"Liar, Liar" by AquarianLady aka Waterdancer
Distribution: CD as always. Anyone else please ask.
Summary: "Liar, Liar. Pants on fire." Will thinks of Sydney's lies after Rendezvous.
Rating: PG/PG-13
Classification: Drama/Angst/General.
A/N: Thanks to Robin, and Rach for the beta help.
***
"Liar, Liar. Pants on fire." The childish taunt that has been in your mind for the past few weeks becomes louder as you take a sip from your second glass of whiskey. Its amber fluid burns as it goes down your throat.
The taunt started playing in your head when you first contacted Jack Bristow about your kidnapping. It began when he chuckled and told you that you had the wrong person. However, it remained silent while he told you the bigger lie, the one you wanted to believe.
"Jack, does your daughter know?" He blinked a few times as if a needle had pricked him.
"Jack, is Sydney involved?" He took a deep breath and calmly replied, "No, she isn't."
"Liar, Liar. Pants on fire."
"Monsieur, would you like another glass?" a pretty waitress asks you in accented English from across the counter inside a bar at Charles de Gaulle airport.
"Non," you reply, careful to accent it properly. The French intelligence officer shouted so many phrases at you that you aren't sure if you said it right.
The waitress seems to be satisfied with your answer, and she walks away. You look down at the false passport in front of you. Grimacing, you look at your ID picture. With your black wig and blue eyes, you look like the bastard child of Ringo Starr and Faye Dunaway. Under normal circumstances, this would have made for a great Halloween costume, but as you look at the name on your id--Patrice LaFont--you come to the conclusion that these aren't normal circumstances.
"When you arrive at the airport, you will go to the bar that is closest to the international departures, and have a drink—"
"A drink?"
The agent flashed you a crooked smile--he was missing his left canine tooth.
"Monsieur, you look like you need it." He laughs heartily as if this is a normal occurrence for him. His cohort, who is driving, laughs loudly with him. You want to scream.
"Monsieur?" someone says behind you in accented English. It's the pretty waitress again.
"Yes?" you reply quietly. You feel your shoulders tense up. You tried to mask your American accent. You tried.
"You've dropped your airline ticket," she replies, reaching over your shoulder and handing you your ticket, the one with the false name.
"Merci," you say, taking it from her hand and placing it in the inside pocket of the polyester jacket that it two sizes too big. You feel your heart stop racing as you watch her attend to her other customers.
"Vol numéro 5648 partant pour Los Angeles, la Californie. Maintenant embarquant." The PA squawks your flight-number first in French, then in English and other languages from around the world.
You place five Euro dollars on the counter, hoping its enough. The waitress takes the money off of the counter and smiles shyly at you. "Merci."
***
Sydney flaming red--or was it brown hair?--comes to your mind as you board the plane and settle into your seat. The churning emotions that come with the memory of her kicking ass all over the club scare you. You don't know if you should be in awe or just scared shitless. The flight attendant walks down the aisle and hands you a blanket and a pillow. She looks down at you sympathetically and whispers, "We'll be taking off soon, Monsieur. Then you can sleep." To your amazement, you feel yourself drifting off before she reaches the front of the plane.
***
You're looking at the mirror in what can only be described as a sparsely decorated living room in the middle of L.A. when you hear the door open. It's Sydney.
"Liar, Liar. Pants on fire." That damn taunt comes to mind again as you stare at her. You turn and walk around the back of the couch.
"I told you not to pursue this story," she says with a hint of anger in her voice. You want to shout, "And all I ever wanted is for you to be honest. You're a liar, Sydney!"
"Danny was killed because he knew. They were going to kill me too."
Suddenly, the anger leaves you. "That's why you asked for my sister's passport," you say to her, but you're cursing yourself inwardly. You knew something was going on, but every time Sydney batted her eyes at you, it was forgotten.
"I only went after this story because of Danny," you say. Danny. It always came back to Danny. You breathe deeply to control your emotions. Danny was your friend, but you were in love with his girlfriend. You wince inwardly. You come to the realization that you aren't in love with her anymore. "You didn't have any answers as to who killed the man you loved. I just couldn't stand it. It broke my heart. I wanted to help."
She asks that you don't say anything to anyone about what you know. You promise her that you won't. You couldn't and wouldn't forgive yourself if something happened to your parents, your sister or Francie.
"I know that you have a lot of questions, and I want to be able answer them," she says sitting down on the couch and taking a deep breath. You may not ask her for the truth, but you are tired of the lies.
So, you tell her that you don't love her because of what you she does. You just love her. This seems to appease her, because she simply says thank you.
"You need to get some rest, Will," she says as she walks out the door. "There are two agents behind that glass. You'll be okay."
You want to believe her, and it seems that the taunt that has played over and over again in your head has gone away. So, you just say, "Okay. I'll see you later."
***
There's a knock at the door. You clasp your hands together. "Thirty minutes or less," you say as you bound to the door. You stop like a deer caught in headlights when you see a young man with a slight smirk on his face aiming a gun at you. You try to will your body to move, to run. It does neither. As the bullet hits your chest and you fall to the floor, that childish taunt comes to mind again.
Liar, Liar. Pants on fire.