Disclaimer: I do not nor have I ever owned Alias. That right belongs to JJ Abrams.
A/N: Nothing is as it seems…
"You think you know, but you have no idea."
Chapter 3- For mom's sake
---Angel's POV---
We had returned to LA and were just finishing a debriefing. After the debriefing I hurried after the Director.
"Sir, please, about the video feed…" I started.
"Agent Lazaray, I told you already, it is not important at this time. We need to figure out this McKindley business. We do not have time to go congratulating vigilantes. Now, if you want to pursue this, you do it on your own time. But, I will not tie up the agents at this office just because some little girl wants to congratulate some person for saving her life. Do it on your own time." The Director ordered, spinning on his heel and walking away. I watched as the director brushed off invisible dust off his suit before pulling out wrinkles in it, as if our conversation had somehow marred his appearance.
I squeezed my fits closed so hard that my nails began to dig into my skin. I turned around, heading out of the office. I felt someone grabbed my arm, but I shrugged it off.
"Angel, are you ok?" Andrew asked. "Because you don't look it. Maybe you should put in for leave until you feel better. I mean you just lost-"
"Leave me alone!" I yelled turning around and walking out. Everybody wants to help, but yet no one wants to open their eyes to the real problem. I pulled out a map in my car as I mapped a route. I drove carefully, making sure that in my mood I didn't get into an accident. I drove up to the house, staring at it's simplicity and yet complex designs. The house didn't look like it was worth as much as the movie stars who lived in California, but it looked like a great place to call home. The house was painted a surreal light blue with white as a border around the windows and the door. I parked my car in the driveway behind the black car and pocketed my keys, heading for the door. I knocked a few times on the door and awaited it's opening. The door was mahogany and seemed out of place on this house. A man yelled something from inside an within a few moments the door opened. An old, yet still vibrant man stood in the doorway.
"What do you want?" the man grumbled. His hair had obviously been white at one time. He had dyed it a few times back to black and now his hair was an intense shade of gray. It was still combed professionally as if he were going to walk into the CIA at any moment and needed to be ready. He was dressed in a suit that bore no wrinkles or stains on it.
"Hello grandfather." I greeted.
The man looked surprised for a moment, and then looked me over. He stared at me for another moment and then began to close the door.
"Goodbye." he told me.
"Wait!" I yelled blocking the door from closing. I winced silently as I shook one hand behind my back to ease the pain I had felt when the blow of the door came down it. "Don't you even care to find out why I came?"
"Not really." he answered, attempting to close the door again.
"Jack Bristow!" I yelled. "I may be, quite frankly, the only family you have that's still living and this is how you treat me? Just because I look like him… I thought you'd be over that for now. Mom had to force you to come visit me. I can't help who I look like. Look, I only came because I need your help. And if you don't wanna do this for me, do it for mom. We both know she'd want you to help me." I stared into his eyes, looking for any emotion.
Jack didn't say anything, instead, he opened the door a little wider and allowed me inside his house. "This way." He led me into what looked like his work space. He led me into a room with papers everywhere and fancy looking electronic equipment with 2 computers and printers near by.
"What do you need help with?" Jack asked, typing something on his computer. Immediately a screensaver came on, blocking his work form my eyes.
"I need you to look at this film and se if you can tell him who the murderer is. You'll understand when you watch the video. You see, I went on a mission and this guy attacked me, we began fighting when all of a sudden somebody else shot the guy. And then, I looked, I looked at the face of the guy who got shot, and he, he was, he was Ryan, my Ryan." I told Jack, breaking down into tears.
Jack stared at me, as if remembering something from his past. "Well, next time, be more picky when you choose the guy you're going to date. Here, let me see that tape."
I gave him the VHS it had been changed into for convenience, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. I watched as he popped it into a weird VCR looking contraption. We watched me walk up the stairs and into the room. The fight began son after I had put away the information and sure enough in the background a guy could be seen, watching the fight take place. Jack typed something on the screen as he froze the image. He zoomed in on the person and said that he would save the image. He would use the clearest image possible to begin a computer search and compare. The computer would display after searching the CIA database of criminal records for the results with 90% similarity or above. What the computer did was not search for facial features, but bone structure, birth marks, and then if you wanted to narrow the search if there were still too many, facial features. Jack also warned me that this would take a lot of time. I nodded showing I understood and left him my phone number to call if he received any results. Even if there were still a lot, at least it would be narrowed down from just about anybody.
I stood in the doorway, halfway outside his house, my mind focused on one question. "Did you ever forgive her? For choosing him?"
"That is none of your concern." Jack warned me.
"You can't, you can't help who you love; you're not supposed to. Dad made her happy, truly happy, and I hope you respect him for at least that, if nothing else. So, call me when you narrow down your results?" I asked, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill as we ventured into memories.
"Yes. And, Angel is it? Good luck with future relationships." Jack told me.
"Thank you." I thanked him, not sure if he would let me give him a hug. Hoping he would still give me the results I gave him a quick hug and ran back to my car before he could say anything.
---6 hours later---
---Jack's POV---
Finally the computer had winded down the search results to one person. I had gone through so many cup of coffee waiting for it finish that I almost didn't believe my eyes. I rubbed my eyes gently staring back at the screen.
"No…" I murmured. "It can't be!" I pulled up the video again and it made perfect sense. But I wasn't willing to believe it. I tried the search again, but it gave me the same results. I licked my lips, unsure if I should or if I even could, tell my granddaughter who had killed her fiancé. I picked up the phone and dialed her number, staring back at the one result that blared across the screen.
Julian Lazaray BKA Sark.
A/N: Comments? No review no update; as simple as that.
