A/N: I would have put this up already, but the site was down when I had the time to spare from my studying. So you get two chapters today...next one coming in a couple of minutes, or hours. Hope you're happy!
Chapter Two
Worse
She stared dispassionately at the wall as she sat propped up on a pile of pillows, frustrated with her forced inactivity, lamenting her idleness; it gave her too much time to think, especially about what she and Will had discussed last night-yes, an actually discussion since her throat was working again, at least most of time.
They had been speaking in low whispers, even though Francie was in the hospital cafeteria, like any second someone would burst in on them. Anything was possibility in her experience, though. He had been seated comfortably in one of the two chairs on either side of her bed with a box of Chinese take-out open in his lap and his chopsticks gripped awkwardly for lack of a fork, while she had picked vacuously at the tray the nurse had given her. But he hadn't offered any of his and she had been too proud to ask. She had recounted as much of the incident at the airport as she could remember to him, editing out the parts she knew would bring the sadness into his eyes, dwelling on her concerns that they had followed her too close to her home and friends, that someone out there might know her true identity. Will hadn't blamed her, simply put his hand over hers in way that made her jump, the emotion behind it was so intense. After a thorny silence, they had then deliberated over her options, but it really only came down to two logical ones: live with it and keep doing 'the right thing', or disappear.
The thought of leaving it all behind, just disappearing, haunted her. She'd seen them do it before, erase a person, it didn't take much more than a computer and a paper shredder. But now she wondered if they could erase your soul along with the rest. Could she still be Sydney Bristow if there was no such person?
The door opened with a quiet little snick, and she looked up hopefully for one of her friends to distract her. She fought with all the composure her life had taught her to keep the look from falling into one of disappointment and disgust as Arvin Sloane's compact figure slipped over the threshold.
As she watched him close the door firmly and silently behind him, she wondered in way that made her wary of the pain pills they were giving her, whether Arvin Sloane had always been Arvin Sloane. Maybe his soul had gotten erased along with his old identity. Or maybe he had just sold it.
He made himself welcome, drawing one of the chairs up next to the bed. He sat forward, leaning over her as his eyes devoured her with their frightening zeal. "I heard about your, er, incident from your father." His voice was almost worse than his gaze, slithering out of his mouth in way that made her skin crawl.
She forced a smile across her face as she caught his unspoken hint; the smile was a lie, but she was good at lying. "Yes, but I did manage to come out with the disc. It's over in that chair," she said, jerking her head in the general direction, "in the jacket pocket." Francie had nearly gone into hysterics when she had been adamant on keeping the bloodstained clothing, but she had still folded it neatly in the chair at Sydney's continued insistence.
She breathed a little easier when he heaved himself to his feet and trotted over to the other side of the room to retrieve the disc, relieving her of his stare. She decided she was going to burn those clothes when she got home as his hands crept over them. They were ruined anyway. He brought the disc up triumphantly like a child with a new toy, his eyes nearly glowing.
He slid back over to his chair, tucking his prize securely away with a final pat, and resumed leering at her. "You have no idea how much this helps, Sydney." She rejoiced silently that would he would find nothing useful on the disc, as he paused and finally decided more was required of him. "I'm sorry you had to suffer such grievous injuries for it, though. You amaze me sometimes, picking yourself up in this condition and walking out of the airport..."
She feigned modestly, tilting her head down to hide her eyes. "I'm sure I've had worse. The doctor says I'll be healed before I know it."
"Good, good. That means, of course, you'll be back to work soon..."
Back to work. The words stuck in her mind, taunting her. How could she go back to work for this man now? Suddenly Sloane and SD-6, even the Alliance, seemed so trivial. The world never changed; if tomorrow there were no Sloane, someone else would only rise to fill his place.
Distraught, she reached for her resolve, that core that had always kept her going through everything. She only came up with hatred and a distinctive weariness. Her reason was gone, crumbled away like a dream that you can't remember when you wake. It shocked her how far away it had drifted, and she wondered how long ago she'd lost it, how long she'd been concealing its absence.
"Yes, soon," she let the impression of exhaustion seep into her voice, blinking heavily before closing her eyes and evening out her breathing so he got the message. She needed time out of this man's presence to mull over this new development.
She pretended to sleep until she heard his footsteps squeak ungracefully across the immaculate floors and out into the hall. Pretending wasn't hard lately. If there was anything she had learned over her lifetime, it was that every animal pretends when the risks are high, when the pressure's on; some pretend to be dead, some pretend to be more than they are, some even pretend to be something else entirely, and she pretended to be normal.
Some types of pretending are more serious than others.
Chapter Two
Worse
She stared dispassionately at the wall as she sat propped up on a pile of pillows, frustrated with her forced inactivity, lamenting her idleness; it gave her too much time to think, especially about what she and Will had discussed last night-yes, an actually discussion since her throat was working again, at least most of time.
They had been speaking in low whispers, even though Francie was in the hospital cafeteria, like any second someone would burst in on them. Anything was possibility in her experience, though. He had been seated comfortably in one of the two chairs on either side of her bed with a box of Chinese take-out open in his lap and his chopsticks gripped awkwardly for lack of a fork, while she had picked vacuously at the tray the nurse had given her. But he hadn't offered any of his and she had been too proud to ask. She had recounted as much of the incident at the airport as she could remember to him, editing out the parts she knew would bring the sadness into his eyes, dwelling on her concerns that they had followed her too close to her home and friends, that someone out there might know her true identity. Will hadn't blamed her, simply put his hand over hers in way that made her jump, the emotion behind it was so intense. After a thorny silence, they had then deliberated over her options, but it really only came down to two logical ones: live with it and keep doing 'the right thing', or disappear.
The thought of leaving it all behind, just disappearing, haunted her. She'd seen them do it before, erase a person, it didn't take much more than a computer and a paper shredder. But now she wondered if they could erase your soul along with the rest. Could she still be Sydney Bristow if there was no such person?
The door opened with a quiet little snick, and she looked up hopefully for one of her friends to distract her. She fought with all the composure her life had taught her to keep the look from falling into one of disappointment and disgust as Arvin Sloane's compact figure slipped over the threshold.
As she watched him close the door firmly and silently behind him, she wondered in way that made her wary of the pain pills they were giving her, whether Arvin Sloane had always been Arvin Sloane. Maybe his soul had gotten erased along with his old identity. Or maybe he had just sold it.
He made himself welcome, drawing one of the chairs up next to the bed. He sat forward, leaning over her as his eyes devoured her with their frightening zeal. "I heard about your, er, incident from your father." His voice was almost worse than his gaze, slithering out of his mouth in way that made her skin crawl.
She forced a smile across her face as she caught his unspoken hint; the smile was a lie, but she was good at lying. "Yes, but I did manage to come out with the disc. It's over in that chair," she said, jerking her head in the general direction, "in the jacket pocket." Francie had nearly gone into hysterics when she had been adamant on keeping the bloodstained clothing, but she had still folded it neatly in the chair at Sydney's continued insistence.
She breathed a little easier when he heaved himself to his feet and trotted over to the other side of the room to retrieve the disc, relieving her of his stare. She decided she was going to burn those clothes when she got home as his hands crept over them. They were ruined anyway. He brought the disc up triumphantly like a child with a new toy, his eyes nearly glowing.
He slid back over to his chair, tucking his prize securely away with a final pat, and resumed leering at her. "You have no idea how much this helps, Sydney." She rejoiced silently that would he would find nothing useful on the disc, as he paused and finally decided more was required of him. "I'm sorry you had to suffer such grievous injuries for it, though. You amaze me sometimes, picking yourself up in this condition and walking out of the airport..."
She feigned modestly, tilting her head down to hide her eyes. "I'm sure I've had worse. The doctor says I'll be healed before I know it."
"Good, good. That means, of course, you'll be back to work soon..."
Back to work. The words stuck in her mind, taunting her. How could she go back to work for this man now? Suddenly Sloane and SD-6, even the Alliance, seemed so trivial. The world never changed; if tomorrow there were no Sloane, someone else would only rise to fill his place.
Distraught, she reached for her resolve, that core that had always kept her going through everything. She only came up with hatred and a distinctive weariness. Her reason was gone, crumbled away like a dream that you can't remember when you wake. It shocked her how far away it had drifted, and she wondered how long ago she'd lost it, how long she'd been concealing its absence.
"Yes, soon," she let the impression of exhaustion seep into her voice, blinking heavily before closing her eyes and evening out her breathing so he got the message. She needed time out of this man's presence to mull over this new development.
She pretended to sleep until she heard his footsteps squeak ungracefully across the immaculate floors and out into the hall. Pretending wasn't hard lately. If there was anything she had learned over her lifetime, it was that every animal pretends when the risks are high, when the pressure's on; some pretend to be dead, some pretend to be more than they are, some even pretend to be something else entirely, and she pretended to be normal.
Some types of pretending are more serious than others.