Title: The Beginning
Fandom: Race to Witch Mountain
Rating: T/PG-13
Warnings: Spoilers for movie, slight (like really slight) language,
Summary: "Jack realizes that the story is important, so he'll try to tell it right. It started with her appearing in a car and it started with her appearing at his apartment." Dedicated to erinm_4600 who got me hooked on the movie and the pair.
Word count: 5,100

Jack realizes that the story is important, so he'll try to tell it right. It started with her appearing in a car and it started with her appearing at his apartment.

That's wrong, that's the moment things ended, or started-started something else, however you wish to think of it. Does it matter what happened between point A and point B? A little, but point B and point C? Point C is what matters. Point C is why he is here, and explaining all of it.

Day 3 of mission to Earth:

Have reached destination at 19:24:31 PST.

It is 28 C, wind is 14km/h from the northeast. Humidity is 13%. Visibility is approximately 16.1

kilometers.

Last two days were spent in cryo-sleep. It is important for details of this operation to be as accurate as possible.

Seth remains to negotiate with Senate. Plans to colonize Earth have been delayed momentarily. Mission to Earth necessary for greater evidence of reason to preserve the human race.

Dr. Alex Friedman's mind is structured very much like ours-may be a possible assistant to debate in later stages. Jack Bruno will be able to assist with this pursuit-his thought process shows that of a stereotypical human; this could be helpful.

section deletedMost recent searches for Jack Bruno's residence show that he no longer cohabitate with Alex Friedman-was their romantic partnership ended? Further investigation of section

Bruno now lives in an apartment complex named 'Broadstone Indigo'. section deletedAesthetics of the exterior are contemporary, with an emphasis on the use of local geology and cool tones, perhaps for its soothing affect.end of section The building follows current construction trends.

A sufficient amount of currency as well as an extensive background have been taking care of prior to my travels.

There was a knock at the door, so naturally Junkyard when tearing towards it. With a groan, Jack hauled himself off of the couch and away from the game. Neighbors, no doubt. Inviting him a charades game or a margarita night or something else, again, where he would stand out as a single amongst all of the yuppy couples-not that when he and Alex were together he enjoyed those things, but when you're singled out, you're singled out. With one last swig of his beer, he went over to the peephole.

There was a top of a blonde head, hair sleek and traveling down and shrinking in the fish-eye view that the peephole allowed him. Large eyes were made even larger, a grey-blue, and there was something in his gut that said you know her. "Yeah?" he called out, loud enough for the woman to hear. At the same time, he reached out, mentally, to see if he could figure out where he knew her from.

"Jack Bruno, you must open this door."

Junkyard was pawing at the door. There was a feeling in his head of being pushed and his body needed follow it-he staggered back just as the door swung open and a petite blonde strode purposely through the doorway. It slammed shut behind her.

"Jack Bruno, I require your help," she said in an even voice, urgency a subtle layer beneath. A petite, curvy blonde needed something from him. This was something straight out of those late night movies Alex had never approved of.

And then What are 'late night movies', Jack? echoed through his head, loud and clear and directed to him. Jack could only collapse onto the chair and stare at her, wide-eyed. Yeah, that explained a lot of things.

Sara would have been, what sixteen, seventeen? This was a woman, in her twenties (fully formed). There was no zits, there was no sign of that normal embarrassment. Instead, there was a woman holding a blue, slick communication device in her hand. Jack pulled his own out his back pocket. Guiltily, he realized it was blinking. It had in the past, and nothing had happened. He'd come to see the light as a simple reminder of what had happened, that he wasn't crazy.

She continued to stand. "Jack, there is not much time. We must go."

Okay, he thought, get to the bottom of this, because otherwise he'd go into it blind and end up out of another job (and he was good at what he did now; there was always work for a security guard in a city chock-full of celebs, and being able to read minds didn't hurt) and he wasn't sure what he'd do this time around. His profit from the book was small, but enough to support him for a time.

Luckily, Junkyard whined, and suddenly Sara's attention was stolen by the canine. "Of course I have not forgotten you, my friend." She kneeled down to pet him. She was going to spoil him if this kept up.

"Alright," he said finally. "You've got to catch me up, because the last thing I knew, you'd gotten that experiment and everything was fine." He pushed off of the couch and headed over to the kitchen, because his beer was empty and he needed something to drink if he was going to understand all of this.

"There's not much time to-"

"Sara, if you want me to help, I have to know what I'm helping you with. Take a seat, start from the top."

The blonde woman did not seem to take this well, but she sat down at the counter, regardless.

"We are trying to stop them from colonizing this planet once again," she explained, suddenly looking very tired. "The process has been going on for a very long time; my brother, with his lack of telepathy, is not as easily angered during such political discussions. He remained behind to continue negotiations. In the past, my ability to read minds has lead to...altercations."

The former taxi-driver snorted. "I know something about that. I've had a few altercations of my own since your gift. 'Course, mine end with tire irons or fists."

Sarah sat up a little straighter, giving him a disproving look. "Physical disputes are illegal on my planet. They're barbaric."

Jack mulled that over as he took another sip of his beer. Sometimes, cracking a guy in the face was the only option, as far as he saw it. "So what exactly will you be doing while you're here, kid?" Not that she was one, of course. That was another concept he was trying to accept, and failing to do so. Keeping this gorgeous figure

"They have asked me, to be completely frank, why the population of planet Earth deserves to be saved. They feel you are too different."

"Different can be good."

She shook her head, "They think you are too different. Your species presents erratic behavior at times that does not seem to logical."

He shrugged. "People are people, Sara."

"You need to show me what it's like to be human, Jack. If I can go back and show them, explain to them what it is that makes you what you are, then this may be a successful experiment. My hypothesis indicates that exposure to activities that typically occur within a standard human's lifetime might assist with this."

It was two in the morning; Jack had the next two days off, since he'd just worked a pop star's trip to the Strip that had turned into a spur-of-the-moment wedding as well. The sooner he helped her out, the sooner he could settle back into his quiet (it wasn't quiet, he lived in Las Vegas, and he could read people and animal's minds, for Pete's sake) existence.

With a sigh Jack pushed off of the counter and wandered over to where he kept his wallet. "I've got sixty bucks, so I guess we can start with a restaurant?" He was hungry, anyway, and facing whatever was growing in his refrigerator-well, he'd rather face down that Siphon. Speaking of those...

She was suddenly standing next to him, holding up a thick wad (was that thicker than last time?) of cash and giving him a reassuring look. "Siphons should not be of any concern for at least another few months; my brother has not notified anyone of my departure from the planet."

Oh nice. A few months.

Jack opened the door and ushered her out before speaking to Junkyard-Be good or I'll take that vet's suggestion to neuter you into consideration-and locking the door.

That was the end of the little girl Sara. That was the beginning of the Sara he would come to know.

Day 7

Time is currently 11: 04:14. 32 C-section deletedslightly uncomfortableend of selection. Wind is 8km/h from the west. Humidity is 16%.

Jack Bruno has been assisting with my research. Several trips to athletic competitions, eating establishments, and movies have taken place. What it means to be a human being is still not understood, although Jack is trying his best.

He was confused as to why I am a fully developed adult; this must be because humans do not develop as we do. Once mental maturity is reached, physical maturity adjusts itself appropriately. If humans had this same ability, it seems that there would be a great lack of television programing-the teen years appear to have created a great deal of the shows that are popular. They are quite dramatic, and there is a great deal of copulation which does not result in progeny. Further information possibly obtained from Jack?

Alex Friedman traveled to the same location for her groceries as Jack and I. I was overjoyed to see her, and once she realized who I was, we all started conversing. selection deletedMy suspicions were confirmed; they were romantically involved at one point. Why does this knowledge trouble me but make me happy?end of selection

It occurred to me rather suddenly that Jack Bruno has an almost perfect physique, from what I have learned in my studies. I shared this with him, and this has caused a great deal of embarrassment on his part. selection deletedHe is an attractive of selection

Without Seth present there are times where it is difficult to remember to keep a firm hold of my emotions; I am an adult. Such behavior and thoughts are not appropriate. They clutter the mind. True potential cannot be reached if one is prone to 'feelings'.

Jack is being gracious and allowing me to remain within his apartment for the time being. selection deletedI feel guilty not contributing to the finances needed for the upkeep of the apartment, as Jack works a great deal and asks for nothing in return.end of selection Investigation into a form of employment will follow once this journal entry is logged.

Jack took me to an art museum, saying that while he did not understand it, a great deal of people find that they contain great works created from deep amounts of passion.

There were approximately 237 people milling about the museum in the painting wing; some were discussing out loud what they thought of the paintings. Strangely, there were even some people merely sitting on provided benches to study the works hung on the walls within wooden frames. selection deletedIn the past my observations on such things have been the source of of selection It has been a very long time since I allowed myself to thing along those lines.

With the exception of a single painting in particular, I cannot understand why so much time is spent on flat pieces of canvas, wood, and on other materials of one dimension, only to apply paint onto their surfaces-edit: further research has shown that this was and continues to be a way for more artistically-minded members of their species to express themselves in a way that others could see and perhaps understand, although the reasoning behind it differs with each case. There was a special exhibit, a painting normally kept within another museum in Vienna. The painter was named Gustav Klimt; from what I gather in the painting, he had a vision problem, as only the hands, feet, and faces are clear. The rest of the composition is made up of gold, with blocks of black and white on the man, and circles on the woman. He looks as though he is about to kiss her, as I have seen them do on the television. Her head is turned and her eyes are closed, but not in protest. Complete understanding of this painting has alluded me.

The painting made me suddenly imagine myself in a similar position with Jack, and my physical reaction to this-my heart rate increased, the capillaries within my cheeks dilated, and my palms became 'clammy'-was surprising.

Perhaps, for my time upon Earth, I should allow myself to give into my extremist tendencies. This is not my home planet. Seth is not here to chide me. There is no judicial punishment for an adult who cries or raises their voice. It is not necessary to subdue that part of me.

I will be frank: I want to be that woman in the painting.

One day hecame home to find that Sara had left a note; she had an interview at a business near the Strip for a position as a translator. About half an hour after he had gotten in and taken sufficient pain killers(boy pop band this time-he'd have bruises from the pre-pubescent fans for weeks afterwards), she called from the prepaid cellular phone to tell him she had gotten the position. Jack wouldn't lie; he was surprised to hear honest excitement in her voice.

To celebrate they went out to a five star restaurant that Jack knew she had enjoyed (even if she kept telling him that preferences for such things as food were considered foolish back on her planet, the look of satisfaction on her face during their previous visit was something he remembered) and it was as if Sara had opened up (bloomed, maybe?).

The bodyguard did not tell her about Wolf, how he had threatened him once again, or how the F.B.I. asked for his full cooperation, after which any and all charges against him would be dropped. Things like that weren't important when Sara had suddenly learned to laugh.

He noticed that her eyes were really a brilliant blue-green when you actually looked at them, and that the petite blonde had the lightest dusting of freckles across her face. He noticed every time she shifted in her chair, and for years afterward would even be able to recall exactly what she had ordered for dinner, and how they had split a slice of chocolate cake when they returned to the apartment to watch an old rented film-Casablanca, because he'd read online that it was a movie 'you had to see'. Jack would always remember this, because when she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder, and he looked down at her, there was a startling moment where he felt as if he was falling.

There wasn't time, there wasn't a reason, but he couldn't deny it anymore, and the idea of her leaving twisted his stomach.

Day 13

Time is currently 03:2 It's late.

In the past I have tried to be polite and allow ample room between Jack and myself while he is sleeping on the couch. Sometimes thoughts are too easy to hear in that state, and it is the one time a person is so vulnerable.

I was thirsty, so I traveled into the kitchen for a glass of water. He was dreaming, having a nightmare about a man named Wolf, and I thought it had something to do with his employment previous to the cab driving position, but the sudden transition to the apartment, to a group of men storming into the apartment, and taking me...

This was last night. This past evening he received a visitor at the door, a man who said that he worked for Wolf. I had been in the bedroom, and remained there. Unfortunately, I find I am a curious person, and love to overhear things I shouldn't.

They discussed a job that he must do for them, and that he really doesn't have a choice, they mentioned me-at least I think I am the person they were referencing, and suddenly there was a great deal of noise in the other room. Jack's thoughts were suddenly black and slippery, and when I made it around the corner, he had this stranger against the wall, fists wrenched in his clothes, and a look-it reminded me of a lion; something feral and ferocious. I have never found myself to feel paralyzed in such a manner before. This was not Jack Bruno, not the Jack that I had come to know.

Jack told the man to leave, and he did so quickly.

In the next hour, I found out what happened, although I am still not sure that I wanted to; Wolf is some sort of criminal in the area, and Jack used to be his driver. They have requested his services once more, although Jack initially refused. The Federal Bureau of Investigations has asked for his assistance with their case against this man, and have told him to go through with the job. If Jack is caught helping the government against Wolf, he might be killed.

I have never felt this sort of frustration. I do not like feeling powerless in this situation; Jack Bruno is a friend, a very dear one, so the idea that he could be injured or murdered as a result of this is an idea that causes my stomach to feel strange.

He says he will be fine, although I cannot help but feel it will culminate in some sort of injury to his person. Jack told me that he will be talking to both parties and explain he's backing out; there is a creeping suspicion that this is not the truth

Currently Jack is acting as if nothing happened, which makes these feelings grow even more.

I feel as if I am running out of time in many ways. I need to keep myself in check, and be an observer. I'm on to the answer.

The next few days were awkward, because Jack refused to talk about what was going on, and because Sara kept hounding him to do so. Instead of both going out to walk Junkyard, he took it on as his own responsibility. His time was spent holding back fans, pushing paparazzi, meeting with F.B.I. agents in deserted parking lots, then driving a few blocks and meeting with Wolf's men in another. The heist was coming up soon.

Sara was spending hours studying-anything and everything-and had isolated herself in some sense. Her job was only per diem, but she had insisted in helping to cover the rent while she stayed with him. Several times she was the one that went out for groceries, and it resulted in some of the strangest meals he had ever had: peanut butter and butter sandwiches, pasta with jam...she was starting to get the hang of all of it, though.

It was when they cooked in the kitchen together-a novelty to both of them, since he was usually too lazy and on Sara's planet food was a factory produced thing-that they really talked, and Sara would laugh at a joke and seem to let her guard down. There could be a few hours of content, and then she would be back to her usual self-passive, calm, flat.

Part of him had wanted to see if he could push her into reacting. Because the shell that she hid in most of the time (was that really how her people wanted her to act?) was nowhere near as beautiful as the real Sara. That wasn't the Sara he had fallen in love with.

The day of the heist came, and he prepared his things. He was only a tiny member of the takedown; it would sweep throughout Nevada and they were hoping to get rid of any and all of Wolf's partners simultaneously.

Where are you going, Jack? The question echoed in his mind, perfectly clear. Sara had been sitting on the sofa with a notebook perched on one of her knees, Junkyard's head on the other (so domestic that it left him with a pang of pain in his stomach). With her telekinesis, she moved to the keys off of the table near the door and into her open palm. Jack sighed. Why had he decided to lie to her?

Out, he blonde defiantly lifted her chin and held the keys tightly. I have to do this, Sara. I'm sorry.

"You lied to me," she whispered aloud. Those blue-green eyes filled with tears, and this seemed to surprise her. She threw the keys down and quickly walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Jack looked over to Junkyard, who told him, in his own way, that he should go follow her. Jack knocked on the door. "Sara, I'm sorry."

"You do not feel guilt over your actions, only for making me upset, Jack Bruno," she called through the door. "Just go."

The door wrenched open. Anger rolled off of her in waves. Jack could hear her thoughts, a jumble of noise and memory. "I think I get it now," she said, finally. "I understand you humans. You're foolish and you don't think. You rush into things, and your ability to feel? To love? It just hurts people. Everyone gets hurt. So go, Jack Bruno. Go get hurt. And hurt me in the process."

The door slammed again. And the Goodbye that he heard in his head had an edge of finality.

Grabbing up his duffle bag he extracted the present he had hidden in it: a framed print of Klimt's The Kiss. If he stayed, and tried to fix things, then Wolf's men would come for him and Sara and the F.B.I. would arrest him, if he left, then he'd hopefully be able to go through with the plan, but loose her in the process. Either way, it didn't seem like there was much hope for him, and for Earth. Loose-loose situation.

With one last look at the bedroom door, he placed the wrapped frame against it and left. She'd probably leave it, and who the hell knew if he'd be back to throw it out when he got back.

Day 25

17:06:53

selection deletedSo that is what anger is. I want to throw up, my eyes are leaking-tears, and my face is of selection

This has all been foolish and futile.

selection deletedJack Bruno made me think that behavior such as that presented by humans is acceptable; it's far from the of selection How this planet, which has only been around for half as long as ours, has been able to almost catch up to us in progress is beyond me.

Dr. Friedman's assistance at this point will be useless. There is nothing that can be done to save Earth. Why should we? They fight, they hurt, they wage wars, and all the while they destroy. Our planet may be more polluted, but this planet is worse in every other aspect.

It is time to return to my planet and allow the government to go through with their plans.

Seth, this was a stupid idea from the very beginning.

selection deletedI understand that painting now. The woman is idiotic to think that giving in to the man will lead to anything but suffering. He's probably just about to leave her and get himself killed anyway. She's got her eyes closed because she's blind, too blind for her own of selection

Entry edited at 19:27:02

Jack is gone but he left a wrapped package against the door. Junkyard tells me he was greatly distressed prior to exiting the apartment. He also told me that most human unwrap the paper around the package; they call it a present. I remember this from several of the films and television that I have studied.

It is a framed copy of the painting. There was a note with it; there were a great deal of things written within it that make me wish to redact what has been written previously within this entry (as this journal was initiated for scientific purposes, I will not log what was written. His sentiments for me seem to echo mine for him.

Seth would tell me that I should leave, but that's not what I want to do, that's not what I think I should do.

This is what he found out happened, in part from the agents and officers and then Junkyard:

A police officer was sent to the house, where they found 'Jack Bruno's significant other' crying over a picture frame. They moved her for the next two days to a hotel, just in case there was retaliation on Wolf's part. Junkyard said he never left her side, and that he got very antsy being cooped up in the room; their only chance to go outside was Junkyard's necessary walks. The police officer said that the dog must have had a bladder problem. The dog said he would ask to be let out on purpose, to get Sara out of the room on occasion.

The F.B.I. agent said that Sara spent a lot of the time arguing and then explaining something on the phone ("If you can find out from your girlfriend what make that phone was, I would love to get my hands on one of those!") and then typing furiously on it. Junkyard and Sara were dropped off back at the house two days later, and the officer said she looked so accomplished and happy that she must have been proud of Jack. In reality, he knew exactly why she had that expression-or at least could guess at the reason-and he was proud of her.

For his part, he spent a day and a half in the hospital for the bullet he took, and the arm he dislocated in a scuffle. The rest of the time was spent in a police station giving a statement and being debriefed. When Jack was finally dropped off back home (missing some flesh, sleep, and criminal charges; gaining a sense of relief and a hospital bag full of his belongings) he found Junkyard happily awaiting his return, who told him that he hadn't seen Sara since they had returned and she had rushed out. Well, he had said goodbye, he thought to himself. He took a nap-the painkillers had made him sluggish. Then he cleaned the apartment and felt how empty it seemed. Outside the rain poured.

The lights from a car washed over the curtains of the living room windows, and Junkyard jumped off of the couch (the mutt wouldn't stay off of it regardless of how many times he'd told him to) to start barking at the sliding-glass door leading to the back patio. The sight before him made him happier than he had been in a long time.

Hurrying up the walkway was Sara. Before he thought about it, he jumped over the fencing surrounding the patio and jogged over to her.

"You're barefoot," she said to him. I'm glad you're safe.

"You're soaked," he responded with a laugh, wiping a strand of blonde hair that clung to her face. I thought you were gone.

He didn't give her a chance to respond, he kissed her.

Junkyard would later tell them that it looked like something straight out of those movies they watched so much (Jack would laugh and give him part of a steak).

Day 35

I feel as if an entire lifetime has passed, and in a little over a month! Seth sent the ship, and even came to see me. I didn't realize how much I had missed my brother until he arrived-I cried a little upon his arrival, which caused him to reprimand me. Jack and I cooked dinner, and invited Alex over.

Alex had her reservations about all that had transpired, and about us, but with time her curiosity got the better of her and Seth found himself on the receiving end of countless questions. Finally, I asked Alex if she would rather go see for herself. Seth sputtered, as did Alex, until finally my brother responded that the ship was only built for two people, and that this really was quite sudden. I said that she could take my place. Jack stared at me.

Alex will be happy there; she will be among fellow scientists and scholars, people who will, like her, searching for truth amongst the stars.

They hadn't broached the subject of Sara's return to her planet before that dinner, although they had both thought about it. So her sudden announcement at dinner (blase and nonchalant like she had never been before) took him for surprise. Was she really staying?

"Of course, you rock," she answered his unvoiced thoughts. Under the table, Jack felt her slide her smaller hand into his own.

It took Alex two days to systematically and thoughtfully go through all of her belongings and settle her affairs. Jack and Sara saw them off.

They both were suddenly very aware of how little room there really was in the apartment. Ever the gentleman (he tried to convince himself that he was one, at least) he stayed on the couch.

Until he forgot to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom for after his shower, and he walked out in only a towel.

July 2nd

Junkyard initially thought I was attacking Jack when he came out of the bathroom. He soon figured out what was going on. My canine friend is rather astute. : )

Jack moved back into the bedroom after that. Days spread out and they did not look back, only forward to some sort of future that they would figure out along the way. An ex-driver-turned-security-guard and a per-diem-alien-translator didn't get married everyday, now did they?

And so here we are; you asked for an explanation as to how all of this occurred. We both figured there would be a day when we would have to tell this story, and we have combined our accounts as best as we could. It was important to tell you the full story from what we figured was the beginning.

I understand the painting now-really grasp its meaning. The woman has her eyes closed because she is seeing their future together, she is ignoring the voices that tell her giving in to this is not right; their love creates the cloak that shelters them both.

But you've seen that painting, as I've taken you to see it several times, ever since you were born. You've known its story, and now you know yours.

Note: The sections of deleted text were originally struck through. It might be easier to read on livejournal.