Title: Beyond Transgression, 9/9
Author: Chocolatequeen
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Alias and all its characters belong to JJ Abrams.
Rating: PG
Notes: For the CD May Challenge
Archiving: Just ask
Summary: The timeline is ATY. Technically, I don't think it's AU. However,
I took the transgression thought and expanded on it, hence the title.
Transgressor: one who infringes upon a law, command, or duty-one who
violates or goes over a limit or boundary.
Chapter 10: Transgressor-Laura Bristow/Irina Derevko
From the shadows, I heard Alexander speak the words that were my entrance cue. "But I am not The Man." Stepping into the light, I let my daughter take a good look at me, and then I say, "I have waited almost thirty years for this."
"Mom??" Her voice is weak, and I have to wince at the disbelief and confusion I hear. I can tell that this is going to take more work than I had thought, but I'm prepared, or so I tell myself.
"Yes Sydney," I reply simply. She said she had questions, and I want to give her a chance to ask them before I tell her why I brought her here.
"Mom. I don't understand. You're The Man?"
"That's right." I allow my mouth to quirk up into a small, self-satisfied smile. "It's the perfect disguise, don't you think?"
Ignoring my last statement, she moves straight to her first question. "You left me all alone."
Though she worked hard to mask it, I heard the betrayal in the faint quiver of her voice. I have to fight against that if she was ever going to agree to my plan. "You had your father," I replied, but without conviction.
She gave me a disparaging look. "You left me all alone," she repeated, with more force this time. "When you left, you took the part of him that made him my father with you. I had nothing, nothing but a nanny and memories. And now I find out that even the memories were just lies."
"That's not completely true," I counter. "Would you say that you are less of a friend to Will just because you are also a spy? I was just as much your mother as you always thought I was, I just happened to have a job as well."
She reels back as if she were slapped. "Don't! Don't try to make it sound like I am the same as you. I am nothing like you!!" Taking a deep breath, she calms down a little, but then her eyes narrow and she looks at me accusingly. "What happened to Vaughn?" she demands.
Inwardly I sigh. So like her father, always more concerned for other people than for herself. Someday, that's going to get her killed, unless I can retrain her before it's too late. This may be the perfect time to start. "He's dead," I lie. In fact, he is sitting two doors down, drying out while we wait to question him, suffering nothing more than a broken wrist. But if Sydney thinks that he is dead-her strongest tie to the CIA, destroyed-then she might be more easily broken.
Her eyes were always so expressive. I remember when she was a child, I could always tell if she was lying to me just by looking in her eyes. Now I watch those same eyes darken in anger then slide shut in pain. "No, I won't believe it," she whispers to herself.
"Whether you believe it or not, it is still true Sydney."
Her eyes snap open and she stares at me with a look I never expected to see from her: pure, detached, disgust; as if I were too little a person to get wound up over. This is yet another thing she learned from her father.
For the first time I am uncertain as to the success of my plan. Trying to get back on solid footing, I turn her attention back to what she needed from me. Hopefully this will put me back in control. "Did you have any other questions?"
She regards me silently for a moment, and I find her unemotional gaze unnerving. But finally she opens her mouth, and the first question spills out. "Why?" she asks simply.
The slight vulnerability in her eyes now gives me a small measure of control. "Because I had to Sydney. Do you think it was easy for me to leave my only child? That first night alone I missed you so much. I tried not to think about how much you must be missing me tucking you in at night and reading you bedtime stories. When I arrived in Memphis, Nebraska later that week the small corner grocery store reminded me of the little general store in London, KY. Do you remember when we would go to the annual chicken festival there? The four hours I spent in Paris, TX made me think about how you always dreamed of going to Paris and seeing the Eiffel Tower, and I knew that I wouldn't be there to see you realize that dream or any other. It hurt, but I had to do it."
She shook her head impatiently. "No, that's not what I meant. Why did you kill all those people? Vaughn and his father both, all the other agents. didn't you think about the fact that they are people with families? That maybe somewhere those men and women had children who would miss their parents as much as your daughter missed you? What made you feel like you could make the decision for them to forsake their families as your forsook yours? To put it bluntly, Mom, who died and made you God??"
"Sydney, you don't understand." I started to explain.
"You're right, I don't," she cut in. "And I never will. Dad was right. There is nothing you can say, no explanation you can give that will satisfy all the hurt and questions."
"Sydney, let me try."
"No. If I do, you'll just try to confuse the issue, but in truth it's pretty straightforward. You married Dad for his contacts. You used him. I was just a part of the bargain. If you ever had any feelings for me at all, even those were second to your loyalty to the KGB, because when it came down to a choice, you chose them. You killed the father of the man I. of one of my closest friends, and now you've killed him too. Those are the facts, I don't need to know anything more." So saying, she turned away from me to face the wall.
After staring at her back for a few moments, I stepped quietly into the hallway. Closing the door behind me, I looked in the window one last time, finding myself shocked by the turn of events. I always thought that someday my daughter and I would meet again, and nothing would be changed. I had this vision in my head of us taking on the world together, and winning. In my heart, I thought she would still love me with the same innocent childlike love I threw away so carelessly when I left years ago. Now I realize the truth: Nothing can ever be the same again. Sometimes, the truth hurts.
AN: So there it is, my wild ride through etymology and personal motivation. If you didn't catch it, the root of the word transgression is ghredh, which means to walk or to go. Therefore, all the words used as chapter titles are specific types of movement-transgression being to walk against, etc.
I'm sorry it took me so long to finish uploading this. I didn't realize it wasn't complete until this last week.
Chapter 10: Transgressor-Laura Bristow/Irina Derevko
From the shadows, I heard Alexander speak the words that were my entrance cue. "But I am not The Man." Stepping into the light, I let my daughter take a good look at me, and then I say, "I have waited almost thirty years for this."
"Mom??" Her voice is weak, and I have to wince at the disbelief and confusion I hear. I can tell that this is going to take more work than I had thought, but I'm prepared, or so I tell myself.
"Yes Sydney," I reply simply. She said she had questions, and I want to give her a chance to ask them before I tell her why I brought her here.
"Mom. I don't understand. You're The Man?"
"That's right." I allow my mouth to quirk up into a small, self-satisfied smile. "It's the perfect disguise, don't you think?"
Ignoring my last statement, she moves straight to her first question. "You left me all alone."
Though she worked hard to mask it, I heard the betrayal in the faint quiver of her voice. I have to fight against that if she was ever going to agree to my plan. "You had your father," I replied, but without conviction.
She gave me a disparaging look. "You left me all alone," she repeated, with more force this time. "When you left, you took the part of him that made him my father with you. I had nothing, nothing but a nanny and memories. And now I find out that even the memories were just lies."
"That's not completely true," I counter. "Would you say that you are less of a friend to Will just because you are also a spy? I was just as much your mother as you always thought I was, I just happened to have a job as well."
She reels back as if she were slapped. "Don't! Don't try to make it sound like I am the same as you. I am nothing like you!!" Taking a deep breath, she calms down a little, but then her eyes narrow and she looks at me accusingly. "What happened to Vaughn?" she demands.
Inwardly I sigh. So like her father, always more concerned for other people than for herself. Someday, that's going to get her killed, unless I can retrain her before it's too late. This may be the perfect time to start. "He's dead," I lie. In fact, he is sitting two doors down, drying out while we wait to question him, suffering nothing more than a broken wrist. But if Sydney thinks that he is dead-her strongest tie to the CIA, destroyed-then she might be more easily broken.
Her eyes were always so expressive. I remember when she was a child, I could always tell if she was lying to me just by looking in her eyes. Now I watch those same eyes darken in anger then slide shut in pain. "No, I won't believe it," she whispers to herself.
"Whether you believe it or not, it is still true Sydney."
Her eyes snap open and she stares at me with a look I never expected to see from her: pure, detached, disgust; as if I were too little a person to get wound up over. This is yet another thing she learned from her father.
For the first time I am uncertain as to the success of my plan. Trying to get back on solid footing, I turn her attention back to what she needed from me. Hopefully this will put me back in control. "Did you have any other questions?"
She regards me silently for a moment, and I find her unemotional gaze unnerving. But finally she opens her mouth, and the first question spills out. "Why?" she asks simply.
The slight vulnerability in her eyes now gives me a small measure of control. "Because I had to Sydney. Do you think it was easy for me to leave my only child? That first night alone I missed you so much. I tried not to think about how much you must be missing me tucking you in at night and reading you bedtime stories. When I arrived in Memphis, Nebraska later that week the small corner grocery store reminded me of the little general store in London, KY. Do you remember when we would go to the annual chicken festival there? The four hours I spent in Paris, TX made me think about how you always dreamed of going to Paris and seeing the Eiffel Tower, and I knew that I wouldn't be there to see you realize that dream or any other. It hurt, but I had to do it."
She shook her head impatiently. "No, that's not what I meant. Why did you kill all those people? Vaughn and his father both, all the other agents. didn't you think about the fact that they are people with families? That maybe somewhere those men and women had children who would miss their parents as much as your daughter missed you? What made you feel like you could make the decision for them to forsake their families as your forsook yours? To put it bluntly, Mom, who died and made you God??"
"Sydney, you don't understand." I started to explain.
"You're right, I don't," she cut in. "And I never will. Dad was right. There is nothing you can say, no explanation you can give that will satisfy all the hurt and questions."
"Sydney, let me try."
"No. If I do, you'll just try to confuse the issue, but in truth it's pretty straightforward. You married Dad for his contacts. You used him. I was just a part of the bargain. If you ever had any feelings for me at all, even those were second to your loyalty to the KGB, because when it came down to a choice, you chose them. You killed the father of the man I. of one of my closest friends, and now you've killed him too. Those are the facts, I don't need to know anything more." So saying, she turned away from me to face the wall.
After staring at her back for a few moments, I stepped quietly into the hallway. Closing the door behind me, I looked in the window one last time, finding myself shocked by the turn of events. I always thought that someday my daughter and I would meet again, and nothing would be changed. I had this vision in my head of us taking on the world together, and winning. In my heart, I thought she would still love me with the same innocent childlike love I threw away so carelessly when I left years ago. Now I realize the truth: Nothing can ever be the same again. Sometimes, the truth hurts.
AN: So there it is, my wild ride through etymology and personal motivation. If you didn't catch it, the root of the word transgression is ghredh, which means to walk or to go. Therefore, all the words used as chapter titles are specific types of movement-transgression being to walk against, etc.
I'm sorry it took me so long to finish uploading this. I didn't realize it wasn't complete until this last week.