parte dos
When I wake up I am almost blinded by the sunlight streaming through the glass window onto my bed. I have no idea where I am or what I'm doing here. I hardly even know who I am anymore. I roll over to find a woman lying beside me; about five foot four, blond, with a dimpled smile stretching across her face. Not my type, but no one has been my type since I met Sydney Bristow.
I glance over at the clock, which reveals that I have indeed missed my flight back home. Where am I? The woman's name tag has a hotel name on it. My vision is blurred but I can make out Vegas' Best and a name. Cindy. Pushing away the irony of this, I ease myself out of bed and stumble over to the shower. I have a killer headache and am having trouble seeing in a straight line. I can't even remember last night. On a mission with Sydney, getting files from a casino. Vegas' Best. A casino and hotel. Probably the extent of which I will remember about last night. Eric always tells me if I drink I forget everything. I'm one of those rare cases that never remember later the day after. Hot water pours over my face and down my back. I'm washing something away but I don't know what. Eric taught me not to feel guilty about one night stands, especially in Vegas. So I don't. Something about it gets to me, though, and I shower for about an hour, just letting the water pour over my body and wash away my un-known sins. And I try not to think about Sydney. Mission Impossible. My punishment for the night will be missing my meeting with Sydney. She'll have to stand Lambert for five minutes of her life and I will be responsible. That's something I can feel guilty about. And then there was that dream last night...I can't remember much, just fragments which will never turn themselves into a whole. I always hated puzzles. Probably because I live in one. Sydney was prominently featured, as usual, but it doesn't seem like the nightmare when we both die. Once I killed her. She doesn't know but I have these dreams, these nightmares, more often than I see her a week, which becomes fairly often when Sloane gets his school boy crushes on Rambaldi or some other exciting spy crap. They usually end up with her dying with me, for me, by me. Or she runs away with someone who looks a lot like Hicks, that bastard. If I had Sydney, if she loved me, I would never dream of using her. I would rather die then betray her trust. My vision's coming back and I can see a small hotel room through the obscured shower door. My dream is also coming back to me, which may or may not be a good thing, so I turn off the shower and grab a towel. Sydney laughing, clearly looking happier then I have ever seen her. I never see Sydney happy. I get the distressed, I-need-to-bitch-about- my-life Sydney, the angry Sydney, the mad Sydney...never the happy, peaceful Sydney. She looks even more beautiful when she's happy. Her eyes light up and her smile is to die for. As I get dressed, I can see her face ever more clearly and I think she's smiling at me. We are together, somewhere, and now she's pointing at something and getting excited. I must be hesitant, because she grabs my hands and looks deep into my eyes. Then the background fades away and a new one comes in. She's wearing white instead of red, now, and is still looking into my eyes with something I know only because I can tell it mirrored in my face as well. Then she reaches up to kiss me, but my memory of the dream ends there. I walk back into the bedroom and for a moment I see Sydney lying there instead of the woman I am about to walk out on. Then it's just the girl and maybe the irony of the situation is getting to me. I grab the bags I have, which consist of a carry-on holding a book and a wallet. There's a picture of Sydney in the wallet, one I stole from security section. She's grinning at something Francie had said, and is positively glowing. On checking out of my room, the receptionist grins at my name, and says something along the lines of "so [i]you're[/I] him." She also gives me a message from Anne Burford. Aka Sydney Bristow. Aka the woman I was supposeed to debrief five mintues ago. "Your plane comes at one. Thanks for sticking me with Lambert." Short and sweet. I get to go home; I don't get to see Sydney. Which is a lie in itself, because I know I'll see her tonight. I've seen her almost every night for about two weeks now and she talks to me about trust and her father and can she trust her father and does her father even love her? I don't know, Syd, but I love you if it helps any.
There is a cab waiting for me when I walk outside, courtesy of the One Night Stand hotel, and I get a glimpse of the casino as I drive away. Something about it stirs something in my lost memory and I badly want to know what it is. But I can't. Such is life.
When I wake up I am almost blinded by the sunlight streaming through the glass window onto my bed. I have no idea where I am or what I'm doing here. I hardly even know who I am anymore. I roll over to find a woman lying beside me; about five foot four, blond, with a dimpled smile stretching across her face. Not my type, but no one has been my type since I met Sydney Bristow.
I glance over at the clock, which reveals that I have indeed missed my flight back home. Where am I? The woman's name tag has a hotel name on it. My vision is blurred but I can make out Vegas' Best and a name. Cindy. Pushing away the irony of this, I ease myself out of bed and stumble over to the shower. I have a killer headache and am having trouble seeing in a straight line. I can't even remember last night. On a mission with Sydney, getting files from a casino. Vegas' Best. A casino and hotel. Probably the extent of which I will remember about last night. Eric always tells me if I drink I forget everything. I'm one of those rare cases that never remember later the day after. Hot water pours over my face and down my back. I'm washing something away but I don't know what. Eric taught me not to feel guilty about one night stands, especially in Vegas. So I don't. Something about it gets to me, though, and I shower for about an hour, just letting the water pour over my body and wash away my un-known sins. And I try not to think about Sydney. Mission Impossible. My punishment for the night will be missing my meeting with Sydney. She'll have to stand Lambert for five minutes of her life and I will be responsible. That's something I can feel guilty about. And then there was that dream last night...I can't remember much, just fragments which will never turn themselves into a whole. I always hated puzzles. Probably because I live in one. Sydney was prominently featured, as usual, but it doesn't seem like the nightmare when we both die. Once I killed her. She doesn't know but I have these dreams, these nightmares, more often than I see her a week, which becomes fairly often when Sloane gets his school boy crushes on Rambaldi or some other exciting spy crap. They usually end up with her dying with me, for me, by me. Or she runs away with someone who looks a lot like Hicks, that bastard. If I had Sydney, if she loved me, I would never dream of using her. I would rather die then betray her trust. My vision's coming back and I can see a small hotel room through the obscured shower door. My dream is also coming back to me, which may or may not be a good thing, so I turn off the shower and grab a towel. Sydney laughing, clearly looking happier then I have ever seen her. I never see Sydney happy. I get the distressed, I-need-to-bitch-about- my-life Sydney, the angry Sydney, the mad Sydney...never the happy, peaceful Sydney. She looks even more beautiful when she's happy. Her eyes light up and her smile is to die for. As I get dressed, I can see her face ever more clearly and I think she's smiling at me. We are together, somewhere, and now she's pointing at something and getting excited. I must be hesitant, because she grabs my hands and looks deep into my eyes. Then the background fades away and a new one comes in. She's wearing white instead of red, now, and is still looking into my eyes with something I know only because I can tell it mirrored in my face as well. Then she reaches up to kiss me, but my memory of the dream ends there. I walk back into the bedroom and for a moment I see Sydney lying there instead of the woman I am about to walk out on. Then it's just the girl and maybe the irony of the situation is getting to me. I grab the bags I have, which consist of a carry-on holding a book and a wallet. There's a picture of Sydney in the wallet, one I stole from security section. She's grinning at something Francie had said, and is positively glowing. On checking out of my room, the receptionist grins at my name, and says something along the lines of "so [i]you're[/I] him." She also gives me a message from Anne Burford. Aka Sydney Bristow. Aka the woman I was supposeed to debrief five mintues ago. "Your plane comes at one. Thanks for sticking me with Lambert." Short and sweet. I get to go home; I don't get to see Sydney. Which is a lie in itself, because I know I'll see her tonight. I've seen her almost every night for about two weeks now and she talks to me about trust and her father and can she trust her father and does her father even love her? I don't know, Syd, but I love you if it helps any.
There is a cab waiting for me when I walk outside, courtesy of the One Night Stand hotel, and I get a glimpse of the casino as I drive away. Something about it stirs something in my lost memory and I badly want to know what it is. But I can't. Such is life.