Unknown Faces
Author: Pharo
Disclaimer: 'Alias' belongs to ABC, Bad Robot, and JJ Abrams.
Summary: It's easy to lose yourself when you've become so many others.
Spoilers: "Double Agent".
Feedback: pharo@newyork.com
'the people we've become, well, they've never been the people who we are…'
–Matchbox Twenty, 'Busted'She's gone and he's not sure if he even exists anymore.
He sits in the kitchen and tries to remember all the people they had become – every signature he faked and every face he pretended was his. He tries to remember all the identities he stole and pretended to be his own and the face of every man he put away for the sake of the greater good.
There is no greater good. What good are they fighting for if he feels this way now? All the missions and information, all the stamps on their files of being the best of the best and in the end, she died not knowing if anyone ever really gave a damn. She died thinking that he didn't care – that he never had cared.
He takes another drink from the cheap bottle of vodka. He'd stayed dry for about five years, but now he could care less of taking care of his problems in a sober state. He had nothing left to be sober for. He'd lost control the second he let her down.
"Jim?" he hears a voice call from the living room.
"Emma?"
For a second, he thinks that it was all a dream. The house is really in Fiji and she's going to come through the door and tell him that it better be iced tea that he's drinking. She's—
He sees her walk in with groceries. Emma never did the grocery shopping. She hated looking through the supply of oranges to find the best one. She didn't like waiting on the lines with shopping carts.
"Emma?" he whispers again.
He blinks, wondering when Emma dyed her hair brown.
"Baby, I was so—"
"Jim, it's Sydney," she says as she puts the groceries down.
He closes his eyes and sighs. He can't even get a grasp of reality any more.
"Beware of the grieving man and his bottle," he says, taking another gulp and holding up the half empty bottle.
"Jim," she says sadly, "what are you doing?"
"Trying to remember."
"Remember what?"
"What it is that we do."
She nods and her eyes tell him that she's been down this path before, too. The best agents go down this path at least once in their lives. That's what makes them as good as they are.
He laughs. Being the best got her killed.
"You know, I can't remember who they were."
"Who?"
"The people that we ruined. They were real people, but I can't remember a single fact about one of them," he says. "God help me, I ruined his life and I don't have the first clue about his family."
"Sometimes, it's better if you don't remember it all."
"It takes away your humanity."
"It helps you go on."
"We shouldn't have to sacrifice that much, Sydney," he says, shaking his head. "We shouldn't."
"I know."
His hand moves to grab the vodka bottle again, but she pulls it out of his reach.
"Don't, Jim."
He's too tired to argue with her. No amount of alcohol in the world could help him forget the pain.
"Sydney, she must've been so scared. She was in this strange place with, oh God, death strapped to her. She must've been so – damn it, she didn't even know that it wasn't me."
"Jim, don't do this to yourself."
He tries to blink away the tears.
"She never had a chance. He never – don't you see? She was standing there on that street so…so utterly alone and she knew. She knew that she was going to die and no one could do a damn thing about that."
She puts her hand on top of his and speaks slowly. So slowly she tells him that she's been in the same situation before. He realizes that she knows that the world is going by so fast in his mind, but his pain is drawing on ever so slowly. She's slowing it down the world down for him.
She's been here before.
"But you can't put yourself through this, Jim," she finishes.
He jerks his hand away from hers and knocks down the paper bag of groceries. An orange rolls toward his hand and he can't help the anger he feels.
"Don't. Don't give me that. You know perfectly well that you did the same thing when it happened to you. You can't stop it even if you want to because it's on this…this endless loop. And you don't want to stop it because that's all you have. That's all I have of her, Sydney!"
"No," she says quickly. "No, you have so much more. You have memories."
He shakes his head furiously – he can't tell if things are getting blurry because of the stinging tears or because the vodka is finally kicking in.
"No! That's all I have of her, Sydney. I don't have any memories. I don't even know who I am. Who the hell is James Lennox? I've been so many different people that I don't know who I am – who I ever was. Who the hell am I?"
"Jim—"
"No. All those memories that you're talking about, they weren't with me. They were of her and someone named John or Victor or Todd – they were all of my aliases. We were supposed to start a life free from the different identities. We were supposed to build our own memories to last a lifetime, but now all I have is Emma standing there so scared and I can't do a damn thing but watch it!"
He picks up the orange and throws it against a wall. It explodes upon contact and he can't help think that it must've been just like that when—
"Oh God…"
She doesn't say a word. All she does is watch him with sad eyes.
"It's…it's all that I have of her."
He covers his face with his hands because he can't look at her anymore. It hurts him to think that Emma could've been sitting in front of him in a kitchen in Fiji instead. He wants Sydney to realize that it's hopeless because he's a lost cause and leave him with his vodka.
Instead, she sits there with him.
"I think about Danny every day. I could be taking a walk in the park and I'll see his face or make grilled cheese sandwiches and think about how much he loved them," she says softly, her voice cracking a little.
He wants to reach out and help her, but he has no idea how to. He doesn't even know how to take away his pain. How is he supposed to help relieve hers?
"I want to tell you that it gets easier. I want to say, 'hey, I know it's hard, but after awhile, it'll hurt less,' but Jim, it doesn't. You still feel it in your soul and there's a part of you that's always thankful that you can. It helps you remember something besides the end."
"I – thank you for trying to help."
It seems like such an insignificant thing to say to her, but it's all he can come up with. He hopes that she understands that he's thankful for having someone to relate to.
A little beep goes off and she frowns as she takes out her pager.
"You better go," he says with the smallest of smiles.
He still thinks it's wrong for him to smile when she's dead.
"No, I can stay a little while—"
"You should go," he says. "I know how they can be – I'm an agent too, remember? It's ok. I'll be fine here."
She gets up and dumps the remaining vodka in the sink.
"That stuff's not good for you, Jim."
"Yeah, I know."
"Call me if you need anything."
He shakes his head.
"I had better not," he says softly. "I don't want you to have to go through what happened to your fiancé all over again."
"I live through it everyday Jim. Just – you're helping me, too, you know? Sometimes it just feels good to talk to someone who understands."
"Ok," he says slowly.
She starts to go to the living room, but stops.
"Jim?"
"Yeah."
"You might not ever remember all of them, but the ones that you do remember about are enough to keep you human."