A/N-I know that this is weird, but it was one of those things that you just
have to write or you'll explode (all you writers know what I'm talking
about). It will get normal-er, I swear. I will try to update my other
fics soon; I'm in the middle of three chapters from different fics and
can't really make progress on any one.
Disclaimer-Yeah, right. My I own Alias. Which explains why live in a dorm room that's never clean and survive on easy mac. Just keep on believing that, folks.
Reviews-Do I even need to try to say how much your reviews mean to me? Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed my stuff in the past, and please, please, please keep writing them! I love you all.
Nightmares
It was, quite possibly, the strangest dream that he had ever had. It began with her. What in his life hadn't? There had been many, many points in his life when he had sworn to himself that his life had begun when he met her, and felt as though, when she left it, it had ended. It almost had. He squirmed still as he remembered that one terrible moment of weakness, back in solitary over twenty years ago. When the guards saw how much of his own blood he had managed to spill with the buckle on his own strait jacket, the entire CIA had rethought its policy on how to keep dangerous prisoners, especially the ones that they had trained themselves. Nobody still lived who had witnessed his narrowly-prevented suicide. It was yet another of Jack's many secrets.
In the dream, though, he knew nothing of betraying wives, of KGB orders or years in solitude and pain. He knew only that Laura was standing in front of him, in their bedroom, with open arms. What would any other husband have done? He stepped forward to embrace her, when suddenly the floor beneath her vanished, leaving a gaping hole full of flame, and she, his beloved wife, was falling in. He rushed forward, grabbed her arms, tried harder than he'd ever tried at anything to drag her up again, but something beneath her was pulling even harder, dragging her down. She looked him in the eye, a look full of love and pain, but then a single tear rolled down her cheek, and as it fell, her face changed. The change was fairly subtle, but in an instant it transformed her from Laura, object of devotion, to a strange, dark woman. As the tear passed her lips, they were suddenly smirking. When the tear fell from her chin, she took one of her hands from his to catch it, and, turning her palm back down, pressed it to his skin. Suddenly, the spot where it had been was burning him, and soon everywhere else she touched him burned too. His grip was slipping, but he was determined to hang on. And she began to laugh.
The moment she started to laugh, it came back to him. This wasn't Laura. It was Irina. Who had betrayed him. Who had abandoned him. Who had never loved him at all.
She slipped from his grasp.
But it didn't matter. He could finally see what was below her-every devil in hell, standing one on top of the other, an endless column supporting her. She laughed again, and he backed away. No, this couldn't be! Not Laura!
And THEN things started to get bad.
From the doorway came a tiny voice, innocent and sweet, followed by a form nearly as small. And there, clutching her teddy bear and obviously just awakened, was Sydney, her three year old eyes filled with wonder.
"Mommy?" the voice asked, wounding Jack to the heart. Sydney began walking, as though magnetically drawn towards her mother and her passage into hell.
"Sydney, no!" Jack begged, snatching the tiny girl, trying with all his might to stop her progress towards the quickly widening hole in the floor. But instantly his little daughter was growing. Four feet and twenty some years were added in moments, and suddenly it was a woman fighting to get to her mother instead of a toddler. Her foot collided with his side, and, winded, he dropped to the floor. Sydney, still an adult, kept walking towards Irina and destruction, and Jack, strangely unable to use his legs, dragged himself after her. Just as Irina managed to grab hold of one of Sydney's hands, Jack caught the other. The tug-of-war began, Sydney rocking back and forth, going very, very white. But Jack couldn't fight both Sydney and Irina, especially form this position. Sydney finally wrenched her arm from his grasp and grabbed hold of the arms of the woman in the pit. But the person that she was dragging out was not Irina or Laura either. It was someone between the two, with Irina's face and Laura's eyes, Irina's manner of dress and carriage and Laura's smile. She looked straight at Jack, her eyes boring holes into his. He stood and backed away, further and further from her.
"Please, Jack," her voice was a pleading rasp, "I'm not what you think. I can be saved, even now. But even Sydney can't do it without you."
He hesitated, emotions tearing him apart, unable to move or speak, just looking at her. She continued to beg him with her eyes, to plead for forgiveness and help. But he just wasn't ready, wasn't able to risk his heart again.
She saw. "Coward," her voice was a whispered scream that cut him to the soul. With one last look at him, she let go of Sydney's hands and plunged into the flames.
He had awoken then, bathed in sweat, full of confusion and pain. For the past five minutes he had simply sat, motionless. But he knew what he had to do, knew now what he had to end all of this. He had to know. Making his decision, he stepped out of bed, pulling clothing on as quickly as possible. Barely registering the fact that his clock read 2:47 AM, he grabbed his jacket and keys and made his way out of the house.
Fifteen minutes later he was in the ops center, stalking through the sterile halls, empty but for the occasional security guard. Down, down, into the bowels of the building he walked, deep where no light was allowed to penetrate. The guards became fewer and sleepier. Finally he reached the gates that held her in, and the room with its wall of glass. He was surprised at first to see that she was sleeping. He had never seen her any less than perfectly aware of everything since she had returned; it had always been her waiting for him rather than visa-versa.
"Irina," he called, softer and gentler than he had meant to. She didn't wake. "Irina," he said again, gruffer and more like his usual tone. This time she stirred, rolling over to wipe the grit from her eyes and yawn.
"Jack?" She sat up, running a hand through her hair. "What are you doing here at this hour? Is something wrong?" She sat up and noticed the look on his face. Almost instantly she was out of bed, her bare feet padding lightly on the cold floor. She didn't say anything, just looked, studying his expression.
His countenance betrayed his confusion, his bewilderment, his utterly unstrung state. He knew that this was the last place that he should be, the last person to whom he should display such weakness. But it didn't matter anymore. He had to have answers right now. He had waited long enough. There were so many things, so many questions, but he was sure that he would only get answers to one, if even that. So he chose the question that had been haunting him for twenty years, the one that had been ringing in his head since he first learned of her betrayal.
He took a deep breath before beginning.
"Irina..all those years ago, when we were..when you were Laura.." he choked slightly on the name that was responsible for so much good and bad, paused to gather his strength, then looked her directly in the eye. "When you were Laura, did you love me at all?"
A/N: See that little button marked submit review? Click it! The next chapter should get up fairly fast (for me, anyway) because I already know pretty much where this is going. Also, completely unrelated to this fic- whatever happened to Ana Espinosa? Is she dead or what?
Disclaimer-Yeah, right. My I own Alias. Which explains why live in a dorm room that's never clean and survive on easy mac. Just keep on believing that, folks.
Reviews-Do I even need to try to say how much your reviews mean to me? Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed my stuff in the past, and please, please, please keep writing them! I love you all.
Nightmares
It was, quite possibly, the strangest dream that he had ever had. It began with her. What in his life hadn't? There had been many, many points in his life when he had sworn to himself that his life had begun when he met her, and felt as though, when she left it, it had ended. It almost had. He squirmed still as he remembered that one terrible moment of weakness, back in solitary over twenty years ago. When the guards saw how much of his own blood he had managed to spill with the buckle on his own strait jacket, the entire CIA had rethought its policy on how to keep dangerous prisoners, especially the ones that they had trained themselves. Nobody still lived who had witnessed his narrowly-prevented suicide. It was yet another of Jack's many secrets.
In the dream, though, he knew nothing of betraying wives, of KGB orders or years in solitude and pain. He knew only that Laura was standing in front of him, in their bedroom, with open arms. What would any other husband have done? He stepped forward to embrace her, when suddenly the floor beneath her vanished, leaving a gaping hole full of flame, and she, his beloved wife, was falling in. He rushed forward, grabbed her arms, tried harder than he'd ever tried at anything to drag her up again, but something beneath her was pulling even harder, dragging her down. She looked him in the eye, a look full of love and pain, but then a single tear rolled down her cheek, and as it fell, her face changed. The change was fairly subtle, but in an instant it transformed her from Laura, object of devotion, to a strange, dark woman. As the tear passed her lips, they were suddenly smirking. When the tear fell from her chin, she took one of her hands from his to catch it, and, turning her palm back down, pressed it to his skin. Suddenly, the spot where it had been was burning him, and soon everywhere else she touched him burned too. His grip was slipping, but he was determined to hang on. And she began to laugh.
The moment she started to laugh, it came back to him. This wasn't Laura. It was Irina. Who had betrayed him. Who had abandoned him. Who had never loved him at all.
She slipped from his grasp.
But it didn't matter. He could finally see what was below her-every devil in hell, standing one on top of the other, an endless column supporting her. She laughed again, and he backed away. No, this couldn't be! Not Laura!
And THEN things started to get bad.
From the doorway came a tiny voice, innocent and sweet, followed by a form nearly as small. And there, clutching her teddy bear and obviously just awakened, was Sydney, her three year old eyes filled with wonder.
"Mommy?" the voice asked, wounding Jack to the heart. Sydney began walking, as though magnetically drawn towards her mother and her passage into hell.
"Sydney, no!" Jack begged, snatching the tiny girl, trying with all his might to stop her progress towards the quickly widening hole in the floor. But instantly his little daughter was growing. Four feet and twenty some years were added in moments, and suddenly it was a woman fighting to get to her mother instead of a toddler. Her foot collided with his side, and, winded, he dropped to the floor. Sydney, still an adult, kept walking towards Irina and destruction, and Jack, strangely unable to use his legs, dragged himself after her. Just as Irina managed to grab hold of one of Sydney's hands, Jack caught the other. The tug-of-war began, Sydney rocking back and forth, going very, very white. But Jack couldn't fight both Sydney and Irina, especially form this position. Sydney finally wrenched her arm from his grasp and grabbed hold of the arms of the woman in the pit. But the person that she was dragging out was not Irina or Laura either. It was someone between the two, with Irina's face and Laura's eyes, Irina's manner of dress and carriage and Laura's smile. She looked straight at Jack, her eyes boring holes into his. He stood and backed away, further and further from her.
"Please, Jack," her voice was a pleading rasp, "I'm not what you think. I can be saved, even now. But even Sydney can't do it without you."
He hesitated, emotions tearing him apart, unable to move or speak, just looking at her. She continued to beg him with her eyes, to plead for forgiveness and help. But he just wasn't ready, wasn't able to risk his heart again.
She saw. "Coward," her voice was a whispered scream that cut him to the soul. With one last look at him, she let go of Sydney's hands and plunged into the flames.
He had awoken then, bathed in sweat, full of confusion and pain. For the past five minutes he had simply sat, motionless. But he knew what he had to do, knew now what he had to end all of this. He had to know. Making his decision, he stepped out of bed, pulling clothing on as quickly as possible. Barely registering the fact that his clock read 2:47 AM, he grabbed his jacket and keys and made his way out of the house.
Fifteen minutes later he was in the ops center, stalking through the sterile halls, empty but for the occasional security guard. Down, down, into the bowels of the building he walked, deep where no light was allowed to penetrate. The guards became fewer and sleepier. Finally he reached the gates that held her in, and the room with its wall of glass. He was surprised at first to see that she was sleeping. He had never seen her any less than perfectly aware of everything since she had returned; it had always been her waiting for him rather than visa-versa.
"Irina," he called, softer and gentler than he had meant to. She didn't wake. "Irina," he said again, gruffer and more like his usual tone. This time she stirred, rolling over to wipe the grit from her eyes and yawn.
"Jack?" She sat up, running a hand through her hair. "What are you doing here at this hour? Is something wrong?" She sat up and noticed the look on his face. Almost instantly she was out of bed, her bare feet padding lightly on the cold floor. She didn't say anything, just looked, studying his expression.
His countenance betrayed his confusion, his bewilderment, his utterly unstrung state. He knew that this was the last place that he should be, the last person to whom he should display such weakness. But it didn't matter anymore. He had to have answers right now. He had waited long enough. There were so many things, so many questions, but he was sure that he would only get answers to one, if even that. So he chose the question that had been haunting him for twenty years, the one that had been ringing in his head since he first learned of her betrayal.
He took a deep breath before beginning.
"Irina..all those years ago, when we were..when you were Laura.." he choked slightly on the name that was responsible for so much good and bad, paused to gather his strength, then looked her directly in the eye. "When you were Laura, did you love me at all?"
A/N: See that little button marked submit review? Click it! The next chapter should get up fairly fast (for me, anyway) because I already know pretty much where this is going. Also, completely unrelated to this fic- whatever happened to Ana Espinosa? Is she dead or what?
