Title: Rara Avis (Part two)
Author: lisek16 (lisek16@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias that makes me sad. But the story is mine.
Classification: if there is one…it has yet to be identified and clarified to me.
Author's note: I've been toying with this addition for roughly two weeks. I hope that you enjoy and that you'll continue to read and review. It is appreciated :) ~E
~*~
Mommy dearest was a far cry from June Cleaver though. She was a warm fuzzy memory and at the same time she was an unknown beast. A monster, who happened to coexist in the same body as the woman who taught her all the words in French to "Habanera". The loving mother she fondly used to remember was not the same woman who purposely vanished to be "The Man". They couldn't be the same woman. Sydney wouldn't allow them to intertwine in her complex mind. She had to keep two separate women in her thoughts. Her mom, the one she loved; the one who loved her too; The cookie baking-read me another bedtime story-love you forever mom was different from the "you have no choice" mistress of evil and deceit that she encountered in Taipei.
She had spent almost a lifetime deceiving herself. She lied to herself, even though she had no idea what the truth encompass. She had protected herself by never doubting that her mother loved her…She had believed that her mother died because this was what G-d intended. She used to reflect on her mother as an angel with a smile of gold. But a month ago when she discovered the truth that changed. Her mother had appeared in her vague recollections to be a good person, which was after all based upon what everyone had always told her. Everyone being her father though. He had been deceived too…
Laura Bristow…Irina Derevko…whatever her latest sobriquet was…was not a good person. The woman who ordered her tied up in Taipei was a fiend. She offered Sydney 3 days to decide, 3 days to go back to Los Angeles and say her Good byes.
She asked Sloane for the days off, knowing they'd be her last. Actually he offered them to her; he could see the black circles which had been embedded under her eyes. He could see the misery which was causing her skin to wither and peel. He could easily see how the job was slowly killing her. Day by day…mission after mission. This life was getting to be too much. He offered her a well needed vacation. He offered her a chance not really to decide her fate or her mother's offer but to come to terms with what her future would hold.
It wasn't a difficult decision. After all she wasn't stupid. She might have once been a Rara Avis…something unusual, something rare…but in all actuality she was just a girl living in a heartless world; knowing that she couldn't let her friends suffer…
She wasn't rare. She was far from unique. She was just a by product of evil and there were many of those lying around. Soon enough she would be working for a greater evil. When she agreed to work for SD-6 she was blind to the fact that they were not a black ops division of The CIA. She knew what she was getting herself into here though. This was an agency, an organization that reeked of impurity and immorality.
Her demand was high though. Everyone wanted her. They wanted her and planned to use her up and throw her away; to step on her a few times and disregard her like a rotten banana. Sydney refused to be a banana though. She wanted to be a bird. She wanted her freedom. But instead like a caged bird she was unable to escape. She was forced to play a part in the ridiculous game that these people in her life played… to play the game…and ultimately lose…
The game was simple as her mother had laid out all the cards. After her mother's planned monologue about not wanting to abandon her daughter, she proceeded to the truth. She wanted Sydney. She wanted Sydney, and wanted to use her training and knowledge to help her and her cohorts. The woman who bore her, plainly said "either you agree to my terms or you shall meet your destiny"
Destiny was a funny thing. True love; love at first sight…things like that left Sydney bewildered. That was what destiny had always meant to Sydney. It was synonymous with love and windows of opportunity. She had loved in the past. She had seen love, but she didn't trust it. It took her such a long time to admit the truth to anyone that the distance and the facades that she plastered up kept her from love. Honesty was a dangerous thing; sometimes more lethal than a gun or a swift kick. Honesty is what caused her fiancé Danny to be murdered. Honesty was what caused trouble to escalate. They say that sometimes the truth hurts, but Sydney had more than her fair share of such misery and anguish.
As she relinquished her grip on her memories of the past and personal opinions of life's conundrums, she faded back to the opera house in New Jersey. The cold entering from thin worn windows caused her skin to slightly pucker and perhaps the wave of snow in mid may was mimicking a reflection of the rough turns her life had taken. She allowed her chilled nimble fingers to dance upon the chestnut music box that was perched upon the old metal rickety desk. She silently swore because she should have brought warmer clothes. The gray tee shirt and loose blue pants were comfortable for a mild spring but were not adequate for a heavy winter storm. She had worn less in severer conditions though. Usually she was forced to wear far less for work-related missions and was used to the numbness that followed the cold which nipped her pale skin. She attempted to open the box of musical novelties but it slid of the desk and crashed to the floor. It was useless to attempt to pick it up.
The box would be cremated sooner or later. No one was coming to reclaim it, because in less then two days time the building would be demolished, if it didn't fall down voluntarily first. The same went for herself. In about two days time the old Sydney would be nonexistent; A faded memory of a girl who once lived. No one was coming to reclaim her and welcome her back into The living word. The truth was, since Taipei she was living but barely living. She was breathing but dying more and more inside.
The newspaper that she had picked up had stated the fact bluntly; 'Building to be demolished' was the heading which sparked a further interest in the house. It was more than walls and windows. It was a resting place for forgotten memories, and memories set aside for another day's time. The things this building must have seen must be unimaginable, but they couldn't be compared to the visions which penetrated her stone cold, icy glare.
She had watched people die. She had watched people writhe in pain. She had killed a man which her bare hands; a man who cared for her. She had reeled in pain and felt trapped every day. She watched as the music box lay dormant on the floor. Her eyes trailed up the wood paneling which held discolored framed photographs from the prosperous era of the home. Photos of movie stars shaking hands with ordinary people weren't detected as one might have suspected. Instead such pictures were replaced with smiling audiences and assemblies of happy school children. When fame and fortune had consumed the community, the house itself and its principles were unyielding and left intact. Sydney easily found refugee in the concept of the never changing principles.
One picture in particular stood out though. It was the type of picture that Mrs. Perka would have pointed out. It held an allure over the others. There was a young girl sitting on the lap of her father, while her mother looked at her daughter's happy expression and her reaction to what appeared to be her first opera. Sydney wished that that could be her family situation. But it wasn't because in her life, memories such as that were based upon lies. She was positive that her father still didn't share every ounce of truth with her, but she found shelter in the comfort that she received from Michael Vaughn.
He understood her in a way that she found hard to fathom. Her eyes lit up as her co-worker, her liaison for the good guys saved the day time after time. He had risked his life for her. He had stuck his neck out on the line for her and she never really thanked him. A meaningless utterance of the two words wasn't enough. Neither was the job promotion that he had received based upon her manipulation of a serious situation. He was one of the few people who was always there for her, but she, in the end had to push him away to keep him safe. It was one of the conditions that her mother and herself had agreed upon.
In order to ensure his safety, she had to distance herself from him. Before she left Los Angeles, a phone call had come in. "Joey's pizza?" a familiar voice questioned in a smooth confident tone. Her relief that he was truly alive was internal. She dully replied, "Sorry Wrong number" Inside she screamed, "I'll miss you….I love you!" She didn't meet him in the warehouse though. She didn't attempt to contact him. She thought about writing a note but the peril would have been heightened. So she simply packed her duffel bag and boarded a flight. She hoped by leaving without saying good bye, that by time he realized where she was and what her destiny would be that she would already be a carbon copy of herself…
She prayed that he'd leave well enough alone, but Michael Vaughn wasn't the type of person to give up, he'd search for her. That's another reason that she fled to New Jersey. Not just because it held memories that needed to be sorted out, but because it was remote and no one knew. She was safe to break down and it was safer to forget.
She needed to flush years of memories down the drain in order to live the life her mother planned for her. The life didn't include friends, nor fun. It offered her friends their freedom and safety in exchange for her life. A life that had been used by everyone, she had grown into a person who could be bought and sold. Used and abused.
It seemed almost impossible that almost 20 years ago she was a "Rara Avis" who was filled with life and passion. The flames of zeal had passed though. She was still a commodity. She was still rare, but more of an asset to various agencies afflicted with the trade of espionage. She felted quite gauche to be thrown into this life. Her sole refuge from everyone, including the man she loved, was hidden in the paint-peeling decaying home to the arts.
She paced around the room once more. She kicked at the wall and the photograph that she had admired fell to its demise as the glass cracked. As the frame shifted a caption was exposed. Before she had a chance to look at the caption which peered up in front of her beneath cracked glass she heard the sound of a soft pitter patter of shoes that she knew all too well…
She turned away so that she didn't face to door. She couldn't bear to see his face filled with confusion. He'd ask her 'why?' he'd explain how he could help fabricate a plan to save her…he'd offer her false hope and she didn't need that. She heard the creaking of the old door and a lapse of time.
It felt as if an eternity had passed. Finally he uttered her name "Sydney?" his voice questioned as he moved closer to her. She winced as his hand brushed against her shoulder. He was prompting her to turn around, to face him and her future. "Don't…touch…me" she croaked out. It was obvious to him that she had been crying. He tried again. His touch was gentle and reassuring but she wasn't responsive to such tenderness…
"Don't touch me" she screamed as she felt her body tighten as she tried to pull away. She shrugged her shoulder away from him and remained unresponsive. She couldn't break this façade. Soon enough she'd be unattainable and if she allowed herself to crumble into his arms she was positive that she wouldn't be able to rebuild and go on.
"It's ok" she heard him say. "I'm here…everything will be fine" that was the last straw. Obviously her body language wasn't expressive enough. She had flown over 3 thousand miles to an out-of-the-way hideaway to escape him and he didn't get the picture. She physically pulled away and he didn't have a clue. Maybe he needed verbal rejection.
"No." she hoarsely said. "Everything will not be fine."
"Syd…if you just tell me what's wrong…."
"I can't do that" she replied in a short choppy voice. It was a tell tale sign that she was hiding something. It was something that if she wouldn't have done but in the present situation that she was in, it didn't seem to matter much…
"I think you can…"
"You need to leave"
"What before you say something you are going to regret? I can help you…you need to trust me on this Syd. Whatever you're running from…..you know it's going to catch up to you…"
"What if I'm running from myself?" stupid question.
"Then we'll …."
"you need to leave…"
"you said that already…
"then maybe you should listen"
"just tell me that you're okay…Look me straight in the eye and tell me that nothing is wrong…if you can do that then maybe I'll believe you. But you are not giving me much justification on that. You run from L.A. the minute that you get back. You ignore my calls and you attempt to vanish. You can't even control yourself. I'm positive that everything is not okay…so just clue me in…"
TBC
Author: lisek16 (lisek16@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias that makes me sad. But the story is mine.
Classification: if there is one…it has yet to be identified and clarified to me.
Author's note: I've been toying with this addition for roughly two weeks. I hope that you enjoy and that you'll continue to read and review. It is appreciated :) ~E
~*~
Mommy dearest was a far cry from June Cleaver though. She was a warm fuzzy memory and at the same time she was an unknown beast. A monster, who happened to coexist in the same body as the woman who taught her all the words in French to "Habanera". The loving mother she fondly used to remember was not the same woman who purposely vanished to be "The Man". They couldn't be the same woman. Sydney wouldn't allow them to intertwine in her complex mind. She had to keep two separate women in her thoughts. Her mom, the one she loved; the one who loved her too; The cookie baking-read me another bedtime story-love you forever mom was different from the "you have no choice" mistress of evil and deceit that she encountered in Taipei.
She had spent almost a lifetime deceiving herself. She lied to herself, even though she had no idea what the truth encompass. She had protected herself by never doubting that her mother loved her…She had believed that her mother died because this was what G-d intended. She used to reflect on her mother as an angel with a smile of gold. But a month ago when she discovered the truth that changed. Her mother had appeared in her vague recollections to be a good person, which was after all based upon what everyone had always told her. Everyone being her father though. He had been deceived too…
Laura Bristow…Irina Derevko…whatever her latest sobriquet was…was not a good person. The woman who ordered her tied up in Taipei was a fiend. She offered Sydney 3 days to decide, 3 days to go back to Los Angeles and say her Good byes.
She asked Sloane for the days off, knowing they'd be her last. Actually he offered them to her; he could see the black circles which had been embedded under her eyes. He could see the misery which was causing her skin to wither and peel. He could easily see how the job was slowly killing her. Day by day…mission after mission. This life was getting to be too much. He offered her a well needed vacation. He offered her a chance not really to decide her fate or her mother's offer but to come to terms with what her future would hold.
It wasn't a difficult decision. After all she wasn't stupid. She might have once been a Rara Avis…something unusual, something rare…but in all actuality she was just a girl living in a heartless world; knowing that she couldn't let her friends suffer…
She wasn't rare. She was far from unique. She was just a by product of evil and there were many of those lying around. Soon enough she would be working for a greater evil. When she agreed to work for SD-6 she was blind to the fact that they were not a black ops division of The CIA. She knew what she was getting herself into here though. This was an agency, an organization that reeked of impurity and immorality.
Her demand was high though. Everyone wanted her. They wanted her and planned to use her up and throw her away; to step on her a few times and disregard her like a rotten banana. Sydney refused to be a banana though. She wanted to be a bird. She wanted her freedom. But instead like a caged bird she was unable to escape. She was forced to play a part in the ridiculous game that these people in her life played… to play the game…and ultimately lose…
The game was simple as her mother had laid out all the cards. After her mother's planned monologue about not wanting to abandon her daughter, she proceeded to the truth. She wanted Sydney. She wanted Sydney, and wanted to use her training and knowledge to help her and her cohorts. The woman who bore her, plainly said "either you agree to my terms or you shall meet your destiny"
Destiny was a funny thing. True love; love at first sight…things like that left Sydney bewildered. That was what destiny had always meant to Sydney. It was synonymous with love and windows of opportunity. She had loved in the past. She had seen love, but she didn't trust it. It took her such a long time to admit the truth to anyone that the distance and the facades that she plastered up kept her from love. Honesty was a dangerous thing; sometimes more lethal than a gun or a swift kick. Honesty is what caused her fiancé Danny to be murdered. Honesty was what caused trouble to escalate. They say that sometimes the truth hurts, but Sydney had more than her fair share of such misery and anguish.
As she relinquished her grip on her memories of the past and personal opinions of life's conundrums, she faded back to the opera house in New Jersey. The cold entering from thin worn windows caused her skin to slightly pucker and perhaps the wave of snow in mid may was mimicking a reflection of the rough turns her life had taken. She allowed her chilled nimble fingers to dance upon the chestnut music box that was perched upon the old metal rickety desk. She silently swore because she should have brought warmer clothes. The gray tee shirt and loose blue pants were comfortable for a mild spring but were not adequate for a heavy winter storm. She had worn less in severer conditions though. Usually she was forced to wear far less for work-related missions and was used to the numbness that followed the cold which nipped her pale skin. She attempted to open the box of musical novelties but it slid of the desk and crashed to the floor. It was useless to attempt to pick it up.
The box would be cremated sooner or later. No one was coming to reclaim it, because in less then two days time the building would be demolished, if it didn't fall down voluntarily first. The same went for herself. In about two days time the old Sydney would be nonexistent; A faded memory of a girl who once lived. No one was coming to reclaim her and welcome her back into The living word. The truth was, since Taipei she was living but barely living. She was breathing but dying more and more inside.
The newspaper that she had picked up had stated the fact bluntly; 'Building to be demolished' was the heading which sparked a further interest in the house. It was more than walls and windows. It was a resting place for forgotten memories, and memories set aside for another day's time. The things this building must have seen must be unimaginable, but they couldn't be compared to the visions which penetrated her stone cold, icy glare.
She had watched people die. She had watched people writhe in pain. She had killed a man which her bare hands; a man who cared for her. She had reeled in pain and felt trapped every day. She watched as the music box lay dormant on the floor. Her eyes trailed up the wood paneling which held discolored framed photographs from the prosperous era of the home. Photos of movie stars shaking hands with ordinary people weren't detected as one might have suspected. Instead such pictures were replaced with smiling audiences and assemblies of happy school children. When fame and fortune had consumed the community, the house itself and its principles were unyielding and left intact. Sydney easily found refugee in the concept of the never changing principles.
One picture in particular stood out though. It was the type of picture that Mrs. Perka would have pointed out. It held an allure over the others. There was a young girl sitting on the lap of her father, while her mother looked at her daughter's happy expression and her reaction to what appeared to be her first opera. Sydney wished that that could be her family situation. But it wasn't because in her life, memories such as that were based upon lies. She was positive that her father still didn't share every ounce of truth with her, but she found shelter in the comfort that she received from Michael Vaughn.
He understood her in a way that she found hard to fathom. Her eyes lit up as her co-worker, her liaison for the good guys saved the day time after time. He had risked his life for her. He had stuck his neck out on the line for her and she never really thanked him. A meaningless utterance of the two words wasn't enough. Neither was the job promotion that he had received based upon her manipulation of a serious situation. He was one of the few people who was always there for her, but she, in the end had to push him away to keep him safe. It was one of the conditions that her mother and herself had agreed upon.
In order to ensure his safety, she had to distance herself from him. Before she left Los Angeles, a phone call had come in. "Joey's pizza?" a familiar voice questioned in a smooth confident tone. Her relief that he was truly alive was internal. She dully replied, "Sorry Wrong number" Inside she screamed, "I'll miss you….I love you!" She didn't meet him in the warehouse though. She didn't attempt to contact him. She thought about writing a note but the peril would have been heightened. So she simply packed her duffel bag and boarded a flight. She hoped by leaving without saying good bye, that by time he realized where she was and what her destiny would be that she would already be a carbon copy of herself…
She prayed that he'd leave well enough alone, but Michael Vaughn wasn't the type of person to give up, he'd search for her. That's another reason that she fled to New Jersey. Not just because it held memories that needed to be sorted out, but because it was remote and no one knew. She was safe to break down and it was safer to forget.
She needed to flush years of memories down the drain in order to live the life her mother planned for her. The life didn't include friends, nor fun. It offered her friends their freedom and safety in exchange for her life. A life that had been used by everyone, she had grown into a person who could be bought and sold. Used and abused.
It seemed almost impossible that almost 20 years ago she was a "Rara Avis" who was filled with life and passion. The flames of zeal had passed though. She was still a commodity. She was still rare, but more of an asset to various agencies afflicted with the trade of espionage. She felted quite gauche to be thrown into this life. Her sole refuge from everyone, including the man she loved, was hidden in the paint-peeling decaying home to the arts.
She paced around the room once more. She kicked at the wall and the photograph that she had admired fell to its demise as the glass cracked. As the frame shifted a caption was exposed. Before she had a chance to look at the caption which peered up in front of her beneath cracked glass she heard the sound of a soft pitter patter of shoes that she knew all too well…
She turned away so that she didn't face to door. She couldn't bear to see his face filled with confusion. He'd ask her 'why?' he'd explain how he could help fabricate a plan to save her…he'd offer her false hope and she didn't need that. She heard the creaking of the old door and a lapse of time.
It felt as if an eternity had passed. Finally he uttered her name "Sydney?" his voice questioned as he moved closer to her. She winced as his hand brushed against her shoulder. He was prompting her to turn around, to face him and her future. "Don't…touch…me" she croaked out. It was obvious to him that she had been crying. He tried again. His touch was gentle and reassuring but she wasn't responsive to such tenderness…
"Don't touch me" she screamed as she felt her body tighten as she tried to pull away. She shrugged her shoulder away from him and remained unresponsive. She couldn't break this façade. Soon enough she'd be unattainable and if she allowed herself to crumble into his arms she was positive that she wouldn't be able to rebuild and go on.
"It's ok" she heard him say. "I'm here…everything will be fine" that was the last straw. Obviously her body language wasn't expressive enough. She had flown over 3 thousand miles to an out-of-the-way hideaway to escape him and he didn't get the picture. She physically pulled away and he didn't have a clue. Maybe he needed verbal rejection.
"No." she hoarsely said. "Everything will not be fine."
"Syd…if you just tell me what's wrong…."
"I can't do that" she replied in a short choppy voice. It was a tell tale sign that she was hiding something. It was something that if she wouldn't have done but in the present situation that she was in, it didn't seem to matter much…
"I think you can…"
"You need to leave"
"What before you say something you are going to regret? I can help you…you need to trust me on this Syd. Whatever you're running from…..you know it's going to catch up to you…"
"What if I'm running from myself?" stupid question.
"Then we'll …."
"you need to leave…"
"you said that already…
"then maybe you should listen"
"just tell me that you're okay…Look me straight in the eye and tell me that nothing is wrong…if you can do that then maybe I'll believe you. But you are not giving me much justification on that. You run from L.A. the minute that you get back. You ignore my calls and you attempt to vanish. You can't even control yourself. I'm positive that everything is not okay…so just clue me in…"
TBC
