Story: Beyond All Limits

Author: Steph (stephanie406@juno.com)

Disclaimer: Don't own Alias, or any characters thus portrayed. It all belongs to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, ABC, etc.

Rating: PG-13 (for now)

Spoilers/Summary: post "After Thirty Years"; Vaughn's alive, and Sydney's been captured

Sydney sat handcuffed to the chair she sat in. She gave little attention to the passing thought of fainting from all the shock she was currently enduring.

Vaughn. In all probability? Dead. He'd worried about her too much. Come to save her yet again. But in the end, she'd barely saved herself. And she'd panicked, trying to save him too. And then he was gone. She could hope and pray, she supposed, but neither brought her any closer to actually believing he was still alive. She'd truthfully given up on hopes and prayers, dreams too, when she'd found out the truth about SD-6.

Khasinau. He'd not been anything in person like she'd imagined he'd be. Nothing at all. He was soft-spoken. And, of all things, somewhat considerate. He'd, after all, brought her something to eat. But with the images of Vaughn surrounded and trapped by water, a flood of her making, still so very fresh in her mind, she couldn't eat. The thought repulsed her.

Laura. Irina. Or whatever she went by now. Her mother. Not only was she alive and well, here she was standing in front of Sydney. The one person she had pursued, and now that she was face to face with her, Sydney suddenly felt very unsure of herself. Had it all been worth it for this moment? All the lives, the pain, the sacrifices? Maybe, to some degree, they were worth the price. But she'd likely lost yet another person she cared for, even dared to love, just for a chance to face her that had been the cause of so much grief and suffering. Her mother. Oh dear God. Suddenly fainting didn't seem so bad after all.

"Mom?" she asked uncertainly. Scared of the answer.

The woman before her nodded. "Hello, Sydney," she said, standing in front of her daughter for the first time in years, the very image of poise and self-control. Nothing that Sydney felt at the moment.

There was only one coherent thought running through Sydney's head. "Why?" she asked, her voice cracking from emotion.

"'Why' what, Sydney? There are a lot of things I have done in my lifetime. Some of which you are now aware of, certainly. I have not the time to tell you my life story. Nor can I answer a question so vague."

Sydney stared blankly. This was nothing like she'd thought it would be like. Hell, she didn't know what exactly she'd been expecting! Suddenly, she felt as emotionless as her mother sounded. How could she, this evil, emotionless, feelingless robot of a human be her own mother? How could Sydney have held beliefs about her mother that had turned out to be as far from the truth of her mother's person as truth could possibly be?

"What I want to know" she finally said, speaking slowly, coldly, "is why you deceived us, your family, and everyone that knew you, loved you, respected you. Why you left? What I want to know, mother" Sydney sarcastically emphasized the title "is how one person could be so completely devoid of true emotion. How you could set out to purposely destroy a man simply wanting to serve his country, who wanted and thought he had love, and a family too. I want to know how you could abandon your own child!" she finished, screaming, gasping for breath.

"How can one person be so evil? So demonic? So power hungry and crazed? So cold and emotionally dead inside. How can you not even have a single decent, moral bone in your body?" Sydney's voice was steady now, deadly calm. "You know what?" she continued. "You don't deserve" she spat "to even be called by the title 'mother', for that would imply things that you simply can never be!"

Her angry tirade at her mother finished, at least for the moment, Sydney slumped down in her chair, meeting the other woman's gaze and holding it steady, glaring at her.

She was downright miserable. Her father had been right after all. What could this woman ever say that would right her wrongs? That could explain her actions to her daughter's satisfaction? Those words did not exist. They never had.

"We shall talk, another time perhaps, when you have had ample and sufficient opportunity to calm down." And with those words, Sydney watched as the woman who had brought her into the world turned on her heel and made to leave the room.

"Something I forgot to mention, just in case you actually have a sympathetic bone in your body for the child you bore, and cared for. One of the men you killed? I'm sure you don't even remember him, as cold-hearted as you are. William Vaughn. He was the father of a very good friend of mine." And now that 'very good friend' has probably died as your mercy as well, you bitch. What did it matter any more? Her mother knew she and her father were double agents. She knew about Vaughn. Had probably long been aware of the connection between the elder and younger agents.

And it didn't stop her from doing anything to assume her long abandoned mother role. She intentionally done things to hurt Sydney and the ones she loved.

Thus proved as the woman resumed walking out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Sydney sat, numb from the interaction, or lack thereof, that had just taken place. And she sat uncomfortably, once again handcuffed into another hard wooden chair. This was sadly becoming a habit.

How had her father phrased it, exactly? That her pursuit of her mother was "clouding her judgment"? How could he have been so right, so many times? How could she have been so blinded? The truth had lain in front of her and she'd been too centered on her own selfish pain and loss to even see it.

Sydney finally allowed the tears to take over. No longer would she cry tears of anger, though. She would once again cry tears of loss. She'd lost her judgment and sensibility in this pursuit of truth.

She'd lost trust—the trust others had in her, and the trust she'd had in herself. And not only had trust vanished—so had respect, especially for herself.

She'd lost whatever little control she'd had left over her pathetically confusing life.

And maybe what hurt most of all. In losing Vaughn, she'd lost whatever chance of happiness, whatever shred of hope, and faith, she'd had left. She'd lost the last chance she'd allow herself at love. Loving and losing was painful enough. But loving and losing loved ones because of the work you did? Devastating.

For all that was and what could have been… she cried.

Like the many months ago, she felt she had nothing left to live for. Will was safe. As was Francie. For that she could be grateful. But the man she had fallen unwittingly in love with was yet another victim of her mother's.

She had little to live for. Nothing to lose.