Title: Lacrima Angelorum (Tears of Angels)
Setting: Russia, 1983
Rating: Mostly PG-13, though one section is rated R. I will warn when I get there.
Acknowledgements: A great big thank you to Julie for all her help with this. Also thanks to Em and Jinnie for being sounding boards for me in the planning stages, and everyone who read and commented on the first four parts in my LJ back in February during the crash.
This fic is inspired by the music of Mozart's Requiem, and very loosely follows it. There are 14 chapters, each titled after a movement of the Requiem and very, very loosely based on that movement. Updates will be every two or three days.
Part 1: Requiem Aeternam
Irina Derevko walked into Alexander Khasinau's office in KGB headquarters, rather annoyed. Moments before her plane had been scheduled to leave Kiev for a critical mission in Libya, she had received a message that she was being replaced and was to return to Moscow immediately. She'd spent most of the twenty-four hour train ride quietly fuming; there had better be a good explanation.
"Comrade Derevko," Khasinau said when she entered. "How was your trip?"
"It would have been better if I'd been allowed to complete my mission. Is something wrong?"
"We've received some news from America. Jack Bristow is dead."
The news hit Irina like a punch to the stomach; she flinched and felt the blood drain from her face. Compose yourself, dammit! she told herself sternly. She took a deep breath and pushed her emotions to the back of her mind. "And that minor bit of news was enough to bring me in from the field?" she said disdainfully.
Khasinau merely snorted; clearly, he had observed her reaction.
"Who is caring for the child?" She was careful to keep a note of disinterest in her tone; Khasinau might be kind enough to ignore her involuntary reaction, but that didn't mean that she could drop her guard and verbally admit affection for Jack or Sydney. Inwardly, though, she was terrified; without either parent to protect her, what would happen to her daughter?
"Sit down, Irina," Khasinau said, and she took the offered chair gladly. Khasinau sat down in an adjacent chair. "It seems that Jack Bristow's relatives had difficulty deciding who would take the child. We took the problem out of their hands."
Irina thought she might vomit. What in God's name had the KGB done? Had they killed Sydney, too? Khasinau sat there staring at her smugly. "How?" was all she dared say.
He shrugged. "We felt that the child should be with her mother rather than selfish capitalist relatives, so she was extracted. Of course, if you don't wish to have a reminder of your mission always about, you're under no obligation to care for her. I'm sure we can find her a place in one of the better orphanages.
Irina waved her hand, still trying with all her might to keep up a disinterested façade. "I did choose to give birth to her; it's my duty to care for her." Khasinau frowned. "After my duty to my country is fulfilled, of course."
"Of course."
"When will she arrive?"
"She arrived last night. I can take you to her now."
At Irina's nod, Khasinau led her out and down several flights of stairs to a sub-basement. Irina tried to keep her hands from shaking. Why the hell were they keeping an eight-year-old child in a cellblock? Was this all some kind of ploy?
Khasinau directed the cellblock guard to unlock a door, and Irina stepped into the doorway of a dimly lit cell. Her eyes picked out a small form on the bed, huddled in a corner, which shifted slightly when she entered. A pair of terrified eyes stared at her for a moment, and then a quavering voice said, "Mommy?"
"Sydney," Irina whispered. A moment later, Sydney's arms were wrapped around Irina's waist, and her head was buried in her mother's stomach. Irina put her hands on the child's shoulders and gently guided her out of the cell, a myriad of emotions rushing through her at the sight of her daughter. She had spent the last twenty months firmly repressing the part of her that had been a loving wife and mother, helped by eight months of "re-education" in Kashmir. She had remade herself into a cold-as-ice, thoroughly professional KGB agent; now she wasn't quite sure what to do for the frightened child by her side. And the news of Jack's death...she repressed the pain angrily. She shouldn't be bothered by it. She wasn't, she told herself.
She pulled back and knelt so she could look at Sydney. She had grown quite a bit since Irina had last seen her, apparently using up her baby fat; she was slightly thinner than Irina remembered. Though she wasn't crying at the moment, her face was dirty and tear-stained, and she seemed rather dazed. She looked at Irina with a glassy stare. "Mommy?" she whimpered again.
"It's all right, Sydney," Irina said softly in English, tucking Sydney's hair behind her ears. She stood and looked at Khasinau, who was watching them with feigned disinterest.
He handed her a packet. "We've gone ahead and had some papers drawn up for her. You have a week off to get her adjusted," he said with an air of magnanimity.
Irina nodded, and Khasinau turned and swiftly walked away. Irina looked down at Sydney, who was watching her with the same shell-shocked expression on her face. She took Sydney by the hand. "Come on, baby, let's go home."
Setting: Russia, 1983
Rating: Mostly PG-13, though one section is rated R. I will warn when I get there.
Acknowledgements: A great big thank you to Julie for all her help with this. Also thanks to Em and Jinnie for being sounding boards for me in the planning stages, and everyone who read and commented on the first four parts in my LJ back in February during the crash.
This fic is inspired by the music of Mozart's Requiem, and very loosely follows it. There are 14 chapters, each titled after a movement of the Requiem and very, very loosely based on that movement. Updates will be every two or three days.
Part 1: Requiem Aeternam
Irina Derevko walked into Alexander Khasinau's office in KGB headquarters, rather annoyed. Moments before her plane had been scheduled to leave Kiev for a critical mission in Libya, she had received a message that she was being replaced and was to return to Moscow immediately. She'd spent most of the twenty-four hour train ride quietly fuming; there had better be a good explanation.
"Comrade Derevko," Khasinau said when she entered. "How was your trip?"
"It would have been better if I'd been allowed to complete my mission. Is something wrong?"
"We've received some news from America. Jack Bristow is dead."
The news hit Irina like a punch to the stomach; she flinched and felt the blood drain from her face. Compose yourself, dammit! she told herself sternly. She took a deep breath and pushed her emotions to the back of her mind. "And that minor bit of news was enough to bring me in from the field?" she said disdainfully.
Khasinau merely snorted; clearly, he had observed her reaction.
"Who is caring for the child?" She was careful to keep a note of disinterest in her tone; Khasinau might be kind enough to ignore her involuntary reaction, but that didn't mean that she could drop her guard and verbally admit affection for Jack or Sydney. Inwardly, though, she was terrified; without either parent to protect her, what would happen to her daughter?
"Sit down, Irina," Khasinau said, and she took the offered chair gladly. Khasinau sat down in an adjacent chair. "It seems that Jack Bristow's relatives had difficulty deciding who would take the child. We took the problem out of their hands."
Irina thought she might vomit. What in God's name had the KGB done? Had they killed Sydney, too? Khasinau sat there staring at her smugly. "How?" was all she dared say.
He shrugged. "We felt that the child should be with her mother rather than selfish capitalist relatives, so she was extracted. Of course, if you don't wish to have a reminder of your mission always about, you're under no obligation to care for her. I'm sure we can find her a place in one of the better orphanages.
Irina waved her hand, still trying with all her might to keep up a disinterested façade. "I did choose to give birth to her; it's my duty to care for her." Khasinau frowned. "After my duty to my country is fulfilled, of course."
"Of course."
"When will she arrive?"
"She arrived last night. I can take you to her now."
At Irina's nod, Khasinau led her out and down several flights of stairs to a sub-basement. Irina tried to keep her hands from shaking. Why the hell were they keeping an eight-year-old child in a cellblock? Was this all some kind of ploy?
Khasinau directed the cellblock guard to unlock a door, and Irina stepped into the doorway of a dimly lit cell. Her eyes picked out a small form on the bed, huddled in a corner, which shifted slightly when she entered. A pair of terrified eyes stared at her for a moment, and then a quavering voice said, "Mommy?"
"Sydney," Irina whispered. A moment later, Sydney's arms were wrapped around Irina's waist, and her head was buried in her mother's stomach. Irina put her hands on the child's shoulders and gently guided her out of the cell, a myriad of emotions rushing through her at the sight of her daughter. She had spent the last twenty months firmly repressing the part of her that had been a loving wife and mother, helped by eight months of "re-education" in Kashmir. She had remade herself into a cold-as-ice, thoroughly professional KGB agent; now she wasn't quite sure what to do for the frightened child by her side. And the news of Jack's death...she repressed the pain angrily. She shouldn't be bothered by it. She wasn't, she told herself.
She pulled back and knelt so she could look at Sydney. She had grown quite a bit since Irina had last seen her, apparently using up her baby fat; she was slightly thinner than Irina remembered. Though she wasn't crying at the moment, her face was dirty and tear-stained, and she seemed rather dazed. She looked at Irina with a glassy stare. "Mommy?" she whimpered again.
"It's all right, Sydney," Irina said softly in English, tucking Sydney's hair behind her ears. She stood and looked at Khasinau, who was watching them with feigned disinterest.
He handed her a packet. "We've gone ahead and had some papers drawn up for her. You have a week off to get her adjusted," he said with an air of magnanimity.
Irina nodded, and Khasinau turned and swiftly walked away. Irina looked down at Sydney, who was watching her with the same shell-shocked expression on her face. She took Sydney by the hand. "Come on, baby, let's go home."