Chapter two:
We have a well planned day-to-day life, followed with such commitment by us both that it accomplishes its intended goal: keep us from acting impulsively, from being spontaneous, from being ourselves – Sydney and Vaughn – and not our aliases – Julia and Christopher.
When we were together before all this mess (me being kidnapped, tortured, brainwashed; him being broken and lost) our relationship was never too emotional, or sappy, or the typical chick flick romance. No: we were two people who were still getting started on their path together, but who already knew, without second guessing, that it would be a long and happy way to go; that it was it for them: they belonged together. So we acted on that unquestionable truth: with serenity and love, with tenderness and joy, we carefully started to build a beautiful life, piece by piece. We trusted each other completely, we relied on each other; I remember how we searched each other's eyes for answers, for support, for comfort, for love, and could always find it all there. We were there for each other no matter what; we were present, warming, loving to each other all the time.
But that was Sydney and Vaughn's life. With Julia and Christopher it is a whole other story. Maybe because he was never her guardian angel, or because she was never his inspiration to go beyond his limits; maybe because they are not only used to lies and betrayal, but to be the ones who lie and betray, they could never be sure of each other's love and have always been aware of each other's doubts. This should have been an unending source of insecurity and unhappiness for them. It never was, though. In the weirdest way, one I myself can barely understand, it seems to work just fine for their relationship: quite ironically, a very honest one, that is not built on promises or plans, but sustained on an absolute present apparently without further expectations; no questions asked, no requests made, nor to the past, nor for the future.
Julia and Christopher don't know each other well and are well aware of that, not bothering to change a thing about it. They keep each other company; they also provide some status to each other. Sure they share their kisses (but not the hugs Vaughn and I used to) and their moments of intimacy. Those are as real as real can be, but completely self-contained – they exist in that moment in time and they are what they are in the most tautological significance: a physical passionate act. They don't mean a long lasting love, they are not the promise of a lifetime together or a remembrance of a meaningful history. They're nothing more than routine events, natural acts that Julia and Christopher simply live through, enjoying their neutrality, their lightness. As for me, I carefully enclose each one in a long missed silver frame that my memory still keeps safe; Vaughn, I guess, summarizes all in his mission debriefs for the Agency. Our characters, though, simply enjoy these moments and themselves as the people they are: operatives with a terrorist organization; people whose interests in life have very little to do with love and family. They were, however, given the opportunity to live something like an idyll and they took it. Sometimes I envy them: their supposed innocence, their capacity for a happiness that is actually simple and achievable.
Maybe because for Vaughn and for me, the actors behind the masks, this situation is as perfect as it gets: it could almost, almost be true. Because if we are not Christopher and Julia, we are not Vaughn and Sydney from three years ago either. We're no longer sure of our feelings, we don't believe our relationship will live long, we may know that we've been made for each other, but we're also very aware that this doesn't mean we'll end up together. He believes I'm a different person, and a terrorist, of all things. I know he is with me to get intel. (I also know that in his "other life", that one going on in Los Angeles once a month, he is engaged to another woman, his real wife-to-be, but this is too painful to think out loud.) It's not like he betrayed me, or at least I don't feel betrayed most of the time, but he did leave me. I am alone; he is no longer my ally. ("Don't ever question that", he said once. I never intended to, but what choice do I have given the circumstances?) I love him, I have for so long and I know I always will. He might still love me too, but he expects it to end. We're saying goodbye, both of us are; that's what our small gestures of real love scattered and disguised among this everyday pretense mean. We're saying goodbye: I am trying to build memories that will make my life worthy; he is trying to get closure.
In spite of that or because of it, we follow our routine as strictly as if it was the protocol for a mission – a false one for me, a real one for him –, and keep under control the slightest things: the tone of our voice, the words we choose, our smiles, our kisses, our retorts during fights… He doesn't let show the memory of the love he once had for me, or the anger and the hatred he fells towards me now (because I took "her" place, because I made "her" become someone she'd despise the most); I take hold of my need to hold him, to just stare at him, to let his name slide off my tongue just to have him immediately turn to me in loving concern; but most of all I constantly pay attention to the automatic gesture of pushing my hair behind my ear: not to avoid it all the time, but to use it well, because it is probably the only thing that makes him forget for a second where we are and look at me for who I really am. And, as a miracle, there is something in his eyes that I almost think is love, and during the second it takes him to remember that I am not Sydney and that he should hate me, I found myself again, I am strong again, I am not alone anymore.
I know that for him these rare episodes represent a mistake he curses himself for, incidents to be avoided. As to me, though, little and secret demonstrations of my love need to be systematically hidden in between my distant and cold behavior. Hidden from him, from our friends (the real one, Weiss, and the fake ones, from the Covenant), from Hannah (who still thinks I only married Vaughn because that way I could serve as an alibi for some unauthorized absences or such things), from Kendall (who must be blindfolded to read my devotion to my husband as a devotion to my cover, as he does). So I include in our generally lifeless routine small gestures that could easily be taken as determined marks a good actress would create for a well developed character, but that are little declarations of love, so quietly proclaimed that no one can hear them.
When we are not traveling – which we do very often, of course – we're usually up early, both of us loyal, devoted officers to the Covenant, or so it would seem. We exchange morning greetings, he gives me a well calculated fake smile that doesn't reach his eyes and breaks my heart (because I remember other mornings, other smiles that would keep me warm all day long), and heads to the bathroom. I take my time rolling over to his side of the bed and enjoying the scent and the warmness his body left on the sheets (my need to be warm must seem almost an obsession, but during the months of torture I was always cold, and it stayed with me, I guess). After fifteen minutes or so, I unwillingly get up, mainly because it would be disastrous if he caught me hugging his pillow (definitely not a Julia thing), but also because I need to get ready and go downstairs to make him breakfast. I do it every day, in spite of Hannah's protests. I bake cookies and prepare chocolate chip pancakes for Vaughn and myself, always having something in hand for Weiss, who shows up for our morning meals almost as often as he does for the evening ones – "I loove your cookies, you know?" –, which actually pleases me.
We usually eat breakfast at the garden table, surrounded by one million roses. They are Vaughn's passion (something else I didn't know about before, but I'm sure to be real, because no one could fake such a devotion for gardening). When we got engaged and he first brought me to see the house he happily announced he'd bought for us (it was actually a deactivated CIA safe house), I was impressed by the beauty of the whole place, a typical Italian villa, but most of all I was amazed by this rose garden, which, by then, was beginning to flourish for the first time. I had gone so long without seeing beauty, pureness, life, that I was overwhelmed by the roses blooming around me. I think Vaughn was a little taken aback by the expression on my face, and in fact I was purely Sydney at that moment. A little uncertain on how to act – he could never have been prepared for such a situation with Julia –, he touched my hand lightly. Surprised, I turned my face to him. There was a hint of a smile – a true one – on his eyes and tenderness in his voice when he said: "I planted it as a wedding gift; thought they suited. They remind me of you." With all my training, I couldn't hold it any more: my eyes welled up with tears and I was speechless. I wish I could hold him, kiss him, say "Vaughn" in the tone I used when it meant not only his name, but all the love I felt for him. I couldn't, though. He didn't love me; he hadn't really made that garden for me, nor did he really care how I felt. Actually I had just learned a few days before that he – the real he – had asked another woman to marry him. I was hurt by that, of course. I was sad and I felt as if I had lost everything. But I wasn't angry, even if I tried quite hard to be: she could give him things I would never be able to: a safe and happy home, a family, a normal life. Everything I had wanted so much to have with him and now I knew I never would. And not because of his "other wife" (that's how I started referring to her, although I'm sure that for him I am the other, or not even that, because I'm not actually real), but because of everything that happened in my life, a life which I found out, in the most painful way, I had no control over. All I could have was a shadow of what I dreamed, even planned. So I took it. I became Julia and I was about to become Christopher's wife. Regaining my nerves, I didn't say "I love you" or "I hate you for not loving me"; I just went back to my alias: "It's a beautiful garden, Chris. It must have taken you a lot of time. I appreciate it". And our small moment was gone. I, of course, would remember it forever. Actually it plays again in my mind whenever we are here, having breakfast, talking or lying on the stone benches set among the flower beds.
Once breakfast is over, we finish getting ready for work. I apply my make-up and get the shawl of the day – I always wear one as I'm always cold, and I have many. In fact Vaughn brings me a new one from every single trip he takes. It's his present and, although I suppose he thinks the monotonous attitude of always bringing back the same gift neutralizes the lovely meaning of his doing, for me it means the world. Maybe it's not with his kisses, his hugs, his looks, his smiles or his words, but it's still him who keeps me warm. While I get a shawl, he chooses a tie. And then comes one of my favorite rituals: he stands in front of me, waiting; he doesn't actually look at me: we almost never look at each other and, when it happens, it's by accident and it always creates a tense situation; I take the tie from him, slowly set it around his shirt collar and do a perfect knot. For him, this whole scene must be part of the perfect husband role he plays so well; for me, it's pure bliss, because, in some way, in this tiny moment of the day, I'm taking care of him.
In the same spirit, I give my last instructions to Hannah about things that need to be done around the house, dinner menu, etc. and I'm finally ready to leave. We drive separate cars. Convenience is the explanation: "What if one of us has to go somewhere or leave earlier or later?" And in this case he is completely right. I need my own car to go to my meetings with Kendall and I'm sure he needs his to go see his own handler. So, it's perfect this way, despite our expenses with gas.
