Title: Shattered
Author: Jen
Email: jd108@hotmail.com
Rating: PG
Spoilers: All of season one, and "The Enemy Walks In"
Feedback: This is my first Alias fic, so any feedback – good or bad – would be greatly appreciated!
Disclaimer: Alias is owned by ABC and Touchstone, and was created by the brilliant JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
Summary: What if Will had made a different choice? Instead of going along with the drug addict cover story, he joined witness protection…Now, five years later, a certain spy has is about to re-appear, shattering his so-called life…No worries, this will eventually be S/V shipper friendly!
AN: Thanks for all the great reviews, guys! Please keep them coming J I know this chapter is really short, sorry!
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Seconds later your contact arrives. He is a tall man with short light-brown hair. He wears a pair of jeans and a navy blue raincoat. His green eyes are caring, and his forehead is creased like the ripples in the puddle at my feet – but I can't see that from where I'm sitting. I watch in silence, absorbing every movement and gesture, every emotion that plays across your face. My mind is shutting down, freezing, as I try to function. But I can't keep my eyes from staring at you, trying to find some sort of clue in your stance, your disguise - anything to give me a hint at why you're here. Only one thought courses through my brain: this may be the last time I see you.
I watch as your contact takes a brown paper bag out of the backpack that is slung casually over his shoulder. He pulls out an apple, and as he takes a bite he places the paper bag on the ground between you. From where I'm sitting, it doesn't look like either of you has spoken.
You wait a moment before picking it up. I see you hesitate, but you don't look inside. I can see the strain in your movements as you struggle not to look at him, not to smile at him as he says goodbye. He retraces his steps as he saunters away from you, and I swear that he is looking at me. His eyes meet mine for a millisecond, and I can't help wondering if I have something to do with all of this.
But my common sense kicks in, and I remember my situation. I am Andrew Carson, the computer programmer. I have an older brother named Clay, and my mother is a widow. My father died when I was ten, in a rock climbing accident. I have commitment issues, and therefore no girlfriend – or should I be married b now? Ok so I made up that last part. It's just one of the many excuses I tell people to avoid getting involved in a dishonest relationship. Dishonest…I don't know what else to call it, and I'm starting to think that maybe my subconscious is helping me avoid being in the same situation you once were. Is this why you told Danny? Was it because of the gnawing feeling in your heart, the voice screaming in your head "this isn't right," the sick feeling that churns in your stomach? I'm afraid of starting a relationship, afraid that I won't be able to keep the past hidden.
I'm about to leave when you start to walk towards me. I feel my muscles tense as I desperately struggle to think of something that I can do to keep myself from acknowledging you. I stare at my feet, at the puddle that has soaked my running shoes and is now squishing between my toes. I can't quite feel my feet.
You look the other way as you walk by, pretending to be interested in a boy and his energetic dog. The boy throws a red rubber ball and his dog chases after it, the same way it has the past twenty times the boy has thrown it. Don't animals ever get bored?
You are almost out of the park when I notice the piece of paper in my lap. How did that get there? I swallow, remembering that you are paid to do this kind of thing.
I wait until I get home to open the note. I lock the door behind me, checking all the obvious spots for any unwelcome visitors. You would think that five years would be enough time to alleviate the fear, but torture seems to have a lasting affect.
I sit down at the kitchen table and unfold the letter with shaking hands. I stare at the typed words for a long moment, disappointed that I don't see your curved, lacy writing. And then I start to read….