Title: Closet Space
Author: labyrinthine
E-mail: elabyrinthine@yahoo.com
Rating/Classification: PG/post-ep Rendezvous, Will POV, slight AU
Summary: What happens when you run out of space to store the lies?
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Notes: The shooting never happened, ok, deal with it and pretend Will went home after being debriefed at the safehouse. MASSIVE thanks to Hil for speedy betas, your attention to detail and kicking this piece back into shape. Thorne, for convincing me prostitution was not the answer to my problems. Jenai, Robin, and the Server 5 crew for freak outs and fun…and Claudia Perry, for kicking ass in Jeapordy and brightening my day. Yes, I am thanking the Jeapordy chick. Deal.
"Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes." -T.E. Lawrence
*****
You are a much better liar, now.
If you got nothing else out of this entire experience from hell, you can now fool anyone, anytime. Your boss thinks you have become the model reporter, with your newfound ability to spin up any drab topic to a front- page-worthy article. Amy is thrilled you don't wake her with nightmares anymore, and has decided that you are once again presentable enough to set up on bad dates. The relief that is so obviously apparent in Sydney's eyes every time you look at her is ever present; either she isn't aware of your transformation or isn't interested in it.
At this point, you don't even care.
You have seen too much and not enough. With no one around to set you straight, you let thoughts run wild while maintaining an outward façade that fools even your closest friends. In the beginning this required conscious effort, but now you have become skilled in the arts of deception and do not even realize when you slip into this persona that is so startlingly discontinuous with whom you actually are.
At first, when you lied to cover up your absence or erratic behavior in the weeks after you returned home, you thought of Sydney. Funny, how she always seemed to be this unattainable gauntlet of truth. There are times when it actually physically hurts to look at her, these days. You admire her unequivocal skill as a con artist, a spin doctor; she has had years of practice, you tell yourself. But you think that her life is better off than yours, now, despite her predictable objections if given a chance. She is a shadow, something not exactly tangible that only lives in half-light and dark corners, long gone at the first moment of exposure. But she is a shadow that protects national interests, keeps the good people safe, all those important things. Or so she says. There are moments you think you have not gained entry into her inner circle of truth and she is lying to you, seamless, even now, without a moment's thought.
You recall her outburst months ago, "if you knew what I did for a living, you'd thank me for it!" The words have since been twisted, tangled, played over in your mind; you no longer remember if that was her exact phrasing, and you have no interest in dedicating much thought to it. Thinking about it makes you physically ill, and you have enough going on that makes you sick to encourage the behavior any further.
Your outer face has been sliding, slipping apart from your true self since the moment you saw Syd's face hidden behind a garish wig and stage makeup, eyes wide as saucers, revealing more truths than could ever been spoken. Your initial shock gave way to a dull acceptance; that you had been lied to, deceived systematically for years. You were livid at first, enraged that she had considered truth so malleable when it came to you. But as time passed, you began to see the causes behind her deception. She makes it look so easy; this is a gift you both respect and desire for yourself. Her actions were understandable but unforgivable, and you have begun to draw inward, to distance yourself from what she continues to do without a moment's consideration.
Your voice has been silenced – not only as a journalist, though you know you will never allow yourself to become involved with an article again. But as a person, a friend, a regular guy: there is only a stripped down shell of your former self and the man you are now has little desire to talk. Listening, watching, trusting your eyes more than your ears, is such a safer bet these days. Seen but not understood, fit for public viewing – for you are now on perpetual display.
You watch Sydney without actually training your gaze on her, so not to alert her senses. The first few times, in the beginning, you dropped your guard and would forget that you were fixating on her face, searching, trying to find hidden clues, stripping away layers of coverup for bruises and bags under her eyes to discover if there really was a woman with any innocence left behind the mask. She would shoot you a glance full of sharp edges, and recognizing your fallacy, you would fall back into a presentable form of yourself.
You do not make these mistakes anymore.
*****
The last minute disguise you used in Paris now resides in a box in the back of your closet. You probably should have burnt it, made it disappear, but it is the only tangible proof you have from that trip and need the reminder from time to time that it did, in fact, take place. You take the box down every so often and examine its contents; the nondescript ill-fitting clothes, the shifting wig.
You wonder how many disguises Sydney has donned, over the years. Wonder if there are enough closets in the world to hold them all.
*****
Every move you make now is premeditated, followed through from every angle to ensure its success. Your life is a game and you are in control of the board, playing the pawns that think they know you right where you want them to be. You think Jack has rubbed off on you – it is easy to see the appeal of game theory when it is your only chance to control the elements around you.
You thought for hours on the plane ride home from Paris what you would say, how you would act in front of Sydney when you saw her next. Understanding the motivation behind her actions and actually accepting that she had fed you a continuous stream of lies since the day you both met were two different entities altogether – they still are. You are careful, now, to weigh what you say before you say it. Lying to those close to you has never been your nature, and so you chose your deceptions carefully.
Choosing to tell Sydney you loved her has been your smartest tactical move. It was the truth, at least at the time – you had always loved her, it was impossible not to. You make your living from lies now, but there are some things you would never lie about. What was false was the reason behind the words – you wanted to assure her, express that you still held her in high regard. Full disclosure, or so you wanted to demonstrate. A tactical maneuver executed with perfect timing and emphasis. You needed her to think you accepted her past behavior for what it was and would keep her secrets safe in the future, and you pulled it off without a glitch.
Your eyes have always been open, but now you make connections, inferences when before you could only guess. You can't believe how naïve you acted with the found plane ticket in her jacket pocket, how easy it was for Sydney to convince you and Francie that it was all one big misunderstanding. You accepted her explanations without a moment's hesitation, because they came from her.
You do not accept anything at face value anymore.
You have accepted that you will have a very difficult time trusting anyone, ever again. You have been played for a fool, a pawn in a game with no winner. It is easier, you see now, to go it alone – you lean on Syd and Francie only for show, keeping up routines from the past so not to raise suspicion.
Sydney was your confidant for years. Approachable, attentive, great at keeping secrets. The irony of this is not lost on you. You still tell her things, little inconsequential details that lead her to assume nothing has changed. You think that anything you have every said would sound inconsequential to her ears, but you continue to play the game, and she will shoot you a smile, and say how lucky she is to have you as a friend. All the while, you are building a shell around yourself, invisible and impenetrable, a shield against lies because you will not be lied to anymore.
*****
At first you thought it would be difficult to keep such a momentous secret to yourself. You had no choice, of course, but were initially wary that you would slip, folly, without even realizing your error. You are pleased to have adapted to this new way of life as quickly as you did, and find that you have become quite the actor when it comes to portraying Will Tippin.
You still tease Sydney about quitting the bank, and it is not with a small amount of triumph when your trained eyes detect her squirming, inperceptively, under the line of banter. There are days when you think everything will work itself out, and the banter is light, fun, a reminder of how easy things had been in the past; she will smile, mocking, saying yes, one day I'll quit the bank and won't it be great. And there are days when it is your only line of retaliation, your only playing field to fight back at the best friend who deceived you for years. A tiny drop in the ocean, but the ripples extend just the same.
You are in control. It's nice to remind her of that, every so often. Will Tippin is no man's fool. You don't know how far the deception reaches, how deep the lies extend, but know that whatever happens, you are in charge of your own fate. You will not be walked upon or cast aside to suit someone else's needs. You have been underestimated all your life and for once, this doesn't bother you. Because one day, their precious lies will backfire and you will be the last one standing. Nothing lasts forever, and there is only time before something goes wrong, the precarious tower of lies crumbles, and you can take your life back once and for all.
And then, there will be no reason to hide the truth in a musky closet, out of sight.
*****
Closet Space
elabyrinthine@yahoo.com
Author: labyrinthine
E-mail: elabyrinthine@yahoo.com
Rating/Classification: PG/post-ep Rendezvous, Will POV, slight AU
Summary: What happens when you run out of space to store the lies?
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Notes: The shooting never happened, ok, deal with it and pretend Will went home after being debriefed at the safehouse. MASSIVE thanks to Hil for speedy betas, your attention to detail and kicking this piece back into shape. Thorne, for convincing me prostitution was not the answer to my problems. Jenai, Robin, and the Server 5 crew for freak outs and fun…and Claudia Perry, for kicking ass in Jeapordy and brightening my day. Yes, I am thanking the Jeapordy chick. Deal.
"Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity; but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes." -T.E. Lawrence
*****
You are a much better liar, now.
If you got nothing else out of this entire experience from hell, you can now fool anyone, anytime. Your boss thinks you have become the model reporter, with your newfound ability to spin up any drab topic to a front- page-worthy article. Amy is thrilled you don't wake her with nightmares anymore, and has decided that you are once again presentable enough to set up on bad dates. The relief that is so obviously apparent in Sydney's eyes every time you look at her is ever present; either she isn't aware of your transformation or isn't interested in it.
At this point, you don't even care.
You have seen too much and not enough. With no one around to set you straight, you let thoughts run wild while maintaining an outward façade that fools even your closest friends. In the beginning this required conscious effort, but now you have become skilled in the arts of deception and do not even realize when you slip into this persona that is so startlingly discontinuous with whom you actually are.
At first, when you lied to cover up your absence or erratic behavior in the weeks after you returned home, you thought of Sydney. Funny, how she always seemed to be this unattainable gauntlet of truth. There are times when it actually physically hurts to look at her, these days. You admire her unequivocal skill as a con artist, a spin doctor; she has had years of practice, you tell yourself. But you think that her life is better off than yours, now, despite her predictable objections if given a chance. She is a shadow, something not exactly tangible that only lives in half-light and dark corners, long gone at the first moment of exposure. But she is a shadow that protects national interests, keeps the good people safe, all those important things. Or so she says. There are moments you think you have not gained entry into her inner circle of truth and she is lying to you, seamless, even now, without a moment's thought.
You recall her outburst months ago, "if you knew what I did for a living, you'd thank me for it!" The words have since been twisted, tangled, played over in your mind; you no longer remember if that was her exact phrasing, and you have no interest in dedicating much thought to it. Thinking about it makes you physically ill, and you have enough going on that makes you sick to encourage the behavior any further.
Your outer face has been sliding, slipping apart from your true self since the moment you saw Syd's face hidden behind a garish wig and stage makeup, eyes wide as saucers, revealing more truths than could ever been spoken. Your initial shock gave way to a dull acceptance; that you had been lied to, deceived systematically for years. You were livid at first, enraged that she had considered truth so malleable when it came to you. But as time passed, you began to see the causes behind her deception. She makes it look so easy; this is a gift you both respect and desire for yourself. Her actions were understandable but unforgivable, and you have begun to draw inward, to distance yourself from what she continues to do without a moment's consideration.
Your voice has been silenced – not only as a journalist, though you know you will never allow yourself to become involved with an article again. But as a person, a friend, a regular guy: there is only a stripped down shell of your former self and the man you are now has little desire to talk. Listening, watching, trusting your eyes more than your ears, is such a safer bet these days. Seen but not understood, fit for public viewing – for you are now on perpetual display.
You watch Sydney without actually training your gaze on her, so not to alert her senses. The first few times, in the beginning, you dropped your guard and would forget that you were fixating on her face, searching, trying to find hidden clues, stripping away layers of coverup for bruises and bags under her eyes to discover if there really was a woman with any innocence left behind the mask. She would shoot you a glance full of sharp edges, and recognizing your fallacy, you would fall back into a presentable form of yourself.
You do not make these mistakes anymore.
*****
The last minute disguise you used in Paris now resides in a box in the back of your closet. You probably should have burnt it, made it disappear, but it is the only tangible proof you have from that trip and need the reminder from time to time that it did, in fact, take place. You take the box down every so often and examine its contents; the nondescript ill-fitting clothes, the shifting wig.
You wonder how many disguises Sydney has donned, over the years. Wonder if there are enough closets in the world to hold them all.
*****
Every move you make now is premeditated, followed through from every angle to ensure its success. Your life is a game and you are in control of the board, playing the pawns that think they know you right where you want them to be. You think Jack has rubbed off on you – it is easy to see the appeal of game theory when it is your only chance to control the elements around you.
You thought for hours on the plane ride home from Paris what you would say, how you would act in front of Sydney when you saw her next. Understanding the motivation behind her actions and actually accepting that she had fed you a continuous stream of lies since the day you both met were two different entities altogether – they still are. You are careful, now, to weigh what you say before you say it. Lying to those close to you has never been your nature, and so you chose your deceptions carefully.
Choosing to tell Sydney you loved her has been your smartest tactical move. It was the truth, at least at the time – you had always loved her, it was impossible not to. You make your living from lies now, but there are some things you would never lie about. What was false was the reason behind the words – you wanted to assure her, express that you still held her in high regard. Full disclosure, or so you wanted to demonstrate. A tactical maneuver executed with perfect timing and emphasis. You needed her to think you accepted her past behavior for what it was and would keep her secrets safe in the future, and you pulled it off without a glitch.
Your eyes have always been open, but now you make connections, inferences when before you could only guess. You can't believe how naïve you acted with the found plane ticket in her jacket pocket, how easy it was for Sydney to convince you and Francie that it was all one big misunderstanding. You accepted her explanations without a moment's hesitation, because they came from her.
You do not accept anything at face value anymore.
You have accepted that you will have a very difficult time trusting anyone, ever again. You have been played for a fool, a pawn in a game with no winner. It is easier, you see now, to go it alone – you lean on Syd and Francie only for show, keeping up routines from the past so not to raise suspicion.
Sydney was your confidant for years. Approachable, attentive, great at keeping secrets. The irony of this is not lost on you. You still tell her things, little inconsequential details that lead her to assume nothing has changed. You think that anything you have every said would sound inconsequential to her ears, but you continue to play the game, and she will shoot you a smile, and say how lucky she is to have you as a friend. All the while, you are building a shell around yourself, invisible and impenetrable, a shield against lies because you will not be lied to anymore.
*****
At first you thought it would be difficult to keep such a momentous secret to yourself. You had no choice, of course, but were initially wary that you would slip, folly, without even realizing your error. You are pleased to have adapted to this new way of life as quickly as you did, and find that you have become quite the actor when it comes to portraying Will Tippin.
You still tease Sydney about quitting the bank, and it is not with a small amount of triumph when your trained eyes detect her squirming, inperceptively, under the line of banter. There are days when you think everything will work itself out, and the banter is light, fun, a reminder of how easy things had been in the past; she will smile, mocking, saying yes, one day I'll quit the bank and won't it be great. And there are days when it is your only line of retaliation, your only playing field to fight back at the best friend who deceived you for years. A tiny drop in the ocean, but the ripples extend just the same.
You are in control. It's nice to remind her of that, every so often. Will Tippin is no man's fool. You don't know how far the deception reaches, how deep the lies extend, but know that whatever happens, you are in charge of your own fate. You will not be walked upon or cast aside to suit someone else's needs. You have been underestimated all your life and for once, this doesn't bother you. Because one day, their precious lies will backfire and you will be the last one standing. Nothing lasts forever, and there is only time before something goes wrong, the precarious tower of lies crumbles, and you can take your life back once and for all.
And then, there will be no reason to hide the truth in a musky closet, out of sight.
*****
Closet Space
elabyrinthine@yahoo.com