Author: Kityye
Summary: This is more of her thoughts while the episode was on, and less of her thoughts after the episode. Anything in parentheses is Syd's thoughts, not Julia/Sydney's. This chapter is on the captivity.
AN: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own them or the plot.
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 8
~:~:~
11/23/03
Close your eyes and let me take care of you. Let me tell you what to do. Trust me. I've done this before. (when…? yes)
Close your eyes so you can reorient, because walking in the dark with your eyes open is a lot harder than closing your eyes and refusing to strain to see through the dark, suffocating bag on your head. Being deprived of sight and hands is like falling – air all around and feet unsure of their next steps. The only guidance is the rough, rude hands that squeeze too hard on your biceps.
Take little steps because your feet are chained together so that you cannot walk properly. Fight, because you have to show them you're not going to willingly walk wherever they want you to. They just use crushing force on your upper arms. Bruised, you are a little more docile. It was just a show anyway. Not worth it for a show.
You spaced out for most of the time you were in transit, not sleeping but dreaming. Your recent time with Vaughn reminded you of your planned vacation, and you slipped into a daydream on the beach with him and a little cottage, and somehow a pair of small children ended up there – a mischievous little boy and a younger girl with long, straight brown hair and brown eyes.
They take the hood off. Tantalized by light through your eyelids, you blink. Cages line the hall. They slide the cold, heavy, metal off your wrists and waist and feet. Stiffen – expect a beating. After they safely lock themselves out, retreat within yourself, back to that previous daydream, and ignore those outside your cell.
Gotta keep it together, gotta keep hoping. They won't abandon you, at least Vaughn won't, and Dad won't either. You're tired and sore and slow. Think like a CIA agent, Ms. Bristow. Test your surroundings. Let the cold flow from the cement walls into your fingertips as you wander around the tiny cell, checking the window, feeling up as high as your arms can unbend, looking for weak spots. Don't expect anything, but look anyways.
Speak for the first time in two days, coaxing words through a dry throat and past a swollen tongue. It hurts to talk with Campbell, the big man with a baby face and childish words. You don't recognize your voice; it is so weak and slurred.
Don't they know you've been through electroshock therapy before? It was a long time ago, but it didn't break you then and it won't break you now. Still, they try. Memorize the message on the piece of paper that the good doctor thrust in front of your face. The pain is bad, but you've felt worse. Wait patiently, and it diminishes. See? You can even gasp out words for the good doctor. Julia had left a treasure trail for Sydney. Coordinates… to where? To what? Don't be angry that you hadn't thought to search the apartment yourself.
You blacked out a bit, the last time. Reorient, reorient. Ooh, paperclip! The good doctor has no clue as to your capabilities, or he has too much faith in his own. Try to manipulate your hand, which feels like it belongs to someone else – try to get it. Good. Now, don't drop it. Whatever you do, don't drop it. It might save you.
The cold temperature cools the sweat on your body, be thankful for Campbell's blanket offering. Listen, despite the effort it requires; this man needs a friend. Cover your mouth with you fist – stifle the involuntary noises that leak out. Ignore the random muscle spasms that shake you, they will pass. No permanent damage. Campbell's pep talk only reinforced your decision, but you cannot tell him that. Laying on your side, facing the wall, unclench your fist that didn't drop the paperclip and lightly touch the now-warm metal. It will save you, but it is so small. You are weak, but even weak, you are strong. Small and weak, together you shall free yourself. (vaughn, daddy. where are you?)
The good doctor is right. In a couple of hours, you do feel human again. Rush to reach the stupid, barred doors before the guards can stop you. Silently curse your legs that can't run fast enough and your lungs that can't draw oxygen like they normally do. Even clobbered and on the ground, you still almost made it. But, more of them came, and you'd used up your reserves of energy. They beat you unconscious.
Waking feels awful. Your lip is more swollen than it was. Do not touch it, though. You can sit up, which is a vast improvement over last time you were on this cot. Campbell is sweet. Don't think about the ocean, though. It reminds you too much of the vacation you were supposed to get but didn't. Vaughn, now… don't fantasize about him taking care of you when this is all over, it is wrong. But you fall into the daydream, anyways.
He'd be sweet, too, and tender. He'd brush your hair out of your face for you, and tuck you into a real bed, with fat pillows and a thick comforter. Your hands and feet are cold. He would curl up beside you, if you asked, and hold your hand. You could feel his warmth behind you, instead of the cold cement wall, and relax against it, and he would hold you and whisper that you were safe and that he wouldn't let anything happen to you if you fell asleep. He'd protect you from angel dreams and doctors and the past….
Two guards stride purposefully towards you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Don't beat yourself up for losing control and thinking about Vaughn. This once, it's okay. Take a deep breath and prepare for the next round of torture.
But, they don't come for you. They go into Campbell's cell, beat him to his knees. (oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god!) Lindsey saunters up. He's demanding his answer. (i'm going to kill you son of a bitch!) They're hurting the innocent man just to get coordinates from you, you selfish bitch. Tell them! (i can't i need them to find julia i can't) Tell them! They're not hurting you; you can take that! They're hurting (god oh)AN(god oh)INNOCENT(god oh)MAN! (i'm so scared i don't know what to do) Tell them a lie! Tell them anything! (if they find out i lied, they'll kill me) If you don't they'll kill him! They stabbed him just like you stabbed Vaughn, and you didn't try to stop that either, did you?! Traitor! (SHUT UP! I CAN'T THINK!)
"They're coordinates!" They'll kill me, but I must keep Julia to myself. Dad and Vaughn are still out there. There is still hope. What numbers should I tell Lindsey? Other coordinates pop into my mind, and I say them without thinking. "North 34 degrees, 09 minutes, 55.9 seconds, west 118 degrees, 17 minutes, 15.3 seconds!"
The smirk on Lindsey's face told me something was wrong. Campbell stood up. As he talked to me, I cried. I couldn't help it. I'd been so horribly deceived, had fallen so hard for the trickery. I didn't have the words to express my emotions; I didn't know what my emotions were. Pain, and rage, and fear. I clutched the cold iron bars to hold myself upright. I'd broken.
No more fighting, no more shows of fighting. I lay docilely on the gurney, unresisting as they strapped be back to the doctor's device. They would have their memories; I would have my memories. Everything was sort of faded, like it was seen through a thin haze of fog. The good doctor put the mask on my face. I didn't breathe, yet. I wanted one last mental goodbye to Vaughn, to Dad. To Marshall, Dixon, Weiss, Carrie, Lauren. To Sloane.
The explosion by my head made me jerk in my bonds, choking on my instinctive half-breath, squeezing my eyes shut, expecting to die. Had the procedure already taken place? I couldn't move my head, but I heard heavy thumps and thuds. Bodies falling. Men in black undid the ties holding me to the bed, and I brushed the oxygen mask off my face, thankful to fill my burning lungs with air. My hand flopped back to the side, and it brushed a long, slim piece of cold metal. Everything happened at once: I heard Dad's voice saying my name, I opened my eyes and saw the good doctor aiming a gun, and the piece of metal was in my hand and instinctively being thrown.
I had adrenaline, now, to power my legs as I stumbled-ran next to my father. He kept telling me that I was okay, a comforting stream of reassurances. There was a brief and intense gun-battle, then we were outside and in a helicopter.
Seeing Lauren leaning against Vaughn, with his arm around her and her clutching it closer to herself… it made me wonder if she would mind sharing his other side. But, no, she was his wife. It wouldn't be right. I told them about the coordinates. My voice sounded slightly hysterical, and my father, awkwardly, tried to calm me. He put his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. Warm, more comfortable than in the cell, and soothed by the presence of people I trusted, I fell asleep.
Summary: This is more of her thoughts while the episode was on, and less of her thoughts after the episode. Anything in parentheses is Syd's thoughts, not Julia/Sydney's. This chapter is on the captivity.
AN: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own them or the plot.
Spoilers: Season 3, Episode 8
~:~:~
11/23/03
Close your eyes and let me take care of you. Let me tell you what to do. Trust me. I've done this before. (when…? yes)
Close your eyes so you can reorient, because walking in the dark with your eyes open is a lot harder than closing your eyes and refusing to strain to see through the dark, suffocating bag on your head. Being deprived of sight and hands is like falling – air all around and feet unsure of their next steps. The only guidance is the rough, rude hands that squeeze too hard on your biceps.
Take little steps because your feet are chained together so that you cannot walk properly. Fight, because you have to show them you're not going to willingly walk wherever they want you to. They just use crushing force on your upper arms. Bruised, you are a little more docile. It was just a show anyway. Not worth it for a show.
You spaced out for most of the time you were in transit, not sleeping but dreaming. Your recent time with Vaughn reminded you of your planned vacation, and you slipped into a daydream on the beach with him and a little cottage, and somehow a pair of small children ended up there – a mischievous little boy and a younger girl with long, straight brown hair and brown eyes.
They take the hood off. Tantalized by light through your eyelids, you blink. Cages line the hall. They slide the cold, heavy, metal off your wrists and waist and feet. Stiffen – expect a beating. After they safely lock themselves out, retreat within yourself, back to that previous daydream, and ignore those outside your cell.
Gotta keep it together, gotta keep hoping. They won't abandon you, at least Vaughn won't, and Dad won't either. You're tired and sore and slow. Think like a CIA agent, Ms. Bristow. Test your surroundings. Let the cold flow from the cement walls into your fingertips as you wander around the tiny cell, checking the window, feeling up as high as your arms can unbend, looking for weak spots. Don't expect anything, but look anyways.
Speak for the first time in two days, coaxing words through a dry throat and past a swollen tongue. It hurts to talk with Campbell, the big man with a baby face and childish words. You don't recognize your voice; it is so weak and slurred.
Don't they know you've been through electroshock therapy before? It was a long time ago, but it didn't break you then and it won't break you now. Still, they try. Memorize the message on the piece of paper that the good doctor thrust in front of your face. The pain is bad, but you've felt worse. Wait patiently, and it diminishes. See? You can even gasp out words for the good doctor. Julia had left a treasure trail for Sydney. Coordinates… to where? To what? Don't be angry that you hadn't thought to search the apartment yourself.
You blacked out a bit, the last time. Reorient, reorient. Ooh, paperclip! The good doctor has no clue as to your capabilities, or he has too much faith in his own. Try to manipulate your hand, which feels like it belongs to someone else – try to get it. Good. Now, don't drop it. Whatever you do, don't drop it. It might save you.
The cold temperature cools the sweat on your body, be thankful for Campbell's blanket offering. Listen, despite the effort it requires; this man needs a friend. Cover your mouth with you fist – stifle the involuntary noises that leak out. Ignore the random muscle spasms that shake you, they will pass. No permanent damage. Campbell's pep talk only reinforced your decision, but you cannot tell him that. Laying on your side, facing the wall, unclench your fist that didn't drop the paperclip and lightly touch the now-warm metal. It will save you, but it is so small. You are weak, but even weak, you are strong. Small and weak, together you shall free yourself. (vaughn, daddy. where are you?)
The good doctor is right. In a couple of hours, you do feel human again. Rush to reach the stupid, barred doors before the guards can stop you. Silently curse your legs that can't run fast enough and your lungs that can't draw oxygen like they normally do. Even clobbered and on the ground, you still almost made it. But, more of them came, and you'd used up your reserves of energy. They beat you unconscious.
Waking feels awful. Your lip is more swollen than it was. Do not touch it, though. You can sit up, which is a vast improvement over last time you were on this cot. Campbell is sweet. Don't think about the ocean, though. It reminds you too much of the vacation you were supposed to get but didn't. Vaughn, now… don't fantasize about him taking care of you when this is all over, it is wrong. But you fall into the daydream, anyways.
He'd be sweet, too, and tender. He'd brush your hair out of your face for you, and tuck you into a real bed, with fat pillows and a thick comforter. Your hands and feet are cold. He would curl up beside you, if you asked, and hold your hand. You could feel his warmth behind you, instead of the cold cement wall, and relax against it, and he would hold you and whisper that you were safe and that he wouldn't let anything happen to you if you fell asleep. He'd protect you from angel dreams and doctors and the past….
Two guards stride purposefully towards you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Don't beat yourself up for losing control and thinking about Vaughn. This once, it's okay. Take a deep breath and prepare for the next round of torture.
But, they don't come for you. They go into Campbell's cell, beat him to his knees. (oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god!) Lindsey saunters up. He's demanding his answer. (i'm going to kill you son of a bitch!) They're hurting the innocent man just to get coordinates from you, you selfish bitch. Tell them! (i can't i need them to find julia i can't) Tell them! They're not hurting you; you can take that! They're hurting (god oh)AN(god oh)INNOCENT(god oh)MAN! (i'm so scared i don't know what to do) Tell them a lie! Tell them anything! (if they find out i lied, they'll kill me) If you don't they'll kill him! They stabbed him just like you stabbed Vaughn, and you didn't try to stop that either, did you?! Traitor! (SHUT UP! I CAN'T THINK!)
"They're coordinates!" They'll kill me, but I must keep Julia to myself. Dad and Vaughn are still out there. There is still hope. What numbers should I tell Lindsey? Other coordinates pop into my mind, and I say them without thinking. "North 34 degrees, 09 minutes, 55.9 seconds, west 118 degrees, 17 minutes, 15.3 seconds!"
The smirk on Lindsey's face told me something was wrong. Campbell stood up. As he talked to me, I cried. I couldn't help it. I'd been so horribly deceived, had fallen so hard for the trickery. I didn't have the words to express my emotions; I didn't know what my emotions were. Pain, and rage, and fear. I clutched the cold iron bars to hold myself upright. I'd broken.
No more fighting, no more shows of fighting. I lay docilely on the gurney, unresisting as they strapped be back to the doctor's device. They would have their memories; I would have my memories. Everything was sort of faded, like it was seen through a thin haze of fog. The good doctor put the mask on my face. I didn't breathe, yet. I wanted one last mental goodbye to Vaughn, to Dad. To Marshall, Dixon, Weiss, Carrie, Lauren. To Sloane.
The explosion by my head made me jerk in my bonds, choking on my instinctive half-breath, squeezing my eyes shut, expecting to die. Had the procedure already taken place? I couldn't move my head, but I heard heavy thumps and thuds. Bodies falling. Men in black undid the ties holding me to the bed, and I brushed the oxygen mask off my face, thankful to fill my burning lungs with air. My hand flopped back to the side, and it brushed a long, slim piece of cold metal. Everything happened at once: I heard Dad's voice saying my name, I opened my eyes and saw the good doctor aiming a gun, and the piece of metal was in my hand and instinctively being thrown.
I had adrenaline, now, to power my legs as I stumbled-ran next to my father. He kept telling me that I was okay, a comforting stream of reassurances. There was a brief and intense gun-battle, then we were outside and in a helicopter.
Seeing Lauren leaning against Vaughn, with his arm around her and her clutching it closer to herself… it made me wonder if she would mind sharing his other side. But, no, she was his wife. It wouldn't be right. I told them about the coordinates. My voice sounded slightly hysterical, and my father, awkwardly, tried to calm me. He put his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. Warm, more comfortable than in the cell, and soothed by the presence of people I trusted, I fell asleep.