a question.

"When did they say they'll release me?"

At the question, Jack sobered too.

"You don't need to worry about that right now. I want you to rest."

"I can't afford to rest," she tried to speak as forcefully as she could without raising her voice. "Jack, these people will come for me. I don't know about yours, but mine, I can promise you, are not going to wait for me to get better. They'll have your name flagged and the moment that charge goes through to the insurance company, they'll be after us. We have to get out; now."

He looked unhappy about it, but at least he didn't argue. That was one of the best things about Jack, really; he knew when not to push it. Instead, he got to his feet and went to see about release forms. In his absence, the Bristow ladies regarded each other, the smaller of the two infinitely more solemn than the larger. At last, Sydney spoke.

"I know it was my fault."

"Oh, sweetheart, no-"

"If I hadn't been up there, you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It's my fault."

"Sydney, no. Mommy chose to get hurt. To protect you, Mommy chose to let you fall on her. Do you understand? Mommy saw what would happen if you fell, and she decided that she couldn't let that happen. So she stood under you as you fell." Laura held her daughter's eyes, trying to impress the truth upon her. "This was Mommy's choice. Mommy's fault. Nobody's but mine."

Sydney looked suspicious at first, and seemed to be considering this very carefully. At last, she ventured a question.

"Promise?"

"Promise," Laura said, with such conviction that Sydney's whole face lit up and she leaped off her stool to fling her arms around her mother, who didn't care that suddenly her torso was screaming at her, since they were her daughter's arms she felt.

"That's my girl," she affirmed, then gently slid Sydney back so she could get a good look at her. "Now. When Daddy comes back, he may have some sort of excuse but I think we'll be able to work around it. And once we do, we'll be going back to the camp site and packing up the tent-" she had to raise her voice slightly over Sydney's cry of dismay, "packing up the tent and going deeper into the camp site. Maybe even right out of it. Because I know Daddy won't let me drive, but I won't let him drive all day and all night either, so we're going to have to get creative."

"But where would we go if we didn't stay at the camp?" Sydney wanted to know, so Laura suggested she retrieve the visitors' guide from beside Jack's chair so the two of them could look for likely alternatives. Louisiana didn't offer many.

"It may have to be the camp site after all," Laura concluded at last, and Sydney couldn't remember ever seeing her mother look so concerned. "Maybe we could go further in . . . abandon the car, follow one of the nature trails and set up off the path . . ." She was talking to herself, now; unmindful of Sydney's presence, immersed in the task at hand, her fingers flew over the map, calculating, tapping out a graceful, staccato rhythm in time to the clicking of her own mental gears. "Invisible's impossible. Maybe later, but not now. We'll have to buy supplies . . . another cooler. Lots of ice . . . Sydney," with a sudden shift of focus, "pass Mommy that notepad, please; and a pen."

Sydney did, feeling suddenly solemn in the face of her mother's anxiety. She delivered the tools then stood quietly at the side and watched as Mommy's hand flew across the paper, making quick, bold strokes that didn't look like anything Sydney had ever seen before.

"Mommy?" she ventured at last. "Is that in code?"

"Not exactly," the tone of the reply made it clear that only half the speaker's mind was on conversation. "It's shorthand. And Russian. That's Mommy's language."

"Oh." Sydney watched as the Russian shorthand notes grew more and more prolific, then tried another question. "If it's your language, Mommy, does that make it my language too?"

"No, sweetheart, languages don't work like that. You could learn it, though, if you like; Mommy would be happy to teach you once we set up our new camp."

"Okay, Mommy," Sydney cheered up at the thought, "I'd like that."

With this promise acquired, she was perfectly content to stand where she was and watch Mommy continue to make notes until Daddy came back and said he had started the ball rolling; whatever that meant. Mommy seemed to know; at least, she didn't look around for any ball (the way Sydney did) but instead passed the notepad to Daddy, who looked at it, blinked, looked at Mommy, and then back to the notepad.

"Something to occupy your time as you wait for the papers to clear," Mommy told him, and somehow she made it sound nice; as if there was a joke between them. Daddy didn't seem to know the joke, though, because he sighed, and told Sydney to go stand by the window and count how many cars were in the parking lot. Then, as Sydney went to do so, Daddy and Mommy began having a very heated conversation in many funny words that Sydney didn't understand. The conversation ended when Daddy sighed and made the annoyed sounds he always did when he lost a fight, then stomped out of the room. Mommy spoke to her then, in English this time, and said,

"Sydney, while we wait for your father why don't you get Mommy her clothes? I think you'll find they're in that cupboard over there."

Sydney did as she was told, and then closed the curtains around them both so Mommy could get dressed. It was funny to watch- or it would have been, if Mommy's awkward little hops, twists and grimaces hadn't looked like they were hurting her so much as she struggled into her jeans and then tried to pull her shirt on over all the bandages wrapped around her tummy. Sydney, watching, grew concerned, and when Mommy saw this she made Sydney turn around and look at the curtains instead. At last she said she was done, so Sydney was able to shove the curtains back and get back up on her stool, while Mommy sat on the bed with the makeup she took from her purse, and made her face look even nicer than it already did.

"What do you think?" she twinkled at her daughter once the process was done, and Sydney declared she was beautiful. Laura laughed, slipped the cosmetics back into the depths of her purse, and faced her child.

"So. Are you with me? We convince Daddy that what we want more than anything else in the world is to take the tent and the coolers further in; we'll put on our boots and we'll have a proper hike! Then we can set up camp off one of the trails, and then we have a real campout- miles away from everywhere!"

"Yeah!" Sydney's eyes shone as she caught wind of the carefully-contrived excitement in her mother's voice. She bounced happily on her seat and clapped her hands, although secretly she wasn't too sure about the 'miles away from everywhere' part. She had a sneaking suspicion that not too many people went miles anyway from everywhere, which meant that finding people to play with could prove rather difficult. Still, if it made Mommy this happy, she was willing to give it a try. So she and Mommy shook on it, and then Mommy let her get on the hospital bed once she had promised not to poke Mommy's sides, because they still hurt a little.

So Sydney cuddled up against Mommy on the little bed (Mommy even let her put the head and the feet up and down! But not at the same time, Sydney discovered, because that made Mommy groan) and Mommy told her stories about a mysterious wisewoman who came from a faraway land and wed a noble soldier in the king's army. It was a very good story, as stories went, but as Sydney felt her eyelids drooping she couldn't shake the feeling that it was a story she had already heard somewhere before. But it didn't seem too important now, because her eyes were so heavy and the bed was so cosy and Mommy was so warm that suddenly Sydney felt as if she just couldn't stay awake any longer. So Mommy put her arm around her, whispered to her to get some rest, and Sydney did.

0O0O0O0O0O0

I don't know how many people are intimately familiar with the first season, but those who are might recall a family recollection Syd had about a certain hiking trip, and if you do, you'll have a good idea of what's coming up next. If you don't, well, that's okay, because it's not really crucial that you do anyway, since I'm going to write about that very shortly- and if you don't want to believe it until you see it, then I really can't say I blame you!