A/N - Well, I guess my little 'bribery' worked b/c the feedback was great.
So true to my word, here is the latest update - the longest update yet! The
usual disclaimers - I own nothing! Thanks to all those who have stuck with
this story and have provided such encouraging reviews. I'm so glad that
you're enjoying this story despite its rather confusing nature but like I
said, each chapter will peel back a layer and the picture will become
clearer and clearer. . .I hope! LOL As always, feedback appreciated. See
how it helped to get another update posted so quickly? ;-]
[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts
// // denotes recalled conversations
**********CIA Safehouse, May 8, 2003, Morning**********
She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity as she processed what he had just said. "You're handling my case?"
"Yes."
"But you're NSA."
A quick swipe of his nose. "I, uh, I put in a special request to be temporarily reassigned to the CIA so that I could handle your case. The request was cleared this morning."
"W-what? Why would. . .I mean I don't understand."
He sighed softly. "We just thought that since I was originally your handler, it would make things easier if I came back on in that capacity during the, uh, transition."
"Who's 'we'?"
"The heads of the Joint Task Force."
[So there *was* a joint task force. And it was still active. That's one more true, real thing I'm remembering.]
"So you're back in the CIA?"
"Not really, I'm sort of on loan from the NSA."
She supposed that Vaughn's news should have made her. . .happy, or at least relieved in some way. Yet, she was angry. She didn't specifically know why. Perhaps it was the confusion and her inability to think through it. Or perhaps it was having her life 'dealt' with by bureaucrats who assigned her to people, places or whatever based on what they saw as 'best.' She hated it. Always did. She hated it even more now when she was already feeling out of control.
"Syd?" Vaughn prompted. "We should go."
"I wouldn't have a choice would I?" She didn't bother masking the irritation in her voice.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Sydney."
[OK. He asked for it.] "I just. . .I'm sick of other people making decisions for me. I'm sick of you making decisions for me. I'm sick of your superiors making decisions for me. It's my life. It's me that has to go through all of this and I think I should get a say in things."
"Syd, you've been gone for 2 years," he said calmly, which only seemed to fuel her ire. "You can't just expect to get your old status back."
"I know where I've been and what's happened to me! I'm not asking for my status to be reinstated! I'd just. . .I want some say in what happens to me. It's like the last two years I've been trying to get control of my life but things are always happening to make that impossible."
"The last two years?" Vaughn was looking at her intently. "Does that mean you remember what happened?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm just saying. . .it's my life, OK? And I feel like I have no control over it already so it just irritates me when you come in here telling me that decisions affecting me have been made. . .without my knowledge and without any input from me."
"So what are you saying?" She could see he was starting to get a little annoyed with her. If she weren't so angry, she would understand. After all, she had launched into this attack out of nowhere. "You don't want me to be in charge of your case?"
[Yes! No. I don't know!] She shook her head, clearing the jumbled thoughts. "I'm saying I'd like to be consulted."
"Sometimes that's not possible."
"See!" She looked at him accusingly. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. That attitude. Like you know better than me what best for *my* life. It's. . .it's patronizing."
"I'm not patronizing you!"
"Yes, you are!"
"I'm just trying to do my job!" he cried. His voice was laced with frustration. "You were a high level operative who went missing and now you seemingly have no memory of what happened to you. There are protocols that have to be followed. For your safety and ours."
She sighed. [He just had to bring up protocols.] "Don't talk to me about protocols okay? Protocol has done nothing but make my life difficult. It's made your life difficult! You didn't always follow protocol you know! If you had, we'd never have gotten together!"
"What! What are you talking about?"
[Damn it!] Her anger had gotten a little out of hand. She had momentarily forgotten that *this* Vaughn was not the one she remembered. Just then, in what had to be a cruel twist of irony, the light caught on his wedding band when he swiped his nose in agitation. [No, this isn't the Vaughn I remembered at all.] She shook her head as her anger dissipated. "You know what? You're right. We should go."
She moved to walk past him but he reached out and lightly grabbed her arm. His action caused her to stop dead in her tracks, which bought her uncomfortably close to him. She was so close that she could feel his breath on her face and see how intensely green his eyes had turned. She knew that she should back away and put some distance between them, and yet, she couldn't. It was as if an invisible force held her in place.
"Syd," he said softly and she found herself involuntarily looking at his full lips. She swallowed as a pang of desire hit her.
She willed herself to move, and felt both relieved and disappointed when her body obeyed. She slowly stepped away from him and headed towards the door, mercilessly squelching any feelings of desire or need for him. "We need to go."
**********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Testing Unit***********
Once again, she felt that sensation of déjà vu. Only this time, it bought up memories and feelings that she would've rather forgotten.
She had expected the psychological testing. But she hadn't expected all the other tests. In fact, the testing that she was undergoing was eerily like the 'Rambaldi prophecy' testing that she had been forced to endure. Intelligence tests, psychological tests, lie detector tests, and intrusive, painful medical exams.
Tired, overwhelmed and also scared, given that the last time she underwent such tests she had ended up in federal custody, she didn't bother fighting it, although she could tell that Vaughn was worried that she would put up a fight. He hovered. Either in the observations rooms or in the testing units themselves. How he managed this she didn't know, but his presence was barely acknowledged by the technicians as they went about their duties. . .efficiently and silently.
The intelligence tests she handled well she thought. The medical exams were painful and irritated her, but she handled them well too. What she didn't know how to handle were the psychological exams. She didn't know if she should adopt a role and go with it, or to tell the whole truth. Instead, she decided on a middle ground. She told the truth whenever possible and held back all details about her memories of the last two years. As a result, she had no idea what the result would be.
[Either they'll find that I'm crazy and honest or that I'm sane but lying. Or both. Or neither of the above.]
Now, several painful and grueling hours later, she was in a nondescript observation room in the medical lab. She was sitting on a hospital bed, staring at nothing, and too tired to think. She heard the soft beeping of the access code being punched in and then the "zzzttt" as the doors slid open. She turned to find Vaughn coming in, holding a plate and a soft drink can.
"Hey," he said softly. "I bought you something to eat."
"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered items and setting them aside. "Am I done?"
"For the time being."
"Not the answer I was hoping for," she said softly.
"I'm sorry." He stood by the bed awkwardly. "We're trying to get you through this as quickly and as painlessly as possible."
She smiled at him wryly. "You're doing a good job of it."
He returned her smile. "Sorry." Then turning serious, he looked at her with genuine concern. "We are trying."
She nodded. "I know. It's not your fault. It's just. . .protocol."
"Look, Sydney," he said with a soft sigh. "About earlier, I-"
"It's OK," she cut in. "I was. . .I was just taking my frustrations out on you. Can we just forget about it?"
He looked down and she could see him struggling with something. Finally, he looked back at her and said softly,
"Would you rather I wasn't on this case?"
[Oh, God.]
She honestly didn't know how to answer that question. Part of her didn't want to be around him. It was simply too painful. While he may not remember her as anything more than a colleague and his 'asset,' she remembered him as so much more. And her memories were real to her. She *felt* them. And it hurt even more knowing that *he* didn't remember anything. It was also strange and disconcerting. To be around him and yet know that she was dealing with someone almost entirely unfamiliar to her. A familiar stranger that she had deep and strong feelings for. And who was married.
[Not exactly the best situation in which to think clearly.]
But on the other hand, she instinctively knew that she could trust him. She knew he had her best interests at heart and that he would protect her whenever and however he could. And she suspected that she would need that in the days ahead. Everything and everyone was unfamiliar to her. She had no way of knowing who was an ally and who wasn't. Except for Vaughn. She just instinctively knew that he was on her side. So if anyone, he was the best person to handle her case.
Once again unable to articulate her feelings fully, she went with the near-truth answer. "I'm not really in the best position to decide that."
"So you have no opinions or feelings on it?"
She shrugged. "It's. . .fine."
He looked at her doubtfully for several seconds, before he nodded. She guessed that he didn't want to push her on the issue. And for that she was grateful. "Um. . .do you think you can handle some debriefing?"
She searched his face and knew instantly what he meant. "My mother?"
A glance at the floor before he nodded. "She, uh, she's gonna handle your debrief personally. If that's OK with you."
"You mean I have a say in this?"
"Your mother was very clear about it. She'd only debrief you if you were comfortable with it."
She considered this. Was this some sort of manipulation on her mother's part? A way to appear sympathetic and understanding? A way to get her to let her guard down? "I guess I'm cleared then? I mean if you're gonna let me meet with the Acting Director?"
"Uh, actually, your mother classified you as a special case. She wants to meet with you even though you haven't officially been cleared yet."
"And that means what?"
"You'll have to meet with her in our security unit."
*********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Security Unit***********
[Talk about irony!]
She was in what she will always consider as 'Her cell.' The reinforced glass encased cell in the lower part of the Joint Task Force Operations Center, with its trio of automatic bars and the armed guards at the entrance. Its gaggle of surveillance cameras. The same cell she had gone to on several occasions to see her mother, usually for information on her latest SD-6 mission.
It was the same cell in which she now found herself. Only instead of being on the outside of the glass 'cage,' she was now on the inside. And she had to admit, the view from this perspective wasn't nearly as nice as the view from the other side. Not to mention that from the other side, she had never felt the sense of claustrophobia that she was feeling now.
She looked around the cell again. It really was ironic that she was in this cell. . .and waiting to meet her mother of all people.
Just then, she heard the whir of the bars being moved, followed by loud clangs as the bars each retracted and then moved back into place. She saw her mother's shadow before she saw her mother but judging from the shadow's confident, decisive and elegant stride, she knew immediately who it was. That cat-like grace and controlled power was unmistakable.
And then, there she was. Her mother. She looked just as Sydney remembered her. And yet, like everyone else, seemed unfamiliar.
"Hello, Sydney." Her mother said with a hint of a smile.
[Talk about déjà vu.]
If her mother hadn't been wearing a dark blue, 'power suit,' with her hair pulled back in an elegant but professional knot, and a CIA identification badge clipped to the lower portion of her suit jacket, she'd have sworn she was back in Taipei. The delivery of the greeting, the tone of voice, even that small smile - it was all the same. And it had the same effect of sending chills down her spine.
She swallowed the small lump that had formed in her throat and managed to say evenly,
"Hello."
"It's good to see you Sydney."
Was that genuine relief she saw in her mother's eyes? She couldn't tell because her mother's face revealed nothing. It was nothing but an unreadable mask.
"I wish I could say the same."
A flash of. . .what. . .regret. . .guilt. . .in her mother's eyes. "I realize this must all be confusing for you. Especially my presence here. But I wanted to let you know that we're doing whatever we can to figure things out so that we can help you."
She stared at her mother through the glass. She knew she wanted to say as little as possible, while trying to get as much information out of her mother as possible. But could she do that? Even if she didn't really know the woman standing in front of her now, she could tell that this woman possessed the same keen intellect and cunning as the Irina Derevko she knew.
She looked at the ID badge hanging from her mother's jacket. It read 'Laura Bristow.' "Is that really your name?"
Her mother followed her gaze. "Yes."
"And Irina Derevko?"
"An alias." Her mother seemed unfazed by her questions. She maintained her enigmatic expression and responded to each question with quiet authority and confidence.
"So you were just pretending to be a Russian spy?"
"No," her mother said, her eyes locking on hers. "I was a Russian spy, but I was a CIA agent first."
"You were a double agent."
"Yes."
"What is that? A family tradition or something?" She made her voice extra sarcastic, hoping to get a rise out of her mother. Of course she failed.
"No. You were never meant to be a double agent. You were never meant to be an agent at all."
"But I am."
"Your father and I have always regretted, we always will regret, not being able to prevent that."
Her mother mentioning her father with such familiarity. As if they were a team and shared decisions together angered her. A lot.
"Don't you dare speak for my father," she said coldly.
Had her mother actually flinched? It had happened so fast, and she had recovered so quickly, that Sydney doubted she saw it at all. "Sydney, there is so much you don't understand and so much I can't tell you. But you have to believe me that your father and I, we've only wanted to protect you and to do what's best for you."
"I said stop it!" she cried. "Stop lying! Stop talking about Jack Bristow like you cared about him. Like you didn't betray him. Or me! You're. . .you're nothing but a terrorist!"
This time there was no mistaking the flash of pain in her mother's eyes. She tried again to read her mother's face, but the mask was firmly in place. She drew in a quick breath. This woman was even more dangerous than the Irina Derevko she knew. This woman apparently could fake the appropriate emotional responses. Something that Irina Derevko could do but which she had been able to catch at times. With this woman, the emotions seemed genuine. But how could they be?
"Sydney-"
"You're a liar! You've been lying to me since I was born! And you're lying now."
Her mother sighed. "You're right, Sydney. I have lied to you. Your father and I both. But we couldn't tell you when you were young. And when you got older, we lied to protect you." Her mother looked at her intently. "Lies are necessary sometimes."
"Stop it! Stop trying to justify your actions. Lying to protect someone is-"
She stopped suddenly. She was just as guilty of lying as her mother. She had lied to Danny. To Will. To Francie. To everyone at SD-6. And why? Because she had wanted to protect them. So what right did she have to judge her mother on that count?
She shook her head, suddenly weary. The day had been long, painful and hard - in more ways than one. She knew now that she should have gone with her instincts and refused the meeting with her mother. But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she had thought that she could handle her mother. But this veiled conversation clearly showed her that she was at a distinct disadvantage. And like any well-trained spy, she knew the best option now was to get out. "I don't want. . .you said it was my choice whether I would see you or not and I. . don't."
"I'm sorry Sydney. I should have realized it was too soon for us to meet. Perhaps in a few days time."
"It won't change anything," she said softly.
Her mother smiled. "Perhaps." She looked at Sydney intently again before she turned. But then, before calling out to the guard, she turned back and said softly,
"Sydney, lies give hope. Love endures worse."
***********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Medical Observation Unit**********
It had been hours since she had seen her mother. She had been moved back to the Testing Unit. Vaughn had told her that they were going to keep her in the medical unit overnight for observation. He also told her that she had only a few more medical tests to undergo.
She had listened and had undergone all the procedures without really being aware of them, because her mind was firmly focused on her meeting with her mother.
Her mother's parting words nagged at her. Something about how she had said them reminded her vividly of when Irina Derevko had said 'truth takes time' while holding Sydney at gunpoint. There was something more to the words and what they meant.
Now, after hours of replaying the conversation and specifically her mother's parting words over and over in her mind, she had finally 'broken the code.'
//Sydney, lies give hope. Love endures worse.//
It was exactly like the code she had used to alert Vaughn when she had, against orders, gone to Russia, in an effort to save Neil Caplan. Taking the first letter of each word and rearranging them, she had managed to come up with:
H.G. WELLS.
But what that meant, she was still trying to figure out.
[ ] denotes Sydney's thoughts
// // denotes recalled conversations
**********CIA Safehouse, May 8, 2003, Morning**********
She stared at him for what seemed like an eternity as she processed what he had just said. "You're handling my case?"
"Yes."
"But you're NSA."
A quick swipe of his nose. "I, uh, I put in a special request to be temporarily reassigned to the CIA so that I could handle your case. The request was cleared this morning."
"W-what? Why would. . .I mean I don't understand."
He sighed softly. "We just thought that since I was originally your handler, it would make things easier if I came back on in that capacity during the, uh, transition."
"Who's 'we'?"
"The heads of the Joint Task Force."
[So there *was* a joint task force. And it was still active. That's one more true, real thing I'm remembering.]
"So you're back in the CIA?"
"Not really, I'm sort of on loan from the NSA."
She supposed that Vaughn's news should have made her. . .happy, or at least relieved in some way. Yet, she was angry. She didn't specifically know why. Perhaps it was the confusion and her inability to think through it. Or perhaps it was having her life 'dealt' with by bureaucrats who assigned her to people, places or whatever based on what they saw as 'best.' She hated it. Always did. She hated it even more now when she was already feeling out of control.
"Syd?" Vaughn prompted. "We should go."
"I wouldn't have a choice would I?" She didn't bother masking the irritation in her voice.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Sydney."
[OK. He asked for it.] "I just. . .I'm sick of other people making decisions for me. I'm sick of you making decisions for me. I'm sick of your superiors making decisions for me. It's my life. It's me that has to go through all of this and I think I should get a say in things."
"Syd, you've been gone for 2 years," he said calmly, which only seemed to fuel her ire. "You can't just expect to get your old status back."
"I know where I've been and what's happened to me! I'm not asking for my status to be reinstated! I'd just. . .I want some say in what happens to me. It's like the last two years I've been trying to get control of my life but things are always happening to make that impossible."
"The last two years?" Vaughn was looking at her intently. "Does that mean you remember what happened?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm just saying. . .it's my life, OK? And I feel like I have no control over it already so it just irritates me when you come in here telling me that decisions affecting me have been made. . .without my knowledge and without any input from me."
"So what are you saying?" She could see he was starting to get a little annoyed with her. If she weren't so angry, she would understand. After all, she had launched into this attack out of nowhere. "You don't want me to be in charge of your case?"
[Yes! No. I don't know!] She shook her head, clearing the jumbled thoughts. "I'm saying I'd like to be consulted."
"Sometimes that's not possible."
"See!" She looked at him accusingly. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. That attitude. Like you know better than me what best for *my* life. It's. . .it's patronizing."
"I'm not patronizing you!"
"Yes, you are!"
"I'm just trying to do my job!" he cried. His voice was laced with frustration. "You were a high level operative who went missing and now you seemingly have no memory of what happened to you. There are protocols that have to be followed. For your safety and ours."
She sighed. [He just had to bring up protocols.] "Don't talk to me about protocols okay? Protocol has done nothing but make my life difficult. It's made your life difficult! You didn't always follow protocol you know! If you had, we'd never have gotten together!"
"What! What are you talking about?"
[Damn it!] Her anger had gotten a little out of hand. She had momentarily forgotten that *this* Vaughn was not the one she remembered. Just then, in what had to be a cruel twist of irony, the light caught on his wedding band when he swiped his nose in agitation. [No, this isn't the Vaughn I remembered at all.] She shook her head as her anger dissipated. "You know what? You're right. We should go."
She moved to walk past him but he reached out and lightly grabbed her arm. His action caused her to stop dead in her tracks, which bought her uncomfortably close to him. She was so close that she could feel his breath on her face and see how intensely green his eyes had turned. She knew that she should back away and put some distance between them, and yet, she couldn't. It was as if an invisible force held her in place.
"Syd," he said softly and she found herself involuntarily looking at his full lips. She swallowed as a pang of desire hit her.
She willed herself to move, and felt both relieved and disappointed when her body obeyed. She slowly stepped away from him and headed towards the door, mercilessly squelching any feelings of desire or need for him. "We need to go."
**********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Testing Unit***********
Once again, she felt that sensation of déjà vu. Only this time, it bought up memories and feelings that she would've rather forgotten.
She had expected the psychological testing. But she hadn't expected all the other tests. In fact, the testing that she was undergoing was eerily like the 'Rambaldi prophecy' testing that she had been forced to endure. Intelligence tests, psychological tests, lie detector tests, and intrusive, painful medical exams.
Tired, overwhelmed and also scared, given that the last time she underwent such tests she had ended up in federal custody, she didn't bother fighting it, although she could tell that Vaughn was worried that she would put up a fight. He hovered. Either in the observations rooms or in the testing units themselves. How he managed this she didn't know, but his presence was barely acknowledged by the technicians as they went about their duties. . .efficiently and silently.
The intelligence tests she handled well she thought. The medical exams were painful and irritated her, but she handled them well too. What she didn't know how to handle were the psychological exams. She didn't know if she should adopt a role and go with it, or to tell the whole truth. Instead, she decided on a middle ground. She told the truth whenever possible and held back all details about her memories of the last two years. As a result, she had no idea what the result would be.
[Either they'll find that I'm crazy and honest or that I'm sane but lying. Or both. Or neither of the above.]
Now, several painful and grueling hours later, she was in a nondescript observation room in the medical lab. She was sitting on a hospital bed, staring at nothing, and too tired to think. She heard the soft beeping of the access code being punched in and then the "zzzttt" as the doors slid open. She turned to find Vaughn coming in, holding a plate and a soft drink can.
"Hey," he said softly. "I bought you something to eat."
"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered items and setting them aside. "Am I done?"
"For the time being."
"Not the answer I was hoping for," she said softly.
"I'm sorry." He stood by the bed awkwardly. "We're trying to get you through this as quickly and as painlessly as possible."
She smiled at him wryly. "You're doing a good job of it."
He returned her smile. "Sorry." Then turning serious, he looked at her with genuine concern. "We are trying."
She nodded. "I know. It's not your fault. It's just. . .protocol."
"Look, Sydney," he said with a soft sigh. "About earlier, I-"
"It's OK," she cut in. "I was. . .I was just taking my frustrations out on you. Can we just forget about it?"
He looked down and she could see him struggling with something. Finally, he looked back at her and said softly,
"Would you rather I wasn't on this case?"
[Oh, God.]
She honestly didn't know how to answer that question. Part of her didn't want to be around him. It was simply too painful. While he may not remember her as anything more than a colleague and his 'asset,' she remembered him as so much more. And her memories were real to her. She *felt* them. And it hurt even more knowing that *he* didn't remember anything. It was also strange and disconcerting. To be around him and yet know that she was dealing with someone almost entirely unfamiliar to her. A familiar stranger that she had deep and strong feelings for. And who was married.
[Not exactly the best situation in which to think clearly.]
But on the other hand, she instinctively knew that she could trust him. She knew he had her best interests at heart and that he would protect her whenever and however he could. And she suspected that she would need that in the days ahead. Everything and everyone was unfamiliar to her. She had no way of knowing who was an ally and who wasn't. Except for Vaughn. She just instinctively knew that he was on her side. So if anyone, he was the best person to handle her case.
Once again unable to articulate her feelings fully, she went with the near-truth answer. "I'm not really in the best position to decide that."
"So you have no opinions or feelings on it?"
She shrugged. "It's. . .fine."
He looked at her doubtfully for several seconds, before he nodded. She guessed that he didn't want to push her on the issue. And for that she was grateful. "Um. . .do you think you can handle some debriefing?"
She searched his face and knew instantly what he meant. "My mother?"
A glance at the floor before he nodded. "She, uh, she's gonna handle your debrief personally. If that's OK with you."
"You mean I have a say in this?"
"Your mother was very clear about it. She'd only debrief you if you were comfortable with it."
She considered this. Was this some sort of manipulation on her mother's part? A way to appear sympathetic and understanding? A way to get her to let her guard down? "I guess I'm cleared then? I mean if you're gonna let me meet with the Acting Director?"
"Uh, actually, your mother classified you as a special case. She wants to meet with you even though you haven't officially been cleared yet."
"And that means what?"
"You'll have to meet with her in our security unit."
*********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Security Unit***********
[Talk about irony!]
She was in what she will always consider as 'Her cell.' The reinforced glass encased cell in the lower part of the Joint Task Force Operations Center, with its trio of automatic bars and the armed guards at the entrance. Its gaggle of surveillance cameras. The same cell she had gone to on several occasions to see her mother, usually for information on her latest SD-6 mission.
It was the same cell in which she now found herself. Only instead of being on the outside of the glass 'cage,' she was now on the inside. And she had to admit, the view from this perspective wasn't nearly as nice as the view from the other side. Not to mention that from the other side, she had never felt the sense of claustrophobia that she was feeling now.
She looked around the cell again. It really was ironic that she was in this cell. . .and waiting to meet her mother of all people.
Just then, she heard the whir of the bars being moved, followed by loud clangs as the bars each retracted and then moved back into place. She saw her mother's shadow before she saw her mother but judging from the shadow's confident, decisive and elegant stride, she knew immediately who it was. That cat-like grace and controlled power was unmistakable.
And then, there she was. Her mother. She looked just as Sydney remembered her. And yet, like everyone else, seemed unfamiliar.
"Hello, Sydney." Her mother said with a hint of a smile.
[Talk about déjà vu.]
If her mother hadn't been wearing a dark blue, 'power suit,' with her hair pulled back in an elegant but professional knot, and a CIA identification badge clipped to the lower portion of her suit jacket, she'd have sworn she was back in Taipei. The delivery of the greeting, the tone of voice, even that small smile - it was all the same. And it had the same effect of sending chills down her spine.
She swallowed the small lump that had formed in her throat and managed to say evenly,
"Hello."
"It's good to see you Sydney."
Was that genuine relief she saw in her mother's eyes? She couldn't tell because her mother's face revealed nothing. It was nothing but an unreadable mask.
"I wish I could say the same."
A flash of. . .what. . .regret. . .guilt. . .in her mother's eyes. "I realize this must all be confusing for you. Especially my presence here. But I wanted to let you know that we're doing whatever we can to figure things out so that we can help you."
She stared at her mother through the glass. She knew she wanted to say as little as possible, while trying to get as much information out of her mother as possible. But could she do that? Even if she didn't really know the woman standing in front of her now, she could tell that this woman possessed the same keen intellect and cunning as the Irina Derevko she knew.
She looked at the ID badge hanging from her mother's jacket. It read 'Laura Bristow.' "Is that really your name?"
Her mother followed her gaze. "Yes."
"And Irina Derevko?"
"An alias." Her mother seemed unfazed by her questions. She maintained her enigmatic expression and responded to each question with quiet authority and confidence.
"So you were just pretending to be a Russian spy?"
"No," her mother said, her eyes locking on hers. "I was a Russian spy, but I was a CIA agent first."
"You were a double agent."
"Yes."
"What is that? A family tradition or something?" She made her voice extra sarcastic, hoping to get a rise out of her mother. Of course she failed.
"No. You were never meant to be a double agent. You were never meant to be an agent at all."
"But I am."
"Your father and I have always regretted, we always will regret, not being able to prevent that."
Her mother mentioning her father with such familiarity. As if they were a team and shared decisions together angered her. A lot.
"Don't you dare speak for my father," she said coldly.
Had her mother actually flinched? It had happened so fast, and she had recovered so quickly, that Sydney doubted she saw it at all. "Sydney, there is so much you don't understand and so much I can't tell you. But you have to believe me that your father and I, we've only wanted to protect you and to do what's best for you."
"I said stop it!" she cried. "Stop lying! Stop talking about Jack Bristow like you cared about him. Like you didn't betray him. Or me! You're. . .you're nothing but a terrorist!"
This time there was no mistaking the flash of pain in her mother's eyes. She tried again to read her mother's face, but the mask was firmly in place. She drew in a quick breath. This woman was even more dangerous than the Irina Derevko she knew. This woman apparently could fake the appropriate emotional responses. Something that Irina Derevko could do but which she had been able to catch at times. With this woman, the emotions seemed genuine. But how could they be?
"Sydney-"
"You're a liar! You've been lying to me since I was born! And you're lying now."
Her mother sighed. "You're right, Sydney. I have lied to you. Your father and I both. But we couldn't tell you when you were young. And when you got older, we lied to protect you." Her mother looked at her intently. "Lies are necessary sometimes."
"Stop it! Stop trying to justify your actions. Lying to protect someone is-"
She stopped suddenly. She was just as guilty of lying as her mother. She had lied to Danny. To Will. To Francie. To everyone at SD-6. And why? Because she had wanted to protect them. So what right did she have to judge her mother on that count?
She shook her head, suddenly weary. The day had been long, painful and hard - in more ways than one. She knew now that she should have gone with her instincts and refused the meeting with her mother. But her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she had thought that she could handle her mother. But this veiled conversation clearly showed her that she was at a distinct disadvantage. And like any well-trained spy, she knew the best option now was to get out. "I don't want. . .you said it was my choice whether I would see you or not and I. . don't."
"I'm sorry Sydney. I should have realized it was too soon for us to meet. Perhaps in a few days time."
"It won't change anything," she said softly.
Her mother smiled. "Perhaps." She looked at Sydney intently again before she turned. But then, before calling out to the guard, she turned back and said softly,
"Sydney, lies give hope. Love endures worse."
***********CIA/Joint Task Force Operations Center, Medical Observation Unit**********
It had been hours since she had seen her mother. She had been moved back to the Testing Unit. Vaughn had told her that they were going to keep her in the medical unit overnight for observation. He also told her that she had only a few more medical tests to undergo.
She had listened and had undergone all the procedures without really being aware of them, because her mind was firmly focused on her meeting with her mother.
Her mother's parting words nagged at her. Something about how she had said them reminded her vividly of when Irina Derevko had said 'truth takes time' while holding Sydney at gunpoint. There was something more to the words and what they meant.
Now, after hours of replaying the conversation and specifically her mother's parting words over and over in her mind, she had finally 'broken the code.'
//Sydney, lies give hope. Love endures worse.//
It was exactly like the code she had used to alert Vaughn when she had, against orders, gone to Russia, in an effort to save Neil Caplan. Taking the first letter of each word and rearranging them, she had managed to come up with:
H.G. WELLS.
But what that meant, she was still trying to figure out.