OMBRETTA
by Nicole
Feedback / E-Mail:
AshniPerpetua@go.com

Distribution:  Allowed and appreciated, just let me know where, please!
Disclaimer:
I don't own "Alias" or any of the characters in it, which, although it makes me sad, is a good thing because I would completely screw it up.
Classification: 
Action/Adventure
Summary:
 In "Familiar Face," Sydney's sister turned from being her ally to her worst enemy.  But what's Kesi's story, anyhow?
Rating: 
PG-13 (violence)
Special Note:
 The final (yet again betaless and yet again editless) chapter in this world I've created around Sydney's fictional sister, and the final chapter of fanfic for me.  :-)  Thanks so much to all of you who have read and reviewed….I've appreciated it so much and I hope you've enjoyed the ride!

Part 4: All She Was

I taunt and dodge the guards automatically, my feet flying over the tiled floor from instinct rather than conscious tactics.  I navigate the rooms and halls and think only of her.  Why? I beg her in my mind.  Why did you have to ruin all of this?

I lead two guards into a room, shielding myself in one dark corner.  As they stare at each other and begin to curse loudly in Russian, with many angry gestures with their guns, I imagine it is her there and slit their throats before they can even cry out.  I drag the bloody corpses into a corner and slip out of the room.

"Kesi?"

Her father called her into a private room of his Pennsylvania office and checked the locks carefully.  She watched without interest, accustomed to secrecy.

"You've worked with SD-6 for a little while now.  But I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with you."

"Nothing I'm not used to," she replied without rancor.

He smiled slightly.  "You've always been more suited to this life than Sydney."

"What did you have to tell me?"

"SD-6 is not affiliated with the CIA."  He'd told her who she really worked for.  But she hadn't cared.  She was more suited to this life than Sydney.  She was better than Sydney, for this one moment.  And when he asked her about her loyalty, she'd told him "Yes" and never regretted it.

I run through the laboratory in search of my sister, leaving bodies behind.  My knife grows lighter and lighter in my gloved hand, until I barely notice its presence.  I hunt her, drawn by a force even I cannot begin to describe.

As I run, I imagine telling the news to my father.  "She was a traitor," I'd say.  Even he would be impressed with the lack of emotion in my voice.  No sympathy for traitors.  Not even—especially—when there was a bond of blood there.  Don't think about that.  Just find the room: 401, 403, 405…not on this side.  402, storage closet, 404.  The map should be here.  And Sydney as well.  I take a deep breath and slide into the room.

The satisfaction had not lasted long: her father had not hesitated in telling her how much quicker Sydney learned this or that.  Perhaps he believed the competition would be good for her; perhaps he did it completely unknowing.  Either way, he still loved Sydney more.

There had been days when the hopelessness was just too unbearable; days when she sauntered into the city with a mask on her face and lie in her eyes, pretending she was Sydney.  Pretending she was loved.  She'd stroll through the streets, surrounded by people, seeing no one, chatting up friends who vanished in the wind and dining with an invisible father who smiled.  Each time she altered herself the tiniest bit, to try to be more like the perfection that was her sister.

After a while she stopped trying.  Light through a warped mirror could never be anything but flawed.

I stop behind her, barely breathing.  Then, hardly knowing why, I replace my knife in my vest and take up a slab of wood that has come apart from the wall.  A flood of reluctance rushes through me suddenly.  This is my sister.  My sister.  I am killing my family.

No!  I am killing my family if I carry out this justice, but I am killing others if I do not.  Father, the agents whose lives she will destroy; agents who are more my family than she, if only for the fact that we both fight on the same side!

Without allowing myself to hesitate any longer, I slam the wood into her head and catch her in my arms, telling myself it is not a gesture of tenderness.  "I've been waiting for this opportunity, sister," I say sadly.

She had seen Jack Bristow only through the photographs her father carried.  The merciless eyes, the cold face, they only heightened her resolve and her hate.  Her sister, too, she watched grow up through frozen smiles and silent laughter.

If her father had known how she skillfully raided his pockets and briefcase on every one of his rare visits, he would have been proud; but the fact that he didn't know was the source of her own pride.

She had never dared to steal one of the precious photographs.  There were limits she would not cross.  She never grew tired of staring at this Kesi-who-was-not, of dreaming.  Oh, how she dreamed…

I fold the map and stuff it into my vest pocket before dragging her into the storage closet.  I take out my gun and rest it on my knee while I check her carefully.  No lasting damage; if only I didn't have to kill her.  I sigh with regret as I tie her wrists.

Her eyelids flutter open and I jump back, ashamed of my weakness.  She tries to raise her bound hands to her face, but stops as she sees the gun.  The hands fall limply to her lap.

"Kesi.  Where are we?" she asks, fear and sadness warring on her face.

"Quiet," I warn.  "We're in the storage closet, and if you speak too loudly, there are two K‑Directorate guards standing in the room next to us."  I'd seen them enter through the slats in the closet door and I couldn't bear to think of what they'd do to her—to us—should they find us here.  At least I'd grant her a quick death.

We banter questions.  Her "father" is far away; he can't save her now.  I'm not trying to stall for time before killing her.  I'm not.

"I've never done anything against you," Sydney says suddenly, catching my attention.  "Why are you doing this?"

My horror must show on my face, because her eyes narrow.  Damn it.  She's using me.

"Because you had everything." I tell her the truth bitterly.  "Because you grew up happy, perfect, loved—and I grew up in your shadow.  He didn't even tell you about me, did he?"  I flinch at the brokenness in my tone and touch the trigger, ready to kill her even as she tells me "No."

I switch my focus to the door as the sounds of a scuffle outside reach us.  They are muffled quickly.

I cannot do this.  I nearly cry out with the pain of fighting against the path of mercy.  I keep my gun trained on her through nothing more than intense training.  Kesi the assassin and Kesi the sister war with each other, and I fear the battle may tear me apart.  How can betray either sister or father?  I plead with whatever higher power there may be to kill me, rather than force me to carry out this execution.

My wish is granted.  I am so absorbed in this rage within me that it takes me some time to notice the blood spreading across my chest.  I watch it in wonder and gratitude, feeling no pain.  Who has done this kindness?  I look up at the lit doorway and nearly sob.

Jack Bristow.  My enemy.  My savior.

My legs buckle under me and I fall to the ground at Sydney's feet.  She and Bristow exchange words over my head as my eyes fill with tears.  I am spared this horrible choice.

I hold onto life with trembling fingers.  I want to tell Sydney something….I want her to realize….

"It takes…more than blood to make…a father…"  I struggle to utter the words.

She turns back to me with obvious reluctance.  "What?" she asks.   She does not understand.

"He's not…your father…." I try to explain, needing her to know how lucky she is to have a father to love her.  Jack Bristow is more her father than Arvin Sloane ever was mine.

I realize something then, something I have known all along, perhaps.  It shocks me and saddens me, so that I cannot hear the words as Sydney's mouth moves one last time.  I hope no one would ever know, but at the same time, I wish with all my soul that she could, somehow.

I realize I still love her.  And with that, I let go.

Ombretta.  Just a girl of shadow.  As fragile as a nighttime ghost and as easily dispelled.  Few to see her and no one to remember.  Just a memory, fading already from the minds of those she had loved and hated.  A shadow.

That's all she was.

The End.