Author: Kityye
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on those dreams.
AN: Sorry for not updating. I honestly am not sure that the police were speaking Italian at the end or Latin.
Disclaimer: I do not own them.
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 7
11/9/03
Falling asleep was a mistake. I dreamed of birds and angels with wings aflutter in the dark. A stark white room had locked doors, and my voice was weak and soft. Disorientation. Rising panic. A sticky bloodstain on my paper gown. My scar was open, thin red tubing being pulled out even as everything in me screamed for my hands to stop. They kept pulling feet, yards, miles of the stuff out while my warm, red blood ran and splattered. I sobbed with fear and horror as everything pooled warmly on my feet. Part of me was calm and watching, wondering why I wasn't unconscious from blood loss, or puking up my guts. "Your guts are at your feet," I answered myself. The scent of blood was overwhelming.
I'd waited so long for the dreams that I'd forgotten they would come. The first one left me hysterical, forcing me to assure myself I was still whole by touching my scar. Everything was still so real that I was sure I would never forget any details. Still, I wrote the dream down, shuddering and breathing through my mouth. How many lights there were, what the X-rays on the walls were of. Everything I could remember that might be a clue. Back under my covers, I shivered and lay awake the rest of the night.
In the morning, I went back to the naval hospital, back to that doctor. I told him exactly what my problem was. He was right; I didn't understand the procedure until I saw the guy in the padded room. I was still willing to risk it until the doctor said that the guy in the padded room was considered a successful case. I want to know, but I will not exchange ignorance for insanity. There has to be another way.
I fell asleep on the plane after the mission, still tired from the night before. The instant the dream went dark and birds and symbols started appearing out of the murk, I felt fear – like being on the world's tallest roller-coaster and it just reached the top of the first peak and you can anticipate your stomach flying through your mouth in mere seconds…
Thank God that my cell-phone rang. I was even more thankful that Dad was on the other end with more information about my past, despite the questions it raised. A code by Mom. Was Julia in contact with her? Was Julia leaving clues that Sydney could follow? Why Rome? Why a penthouse apartment that would be hard to defend? Who else knew of this place? Why had Julia sent the information to Sloane, of all people?
It was so nice to be off the plane and home. I couldn't wait to get back to my apartment and take off my shoes and put on flannel sleep pants and one large, warm sweatshirt with a hockey logo on the front. It had been Vaughn's, tucked inside a box that Dad had returned to me when I came back. It would help calm me, allow me to think.
Vaughn's call inspired a new adrenaline rush. It sustained me into his car, midway through our conversation. I was mad at him; why'd he go do something stupid like help me. I'm not sure anything will be able to fix my life. Ever. I'm permanently broken, until I die. Exhaustion set in. I haven't had a rest in two weeks – straight from shooting Francie/Allison, I was catapulted into disrupting dreams and a mission with Sloane. Now this.
I can't keep from quivering in front of Vaughn. I remember too clearly when he was my rock, when nothing I did could faze him. I never had to use a mask with him, before. I can't start now. I can see love in his eyes. He can't resist comforting me, but I stop him from making a worse mistake. We can't be together, not with Lauren between us. I tried to smile and be brave, for him, and left.
The key opened the door. My hand found the light switch. The gentle curve of wood and the polished surface of a table were smooth under my questing fingers. I knew this place, but I didn't recognize it. The bed was like floating in mid-air. I allowed my muscles to relax, and opened my eyes at a noise. The angel and birds were there! My mind spiraled out of control, freezing my body.
To calm myself, I rushed into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking up, I saw the medicine cabinet. What drugs had I been on? I flipped the mirrored door open and found the pills. A prescription, three a day, to Julia Thorne. My hands shook. I put them away, intending to get out of this place of horrors until I was stronger.
Then, I was laying flat on the floor, cold handcuffs on my wrists and Italian words ringing in my ears. You are under arrest.
Summary: Instead of counseling, Sydney has to keep a journal. This chapter is on those dreams.
AN: Sorry for not updating. I honestly am not sure that the police were speaking Italian at the end or Latin.
Disclaimer: I do not own them.
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 7
11/9/03
Falling asleep was a mistake. I dreamed of birds and angels with wings aflutter in the dark. A stark white room had locked doors, and my voice was weak and soft. Disorientation. Rising panic. A sticky bloodstain on my paper gown. My scar was open, thin red tubing being pulled out even as everything in me screamed for my hands to stop. They kept pulling feet, yards, miles of the stuff out while my warm, red blood ran and splattered. I sobbed with fear and horror as everything pooled warmly on my feet. Part of me was calm and watching, wondering why I wasn't unconscious from blood loss, or puking up my guts. "Your guts are at your feet," I answered myself. The scent of blood was overwhelming.
I'd waited so long for the dreams that I'd forgotten they would come. The first one left me hysterical, forcing me to assure myself I was still whole by touching my scar. Everything was still so real that I was sure I would never forget any details. Still, I wrote the dream down, shuddering and breathing through my mouth. How many lights there were, what the X-rays on the walls were of. Everything I could remember that might be a clue. Back under my covers, I shivered and lay awake the rest of the night.
In the morning, I went back to the naval hospital, back to that doctor. I told him exactly what my problem was. He was right; I didn't understand the procedure until I saw the guy in the padded room. I was still willing to risk it until the doctor said that the guy in the padded room was considered a successful case. I want to know, but I will not exchange ignorance for insanity. There has to be another way.
I fell asleep on the plane after the mission, still tired from the night before. The instant the dream went dark and birds and symbols started appearing out of the murk, I felt fear – like being on the world's tallest roller-coaster and it just reached the top of the first peak and you can anticipate your stomach flying through your mouth in mere seconds…
Thank God that my cell-phone rang. I was even more thankful that Dad was on the other end with more information about my past, despite the questions it raised. A code by Mom. Was Julia in contact with her? Was Julia leaving clues that Sydney could follow? Why Rome? Why a penthouse apartment that would be hard to defend? Who else knew of this place? Why had Julia sent the information to Sloane, of all people?
It was so nice to be off the plane and home. I couldn't wait to get back to my apartment and take off my shoes and put on flannel sleep pants and one large, warm sweatshirt with a hockey logo on the front. It had been Vaughn's, tucked inside a box that Dad had returned to me when I came back. It would help calm me, allow me to think.
Vaughn's call inspired a new adrenaline rush. It sustained me into his car, midway through our conversation. I was mad at him; why'd he go do something stupid like help me. I'm not sure anything will be able to fix my life. Ever. I'm permanently broken, until I die. Exhaustion set in. I haven't had a rest in two weeks – straight from shooting Francie/Allison, I was catapulted into disrupting dreams and a mission with Sloane. Now this.
I can't keep from quivering in front of Vaughn. I remember too clearly when he was my rock, when nothing I did could faze him. I never had to use a mask with him, before. I can't start now. I can see love in his eyes. He can't resist comforting me, but I stop him from making a worse mistake. We can't be together, not with Lauren between us. I tried to smile and be brave, for him, and left.
The key opened the door. My hand found the light switch. The gentle curve of wood and the polished surface of a table were smooth under my questing fingers. I knew this place, but I didn't recognize it. The bed was like floating in mid-air. I allowed my muscles to relax, and opened my eyes at a noise. The angel and birds were there! My mind spiraled out of control, freezing my body.
To calm myself, I rushed into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. Looking up, I saw the medicine cabinet. What drugs had I been on? I flipped the mirrored door open and found the pills. A prescription, three a day, to Julia Thorne. My hands shook. I put them away, intending to get out of this place of horrors until I was stronger.
Then, I was laying flat on the floor, cold handcuffs on my wrists and Italian words ringing in my ears. You are under arrest.