A/N: I appreciate the great feedback I've been getting on this. Yes, I know it's a bit strange in format, but that's how my muse is working. I have the ending all set, but need to finish a few things here in the middle. Keep looking for future installments. Luv ya! GeoGirl.
A/N2: Now everything is in the right order. The ending I have in mind will render this non-canon. However, anything is possible until I post!
Dear Diary,
Well I must say she's good at what she does. The lies come very easy, don't they? The little white lies are just as easy as the really big, monstrous ones. I wonder if she looses track of all the lies, or has been able to catalogue them so she doesn't use the same ones too often. Does she remember to whom she's told which lie. Does it get easier with time? Or does each lie chip way at her goodness. I think that's what it would do to me. Anyways, she's good.
They taught her well how to cover her tracks; sometimes I think they taught her too well. She has the uncanny ability to elude everyone, when she wants. Invisible, but unforgettable - that was my first impression of her. Deception and camouflage are her friends. Blurry edges and misdirection are a spy's best friend. A magician at her finest. Does it bother her?
Boy, what I wouldn't give to get have the wardrobe she gets. Come on, it's impressive. SD-6 must have a big room marked "Sydney's costumes". Between the clothes, shoes, wigs and accessories, I bet the room is bigger than my entire bedroom. All part of the act, transforming her from sweet grad student to super spy. Metamorphosis, does it go both ways?
Then there are the injuries. If a normal hospital got record of the myriad of bruises, cuts, scrapes concussions, they'd be hunting down some boyfriend for battery, right quick. But she's strong, shrugs them off. Are they reminders that she is alive and mortal?
Me, I'm no one. I'm just an impartial observer (yeah, right, impartial, my ass). Her life seems so much more than mine. More intriguing, more exciting, more dangerous. Not that I would trade places with her for a moment. My life is relatively safe. I just watch her life take all of the air out of the room, like a tornado. Whoosh, there it goes. I'm the ever-fixed mark, the tree stump that not even the strongest wind can pull out of the ground.
She must get so lonely. Immeasurably lonely, profoundly alone. Who can she really talk to about what is going on in her life? Her real life, not the flotsam floating on the surface. That hard, prickly, nagging life. The ugly stuff bubbling under the surface, like molten magma, waiting for a crack in the earth to spew forth.
Who could she tell? Not her friends. One is already dead because she told the truth. Not co-workers, she's so far above them in everything she does. Maybe her partner, Dixon. He has the same kind of life. But then again, he has a wife and children to go home to. His good life is bigger, takes up so much more space. He can leave it all behind with a "Honey, I'm home".
She has no one, not really.
Not her Dad, although he might be a good candidate, if they could ever get past their history. Not likely in the near future.
Not her boss, God, he'd either lock her up somewhere invisible to the entire world or have her killed.
No, she must be one lonely spy. She doesn't know that I see and hear her cry. She does that often. In the shower, in her bed, using pillows to muffle the sounds. On the couch when no one else is around. It breaks my heart, this lonely little girl. This deadly, ruthless, lonely girl.
What really amazes me is that she, so far, can retain a modicum of innocence. Of belief in the good of the normal person. That she remains a decent human being. She's unbelievably kind to her friends, almost never forgets a birthday, anniversary, a party. She knows the perfect gift for all of her acquaintances.
This deadly, ruthless, lonely and unbelievably good person. How she accomplishes that I will never know.
Well, then again, she is really good at what she does. Amazing.