Waiting
Author: Pharo
Disclaimer: 'Alias' belongs to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, Touchstone, and ABC.
Summary: Stuck in a cellar.
Spoilers: Up to and including "So It Begins".
Feedback: pharo@onebox.com
He'd been sitting in the same place for about two hours waiting for someone to come down. Two stupid hours spent in a cellar with nothing but wall-to-wall stocks of wine and thoughts to keep him busy. He would've thought it to be a painfully dull experience if he hadn't spent his whole life sitting and waiting. Sitting and waiting for the right person to come. Sitting and waiting for the right moments to come. Sitting and waiting for things that never came for him.
He sighed and looked at his watch for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. 5:10. One of them was bound to come back home soon. They'd see his stuff upstairs and know that he was still at the house.
"I'll go down and get a bottle of wine," he called out. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard her phone ring.
"It's the bank, Will. I have to run," she said a minute later.
"Again?"
He should've just gone back upstairs and forgotten all about the wine. But he didn't. He told her that he'd wait for Francie to come home. She'd be back in thirty minutes. She was only grocery shopping, after all.
That was two hours and fifteen minutes ago. Now he was thinking they'd never come back home. Various scenarios ran through his head. They decided to take a sudden trip to Hawaii. When they got there, they found that they liked it so much that they'd permanently settle there. They sold the house from there while he sat in the cellar, waiting…
'Too much wine, Will.'
He dismissed the thought and looked at the once-full bottle that now contained less than a glassful. He wasn't finishing off the bottle because he was an alcoholic. He wasn't doing it because he needed something to drown his sorrows in---he didn't have any sorrows. He was doing it because he was bored. He needed something to keep him occupied these two hours and---he looked at his watch again---twenty-five minutes. Drinking wine wasn't the most entertaining of activities, but when you had nothing to do, it wasn't all that bad.
"Is anybody home yet?" he shouted randomly at the ceiling.
Not getting any type of response, he settled back against the corner wall facing the staircase that the light had made blue. They had thought it would be cool to put in a blue light bulb. It'd be just like the dark places in the movies that they put lighting in to give them that eerie shade. He'd simply shaken his head and told them that they were nuts. They'd put in two light bulbs---a blue one and a white one---just to appease him.
And now, he was stuck in the cellar with the blue light on because the other one was too bright and it hurt his eyes.
"Sydney, Australia!" he shouted, laughing at his own joke as if it was the funniest thing ever said.
He wasn't drunk. He was just keeping himself sane. That was all.
He drank the last of the wine from the bottle and then put it down next to him. He reached his hand behind him, pulled out another bottle, and popped it open without looking at what it was. It didn't matter to him anyway. Whatever it was, it'd probably be something good. If by the off chance that it wasn't, it made no difference to him anyway. He didn't care what it was that he was drinking as long as it was something.
He wished he hadn't left his cell phone in his inner jacket pocket. If he had it with him, there was a slight chance that he'd be able to call one of them and tell them how he was stupid and got locked in their cellar---if he got any reception down here. What would he say even if he could call them?
"Where am I? Well, funny thing is, Syd, I sort of locked myself in your cellar. No, don't rush on account of me. Yeah, take your time. I'll be here."
No, that wouldn't do. He'd come off as a completely moron, which technically he was, since, well, what other type of person would be stuck where he was?
"Anyone up there?" he shouted again. "Please!"
He shook his head and somehow, managed to pull himself up from the corner. He half ran, half stumbled, up the stairs in his pathetic attempt to "charge the door". However, when he got up there, he realized it was a bad idea. He would've been better off in his corner by the wall, but it seemed so far away now. After slamming his fist on the door a couple of times, he leaned his head back and slid down into a sitting position on the top step. He was too tired to go back down. Maybe after he finished his second bottle of wine, he'd go back down.
"Where the hell are you people?" he yelled at no one in particular. "How long does it take to get some damn groceries?"
He wondered where Sydney was. She was probably sitting behind a desk, doing bank stuff---stuff for the bank. What exactly did she do anyway? What kind of bank had people work that hard?
"Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"No," she said while looking straight into his eyes. "Will, don't ask me to tell you anything else. I've told you all I can."
"You didn't tell me anything!"
"Will, just drop it," she said tiredly. "Just this one time, Will, don't be a reporter."
"I am a reporter."
"For me, Will…"
He'd do anything for her. He'd jump off the tallest towers and dive off the ends of the world, but he couldn't stop being a reporter. He was doing it to keep her safe---to stop from what happened to Danny to happen to her. Not that he thought she couldn't handle it. He knew that she could. The "bank" had taught her to handle it. Yeah, he knew.
Danny had come to him after she told him. He'd been sleeping and Danny nearly broke through his door, knocking on it so hard. He opened the door and the wild look on Danny's face was enough to stop any smart remark that he wanted to spit out.
"Is it Syd?"
"No. Yes. Kind of." Danny replied with confusion.
"Is she ok?" he asked, his heart pounding so hard it hurt his ears.
"She's fine, but---"
"Come in," he said.
He came in, sat down for a second before getting up and pacing again.
"What happened?" he asked. He thought it was some sort of fight or something.
"How long have you known her, Will?"
"A couple of years," he replied, assuming that by 'her', Danny meant Sydney.
"You know her pretty well, right?"
"Yeah. Man, what's going on?" he asked, confused.
"You better sit down."
Danny explained to him what the "bank" really was, how she'd been recruited freshman year, and how she was a spy. At first, he hadn't believed him, but the look on his face tough to disregard. Danny made him promise not to tell anyone. He hadn't told a single soul after that. Not even after Danny was dead and Sydney struggled to pull through did he say anything. It wasn't his place. Neither was this cellar.
He looked at his watch. 6:05. He'd been in here for three hours and five minutes.
"Get me out of here!" he shouted, ready to punch through the door if he had to. "Damn cellar doors with their damn locks that damn near strand people in houses that are owned by people who take three damn hours to grocery shop!"
'Damn it,' he thought when he realized that he just might be drunk.
He peered at the metallic lock on the door and wondered if he could pick the lock. He took off his glasses, blinked a couple of times to get the blurs a bit into focus, and tried to stick the frame into the lock. He kept missing and after three tries, he gave up. Maybe if he had thought of the idea three hours and ten minutes ago, he would've had the smallest chance at succeeding, but now it was damn near hopeless. Even on his luckiest day, he'd have a miniscule chance at getting the lock open, but now that he was drunk, there was no way. After all, he was no Sydney Bristow.
He wondered how much air there was in the room. Good for a couple of hours, a day, a week? He wished it was one of the choices near the end.
"Help!" he screamed. "Open Sesame!"
Not only was he worried that he'd suffocate, but he'd finished his second bottle of wine. The stairs looked twisted somehow and he was afraid that he'd fall and break his neck getting another bottle.
"Can anybody hear me? I want out right now. Come on! Let me out!"
It would've been yet another futile attempt if he hadn't heard the footsteps coming closer to the door. Tip tap, tip tap. They were passing by the door.
"No, let me out. Open the door. Syd, open the door!" he shouted, standing and pounding on the door.
His hand was showing the first signs of a dull pain beginning to form, but he didn't care. He needed to get out of the cellar. There was no way he was going to sit on the stairs for yet another hour.
The footsteps stopped for a moment and came closer to the door.
"Will?"
"Syd, thank goodness. Syd, get me out of here."
"How'd you get in there?" she asked as he heard her pull the door and turn the doorknob.
"I was planning a picnic in here," he replied.
"Hold on, I'm going to go get the key from the kitchen."
He almost shouted for her to come back. He was afraid that she'd leave and never come back again.
'Hawaii…'
He shook his head and pictured her opening kitchen drawers and frantically searching for the keys.
"I got it," she said.
Within a matter of moments, she opened the door and he felt cool air rush in. He scrambled out of the dark cellar into the hallway.
"Thanks," he said, smiling at her.
"What were you doing in there anyway?"
"Waiting for you."
Sitting and waiting for her to come at the right moment and rescue him.