Conséquence-Alias, PG13-Vaughn
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
*******
Chapter Nine: Entrenchment
Three weeks later
The Dungeon
Weiss is a regular visitor to the archives. So much so that Paulie has to chase him out of here. "Looking for a job?" she jokes whenever he shows up.
When she threatens to put him to work, he usually disappears. But today, he's managed to sneak in without her noticing. His yo-yo pops up and beckons me down the aisle and when I'm halfway to the end, he grabs me and pulls me into the men's room. "Want to hear the latest on Sydney?"
I feign indifference but he knows I want to know. With sagging shoulders, I lean against the wall and wait for the scoop. "So what is it?"
"Lambert's handling her." Three words that don't belong together in a sentence.
"Whose bright idea was that?" I ask from behind a yawn.
"Jack Bristow's." Now that was an eye-opener.
"Huh?" Peers, but definitely not pals.
"I had the same reaction. And apparently it's not going well. They fight like cats and dogs and she disobeys orders all the time," Weiss reports happily.
"Have you seen her?" I ask lightly, hearing Paulie out in the warehouse, calling my name.
"Yeah. She stopped by after your reassignment and asked me all these questions about you. I wanted to tell her what happened, but my hands were tied." Weiss sighs and shoves the yo-yo in his coat pocket.
"Is she OK?" It's important that I know this so I can move past it.
"On the surface, yeah. I'd say she's going through the motions and fooling most people, but I can see what it's costing her."
He doesn't have to tell me about the costs of this job. Since I turned into a slacker, I've actually relaxed for the first time in eight years. Flexible hours and stress-free work. A funny boss who actually enjoys my music and lets me play it at full volume. "What about Jack?"
Weiss gets this constipated look on his face and I wonder if I should let him sit on the throne in peace. "He's been….Jack. Sneaky. Nasty. The whole nine yards."
"What about Sydney's mom?" At last we get to it.
"Yeah, well, they lost track of her. She must have good connections, because she's dropped from sight. Sark has also gone missing and their entire organization has been very quiet."
"Any luck with your latest hack?" Weiss was working with Paulie on gaining access to the database with Sydney's testimony. He probably figured it was his way of paying me back for ratting on me.
"There's no trace of those files. It's like they've vanished. Paulie says they should have come down here by now. If she asks anyone, they'll get suspicious. So we have to be careful."
Paulie's voice gets closer and I shove Eric out the door. "You better get moving."
"I'll let you know when I find something. Later."
*******
I pass the stationer's every day and never go inside. Paper Lace. Next to the antique store where I bought Sydney's frame. Today I linger at the window and look at the display. Handsomely arranged paper samples for every budget. Pens, pencils, and art supplies. Diaries. Journals.
Leather-bound black volumes. Just like my dad's.
Only girls keep diaries.
I am about to go in when I see her reflection. Reading a newspaper at the patisserie that is a hop, skip, and a jump from the spot where I am standing. Close enough to speak without attracting attention. "How did you find me?"
"Careful detective work." The smile in her voice makes me ache inside. "So how are you?"
How am I? Embittered? Resigned? Maybe both at the same time. "OK."
A rustle of paper as she turns the page. "That's not what I hear."
"What are they telling you?" Propaganda, no doubt.
"The usual lies. So how are you really?" Concern overshadows everything else.
I'm not ready for this. "I have to go inside now."
The journals are carefully marked on the sign for Aisle 4. I know she is behind me and it's not long before she is sorting through the pens and pencils on the other side of the aisle. "Why are you running away?"
My hands stop moving and I sigh. "Why do you think?"
Now it's her turn to exhale. Forceful and frustrated. "I hate Lambert."
The words hang brightly in the air, falling like a skein of ribbon from a mischievous girl's fingers. "I know. I'm sorry it has to be this way."
But what I don't tell her is that I'm happier than I've been in years. That I like falling asleep at night without her problems wrapping themselves around me, indenting my skin like tightly wrapped twine. Marking me forever.
"Me too." The whisper of her words as she turns and goes, defeated by my silence.
"Wait." It stops her and I feel her staring at me. The holes of her eyes as she takes me in, my tired face reflected in the glass as I look back at her. Angry that she's followed me, but happy that she still gives a damn. "That day I saw you…..they wouldn't tell me what you said."
"You know what happened." A spark of anger in her voice. Good. I can handle that. What I can't take is the tenderness. Misplaced affection or whatever it is that defines her feelings for me.
"Do I?" And now I turn to face her, startling her with my sudden movement. Full profile as she considers my question. Fathomless eyes that hide many secrets. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. The people I trusted the most have stabbed me in the back."
Her eyes fill with tears and she looks down for a moment, struggling to contain her emotions before they spill out like rusty water. "I had no choice. I had to tell them what happened."
Truth and lies. Does one outweigh the other? "I suppose you did. So tell me, why did you let your mother escape?"
The moisture is burned away by darker emotions that sweep away the sentiment and brand me with their intensity. "I did it for you."
For me.
The last thing I expect her to say. I'm not sure I know how to interpret her meaning. Because it can mean so many things. It might mean that she was worried about me. But it could also mean that she didn't want her mother's blood on my hands. Save me and she saves us all. Nice and neat. The perfect sunset to our Chinese adventure. "I'm touched."
The old Sydney would have flinched at my sarcasm, but the spy who has risen from the ashes barely reacts to my tone. It's more like it registers on some level that she's dismissed. Discarded, like our friendship. Shelved for future reference. Gathering dust. "You don't believe me, do you?"
I shake my head. "Did you make a deal with her? My life for hers?"
Your life isn't worth that much.
Her voice in my head. An echo of what I really feel. My own self-worth, shuttered and shattered by my beliefs.
"You can't possibly believe that." Flushed with outrage at my accusation.
"I don't want to believe it, but how else can you explain this? First I see you and your father being tortured, and the next thing you know, you're racing to Irina's rescue. Convenient, don't you think?" I snap.
"I know how it looks, but it wasn't like that." She moves closer and touches my shoulder as she brushes past to look at some stationery. "You were drugged. That stuff they gave you….it made you delusional."
"No." I cradle a black journal that looks far too much like my father's. "You're hiding something from me. I don't know what it is, but I'll find out."
Sydney's shoulders slump in resignation and she throws up her hands. "Fine. Believe what you want. And while you're at it, maybe you ought to be looking at your own behavior. Never once did I question your motives. And I did nothing that you haven't already done to yourself."
Now you see her, now you don't. All that remains is the faintest hint of her cologne, a whiff of the real Sydney. Gone from my life in a flash.
*****
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
*******
Chapter Nine: Entrenchment
Three weeks later
The Dungeon
Weiss is a regular visitor to the archives. So much so that Paulie has to chase him out of here. "Looking for a job?" she jokes whenever he shows up.
When she threatens to put him to work, he usually disappears. But today, he's managed to sneak in without her noticing. His yo-yo pops up and beckons me down the aisle and when I'm halfway to the end, he grabs me and pulls me into the men's room. "Want to hear the latest on Sydney?"
I feign indifference but he knows I want to know. With sagging shoulders, I lean against the wall and wait for the scoop. "So what is it?"
"Lambert's handling her." Three words that don't belong together in a sentence.
"Whose bright idea was that?" I ask from behind a yawn.
"Jack Bristow's." Now that was an eye-opener.
"Huh?" Peers, but definitely not pals.
"I had the same reaction. And apparently it's not going well. They fight like cats and dogs and she disobeys orders all the time," Weiss reports happily.
"Have you seen her?" I ask lightly, hearing Paulie out in the warehouse, calling my name.
"Yeah. She stopped by after your reassignment and asked me all these questions about you. I wanted to tell her what happened, but my hands were tied." Weiss sighs and shoves the yo-yo in his coat pocket.
"Is she OK?" It's important that I know this so I can move past it.
"On the surface, yeah. I'd say she's going through the motions and fooling most people, but I can see what it's costing her."
He doesn't have to tell me about the costs of this job. Since I turned into a slacker, I've actually relaxed for the first time in eight years. Flexible hours and stress-free work. A funny boss who actually enjoys my music and lets me play it at full volume. "What about Jack?"
Weiss gets this constipated look on his face and I wonder if I should let him sit on the throne in peace. "He's been….Jack. Sneaky. Nasty. The whole nine yards."
"What about Sydney's mom?" At last we get to it.
"Yeah, well, they lost track of her. She must have good connections, because she's dropped from sight. Sark has also gone missing and their entire organization has been very quiet."
"Any luck with your latest hack?" Weiss was working with Paulie on gaining access to the database with Sydney's testimony. He probably figured it was his way of paying me back for ratting on me.
"There's no trace of those files. It's like they've vanished. Paulie says they should have come down here by now. If she asks anyone, they'll get suspicious. So we have to be careful."
Paulie's voice gets closer and I shove Eric out the door. "You better get moving."
"I'll let you know when I find something. Later."
*******
I pass the stationer's every day and never go inside. Paper Lace. Next to the antique store where I bought Sydney's frame. Today I linger at the window and look at the display. Handsomely arranged paper samples for every budget. Pens, pencils, and art supplies. Diaries. Journals.
Leather-bound black volumes. Just like my dad's.
Only girls keep diaries.
I am about to go in when I see her reflection. Reading a newspaper at the patisserie that is a hop, skip, and a jump from the spot where I am standing. Close enough to speak without attracting attention. "How did you find me?"
"Careful detective work." The smile in her voice makes me ache inside. "So how are you?"
How am I? Embittered? Resigned? Maybe both at the same time. "OK."
A rustle of paper as she turns the page. "That's not what I hear."
"What are they telling you?" Propaganda, no doubt.
"The usual lies. So how are you really?" Concern overshadows everything else.
I'm not ready for this. "I have to go inside now."
The journals are carefully marked on the sign for Aisle 4. I know she is behind me and it's not long before she is sorting through the pens and pencils on the other side of the aisle. "Why are you running away?"
My hands stop moving and I sigh. "Why do you think?"
Now it's her turn to exhale. Forceful and frustrated. "I hate Lambert."
The words hang brightly in the air, falling like a skein of ribbon from a mischievous girl's fingers. "I know. I'm sorry it has to be this way."
But what I don't tell her is that I'm happier than I've been in years. That I like falling asleep at night without her problems wrapping themselves around me, indenting my skin like tightly wrapped twine. Marking me forever.
"Me too." The whisper of her words as she turns and goes, defeated by my silence.
"Wait." It stops her and I feel her staring at me. The holes of her eyes as she takes me in, my tired face reflected in the glass as I look back at her. Angry that she's followed me, but happy that she still gives a damn. "That day I saw you…..they wouldn't tell me what you said."
"You know what happened." A spark of anger in her voice. Good. I can handle that. What I can't take is the tenderness. Misplaced affection or whatever it is that defines her feelings for me.
"Do I?" And now I turn to face her, startling her with my sudden movement. Full profile as she considers my question. Fathomless eyes that hide many secrets. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. The people I trusted the most have stabbed me in the back."
Her eyes fill with tears and she looks down for a moment, struggling to contain her emotions before they spill out like rusty water. "I had no choice. I had to tell them what happened."
Truth and lies. Does one outweigh the other? "I suppose you did. So tell me, why did you let your mother escape?"
The moisture is burned away by darker emotions that sweep away the sentiment and brand me with their intensity. "I did it for you."
For me.
The last thing I expect her to say. I'm not sure I know how to interpret her meaning. Because it can mean so many things. It might mean that she was worried about me. But it could also mean that she didn't want her mother's blood on my hands. Save me and she saves us all. Nice and neat. The perfect sunset to our Chinese adventure. "I'm touched."
The old Sydney would have flinched at my sarcasm, but the spy who has risen from the ashes barely reacts to my tone. It's more like it registers on some level that she's dismissed. Discarded, like our friendship. Shelved for future reference. Gathering dust. "You don't believe me, do you?"
I shake my head. "Did you make a deal with her? My life for hers?"
Your life isn't worth that much.
Her voice in my head. An echo of what I really feel. My own self-worth, shuttered and shattered by my beliefs.
"You can't possibly believe that." Flushed with outrage at my accusation.
"I don't want to believe it, but how else can you explain this? First I see you and your father being tortured, and the next thing you know, you're racing to Irina's rescue. Convenient, don't you think?" I snap.
"I know how it looks, but it wasn't like that." She moves closer and touches my shoulder as she brushes past to look at some stationery. "You were drugged. That stuff they gave you….it made you delusional."
"No." I cradle a black journal that looks far too much like my father's. "You're hiding something from me. I don't know what it is, but I'll find out."
Sydney's shoulders slump in resignation and she throws up her hands. "Fine. Believe what you want. And while you're at it, maybe you ought to be looking at your own behavior. Never once did I question your motives. And I did nothing that you haven't already done to yourself."
Now you see her, now you don't. All that remains is the faintest hint of her cologne, a whiff of the real Sydney. Gone from my life in a flash.
*****
