Disclaimer: These aren't my characters, this isn't my story, and I'm just
telling parts of it someone else forgot. JJ, ABC, and Bad Robot own them
all and when I'm done playing with them I promise to put them away.
Chapter Two: Losing Touch
I had been in solitary confinement for six months. Most people find visits to the emergency room or divorces traumatic experiences. Those types of events, though, cannot begin to touch the sort of pain that six months of staring at white walls and bright lights can inflict. My only comfort was the mechanical groans of closing gates; they reminded me that there truly was a way out of hell.
I had a picture in my head of Sydney; it was my last image of her before they brought me there. She had finally fallen asleep after hours of tears and muffled screams. I had been sitting in her room, just watching her sleep. Her dark brown hair sprawled across her pillow and wisped across her tear-stained face. Her small hands were balled into delicate fists, one thumb threatened to drift out of her mouth, but she was quiet, still, exhausted. I kissed her forehead and went out to my car, I hated to leave Sydney, but there was something I needed to do. As I stepped outside, FBI officers arrested me saying they had questions about my wife, "issues of national security" they informed me.
I don't know when it was that we initially lost touch. The FBI finally discharged me; they confirmed that I knew nothing of Irina's transgressions. When I returned home, Sydney looked just as I had left her, but there was a dullness in her eyes. It was the same thing I had noticed in my own reflection. Nevertheless, though, she ran and jumped into my arms, giggling and kissing me. I remember her exact words to this day, "Daddy, where were you? I missed you! I love you! You're not leaving again are you?" The questions kept coming a mile a minute and I couldn't remember ever being so elated and so incredibly heart-broken at the same time. Sydney looked just like her mother.
The days went by and my little girl grew up, whether or not I was home to see it. Had the years waited to pass until I was present, Sydney would still be a child. My assignments took me from one continent to the next, sometimes for weeks at a time. I no longer cared about myself and though I loved her, Sydney became more of a painful memory than a reality. Her face was just a reflection of the epitome of my agony. I drank constantly, expensive wines and liquor becoming my only companions. The years passed and I spiraled farther into my manmade abyss. Meanwhile, at home Sydney was nearly 17 years old and the few times I did speak to her, she wanted little to do with me. What had I expected? In her eyes I was little more than a well-spoken aeronautical salesmen with a soft spot for expensive scotch. Her attitude enraged me, but what could I say to her? "Sydney, your mother wasn't the saint you've perpetuated her to be. She was a heartless murderer, she used me, she used us." Of course not, if I had, Laura would die all over again, this time at the hands of Irina Derevko. It would not only uncover the truth about her mother, but the truth about me as well. So I kept my anger and pain concealed and let my daughter loathe me. "One day," I thought, "one day I can hold her again."
And now I stand here wishing again for the day when I'll comfort her from the evils of the world and not from those that I have created.
A.N: Chapters may take some time to get posted, school's busy right now and I can only write them after new eps have aired.unless I get really creative, so be patient. And feedback is much appreciated, tell me what you think!
Chapter Two: Losing Touch
I had been in solitary confinement for six months. Most people find visits to the emergency room or divorces traumatic experiences. Those types of events, though, cannot begin to touch the sort of pain that six months of staring at white walls and bright lights can inflict. My only comfort was the mechanical groans of closing gates; they reminded me that there truly was a way out of hell.
I had a picture in my head of Sydney; it was my last image of her before they brought me there. She had finally fallen asleep after hours of tears and muffled screams. I had been sitting in her room, just watching her sleep. Her dark brown hair sprawled across her pillow and wisped across her tear-stained face. Her small hands were balled into delicate fists, one thumb threatened to drift out of her mouth, but she was quiet, still, exhausted. I kissed her forehead and went out to my car, I hated to leave Sydney, but there was something I needed to do. As I stepped outside, FBI officers arrested me saying they had questions about my wife, "issues of national security" they informed me.
I don't know when it was that we initially lost touch. The FBI finally discharged me; they confirmed that I knew nothing of Irina's transgressions. When I returned home, Sydney looked just as I had left her, but there was a dullness in her eyes. It was the same thing I had noticed in my own reflection. Nevertheless, though, she ran and jumped into my arms, giggling and kissing me. I remember her exact words to this day, "Daddy, where were you? I missed you! I love you! You're not leaving again are you?" The questions kept coming a mile a minute and I couldn't remember ever being so elated and so incredibly heart-broken at the same time. Sydney looked just like her mother.
The days went by and my little girl grew up, whether or not I was home to see it. Had the years waited to pass until I was present, Sydney would still be a child. My assignments took me from one continent to the next, sometimes for weeks at a time. I no longer cared about myself and though I loved her, Sydney became more of a painful memory than a reality. Her face was just a reflection of the epitome of my agony. I drank constantly, expensive wines and liquor becoming my only companions. The years passed and I spiraled farther into my manmade abyss. Meanwhile, at home Sydney was nearly 17 years old and the few times I did speak to her, she wanted little to do with me. What had I expected? In her eyes I was little more than a well-spoken aeronautical salesmen with a soft spot for expensive scotch. Her attitude enraged me, but what could I say to her? "Sydney, your mother wasn't the saint you've perpetuated her to be. She was a heartless murderer, she used me, she used us." Of course not, if I had, Laura would die all over again, this time at the hands of Irina Derevko. It would not only uncover the truth about her mother, but the truth about me as well. So I kept my anger and pain concealed and let my daughter loathe me. "One day," I thought, "one day I can hold her again."
And now I stand here wishing again for the day when I'll comfort her from the evils of the world and not from those that I have created.
A.N: Chapters may take some time to get posted, school's busy right now and I can only write them after new eps have aired.unless I get really creative, so be patient. And feedback is much appreciated, tell me what you think!