Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, this isn't my story, I'm just
telling parts of it someone else forgot. JJ, ABC, and Bad Robot own them
all and when I'm done playing with them I promise to put them away.
Chapter One: Irreversible
"You didn't tell her what you did to her after I left, did you?"
Those words pierced my heart when I heard them. Not because they came from the mouth of a woman who had hurt me in so many ways I've since lost count, but because they were the utter and unyielding truth. The same truth that I had feared Sydney would learn since the day I was told she was an agent. It was wrong, yes, I don't deny it, but I can't change it. No one can. And that is the reality that Sydney can't.won't come to. I've made mistakes. I've murdered, stolen, lied. Everything we do is irreversible. Most people take actions they can live with. I wish I was one of those people.
There is a list so long only God Himself knows it's true length. It goes on and on, starting with events that came to pass decades ago and then ending with, or rather leading up to ones more recent. This list is the one that describes the sins of a father: all the things that I have prayed would be wiped away for the sake of my daughter.
***
When Sydney came to me about seeing her mother, I was torn. I hated to see her interacting with Irina. I knew this woman; she was my wife, after all. She was charming, beautiful, endearing, and intelligent. These qualities made her seem the perfect mother, something Sydney had wanted all her life. However, those elements of her personality coupled with the fact that she was pure evil made her more dangerous than the devil himself. I wanted to lash out, tell my daughter to stay away from her, but I knew that would just drive Sydney farther from me. I trusted her, I did, but I didn't trust Irina. An alarm went off in the back of my mind when subjects quickly changed from Irina to Sydney's childhood, but I pushed them back. Then it came: the question, just a simple question, seemingly harmless.
"I have an impression of it, but I can't remember...was I a pilgrim? Or an Indian?"
What could I say? I couldn't tell her that she hadn't been in the play, she'd ask why. So I improvised, "You were neither, you were a turkey, you were the only turkey spared to celebrate the harvest." It worked, even got a smile out of her. I knew it wouldn't hold her over forever. It was only a matter of time before she discovered what I had done.
***
I know that when my involvement with the problems in Madagascar are discovered, regardless my motive or my intent, Vaughn, the CIA, and Sydney will be infuriated. I could care less about Vaughn's reaction. The CIA is just as meaningless to me, there's not much they can punish me with. But Sydney, Sydney, she would crucify me. With every word, every glare, every move, she would damage me. This time I sent her mother away. It was my fault they were separated now. Though Sydney refused to admit it, she longed for her mother. She hung on every word Irina spoke, praying that it would help the CIA and simultaneously, prove her allegiance. What Sydney refused to accept was what I had dealt with 21 years ago in solitary confinement: Laura Bristow was a lie; the last decade of my life had been a lie; the birth of my only child, my little girl had been the consummation of a lie. Sydney couldn't bring herself to that realization. So, through my own deceit, I forced her to do so. I made her believe that she had been close to falling into her mother's trap. I lied to her again. It was justified I told myself; it was the right thing to do. It's amazing how the brain can twist reality in so many different directions that you believe what it's telling you.
***
Sydney came to me when she returned from Madagascar. She was exhausted; mentally, physically, and emotionally worn out. I understood; I had felt that way for most of my life since Irina (Laura), since Irina had left us. My daughter stood there before me on the verge of tears. She was talking, choking and stumbling over every word, but I didn't hear them. I was wondering how I could have let this get so out of hand. I forced myself out of my thoughts and back to Sydney. She looked so helpless, so small. For the first time since she was a child I put my arms around her. I held her tight and she squeezed back. She was whispering apologies through coughs and cries; my heart broke again. Not since pigtails and Barbies, heart- covered sheets and visits from the tooth-fairy had I been allowed to comfort my daughter. Here I was now, though, I was comforting her because of my own misgivings, not from an absent mother or an invisible evil. This was my fault. After this was over, my daughter would never trust me again.
Chapter One: Irreversible
"You didn't tell her what you did to her after I left, did you?"
Those words pierced my heart when I heard them. Not because they came from the mouth of a woman who had hurt me in so many ways I've since lost count, but because they were the utter and unyielding truth. The same truth that I had feared Sydney would learn since the day I was told she was an agent. It was wrong, yes, I don't deny it, but I can't change it. No one can. And that is the reality that Sydney can't.won't come to. I've made mistakes. I've murdered, stolen, lied. Everything we do is irreversible. Most people take actions they can live with. I wish I was one of those people.
There is a list so long only God Himself knows it's true length. It goes on and on, starting with events that came to pass decades ago and then ending with, or rather leading up to ones more recent. This list is the one that describes the sins of a father: all the things that I have prayed would be wiped away for the sake of my daughter.
***
When Sydney came to me about seeing her mother, I was torn. I hated to see her interacting with Irina. I knew this woman; she was my wife, after all. She was charming, beautiful, endearing, and intelligent. These qualities made her seem the perfect mother, something Sydney had wanted all her life. However, those elements of her personality coupled with the fact that she was pure evil made her more dangerous than the devil himself. I wanted to lash out, tell my daughter to stay away from her, but I knew that would just drive Sydney farther from me. I trusted her, I did, but I didn't trust Irina. An alarm went off in the back of my mind when subjects quickly changed from Irina to Sydney's childhood, but I pushed them back. Then it came: the question, just a simple question, seemingly harmless.
"I have an impression of it, but I can't remember...was I a pilgrim? Or an Indian?"
What could I say? I couldn't tell her that she hadn't been in the play, she'd ask why. So I improvised, "You were neither, you were a turkey, you were the only turkey spared to celebrate the harvest." It worked, even got a smile out of her. I knew it wouldn't hold her over forever. It was only a matter of time before she discovered what I had done.
***
I know that when my involvement with the problems in Madagascar are discovered, regardless my motive or my intent, Vaughn, the CIA, and Sydney will be infuriated. I could care less about Vaughn's reaction. The CIA is just as meaningless to me, there's not much they can punish me with. But Sydney, Sydney, she would crucify me. With every word, every glare, every move, she would damage me. This time I sent her mother away. It was my fault they were separated now. Though Sydney refused to admit it, she longed for her mother. She hung on every word Irina spoke, praying that it would help the CIA and simultaneously, prove her allegiance. What Sydney refused to accept was what I had dealt with 21 years ago in solitary confinement: Laura Bristow was a lie; the last decade of my life had been a lie; the birth of my only child, my little girl had been the consummation of a lie. Sydney couldn't bring herself to that realization. So, through my own deceit, I forced her to do so. I made her believe that she had been close to falling into her mother's trap. I lied to her again. It was justified I told myself; it was the right thing to do. It's amazing how the brain can twist reality in so many different directions that you believe what it's telling you.
***
Sydney came to me when she returned from Madagascar. She was exhausted; mentally, physically, and emotionally worn out. I understood; I had felt that way for most of my life since Irina (Laura), since Irina had left us. My daughter stood there before me on the verge of tears. She was talking, choking and stumbling over every word, but I didn't hear them. I was wondering how I could have let this get so out of hand. I forced myself out of my thoughts and back to Sydney. She looked so helpless, so small. For the first time since she was a child I put my arms around her. I held her tight and she squeezed back. She was whispering apologies through coughs and cries; my heart broke again. Not since pigtails and Barbies, heart- covered sheets and visits from the tooth-fairy had I been allowed to comfort my daughter. Here I was now, though, I was comforting her because of my own misgivings, not from an absent mother or an invisible evil. This was my fault. After this was over, my daughter would never trust me again.