A/N: Never mind my previous estimates on how long this story is. I honestly have no idea. This part is half of what I planned for part 7 to be. So the other half will now be Part 8 and what I planned to be part 8 will be Part 9 (or possibly Parts 9 and 10 if that decides to be endless too).
The following part, while still rated PG-13, contains some pretty disturbing events. Just thought I'd warn you.
Part 7: In the rain of tears…
One Day Earlier
Anton looked up from his desk to see Romanov in the doorway. In his hand was an amethyst at the end of a silver chain that he threaded between his fingers.
"What do you need, Mikhail?"
"I need to see Sydney Bristow."
Anton raised an eyebrow. "I've already increased the number of visits you have with her. Now you need even more?"
Romanov rethreaded the chain through his fingers, bringing the stone up and grasping it in his palm. "I have a test to run."
Anton looked up at him. "For the project?"
Romanov nodded. "Exactly."
Anton nodded. "Proceed."
Romanov exited the office. He was down to the cell a few minutes later. The guards gave him questioning glances as he approached the door. They moved into a ready stance as he opened the door.
Sydney was sitting on the floor of the cell with the baby. She'd apparently either been singing or talking, but as she saw him step into the doorway she fell silent. She rose carefully, stiffly, a fearful look apparent in her eyes. He hid a smug grin, at the effect of his presence. She moved forward slightly, placing herself in front of the child at her feet. He saw her eyes processing, trying to figure out what he was doing there, what she could have done wrong to bring him. Why he had come to her instead of her being brought to him. He could see she wasn't about to move from the spot where she stood. He crossed the room slowly, not wanting to startle her.
She watched him, without moving, without speaking.
He stopped just in front of her, lifted his hand and let the amethyst fall from his palm just in front of her face, hanging from his fingers by the silver chain. Her eyes left his face uncertainly to focus on the necklace. Her brow creased in confusion and then she stumbled backwards two steps, almost tripping over the baby.
A blank look overtook her eyes then she focused on something not in the room. Her hands trembled, tears leaked from her eyes as she began to cry silently.
"Sit down, Sydney," he ordered.
She did as told, sitting immediately. Her hands formed into fists and she held them to her chest.
The baby stood and toddled towards her. He frowned, watching as the child trying to climb into her lap. She didn't acknowledge the baby's presence at all and he just leaned against her trembling form.
Romanov moved forward and lifted the baby away from her, setting him down a few feet away. Her eyes didn't even follow his movements. She just tensed more, still quaking continuously.
"Tell me, Sydney, are you still affiliated with the CIA?"
She shook her head, wincing as if in pain. "No," she breathed.
"When was the last time you had contact with them?" He knelt down trying to make eye contact with her.
"I don't know." Her face remained blank.
"Rough estimate," he ordered, sharply.
"More than two years."
"What did you know about the Syndicate during that time period?"
Her eyes closed and she shook her head. She responded in a whisper. "Nothing."
"One more question then. What is the location of the Rambaldi artifacts held by your government?"
She seemed to hesitate, breathing shakily.
"The location of the artifacts, Sydney," he pressed.
"An NSA facility in Nevada," she whispered.
His eyebrows raised. "How do you know this?"
She shivered. "I heard about a failed attempt to raid the facility two years ago."
He ran a hand through her hair, stroking it. She whimpered and he rose and stepped away. He took a cellphone from his pocket and pressed his first speed dial.
"Hello…yes, I need to speak to your superior immediately…this is Romanov…I have completed the final test. Project Mnemosyne is a success…Yes…Understood." He closed his phone and looked down at Sydney.
She was shaking uncontrollably, taking shuddering deep breathes.
Romanov placed the amethyst in his pocket as he removed a small bottle from it and sprayed a small mist into the air. The room began to smell lightly of cinnamon. He looked down at Sydney once more, before turning and exiting the room.
It was through blurry vision that Sydney realized that she was in her cell. She glanced around, somehow expecting to see something out of place. The baby was on the other side of the room watching her as if he wasn't sure whether he should come over to her or not.
She stood up, not sure why she felt so stiff. She unclenched her fists and moved towards the child. She knelt down beside him and pulled him into her arms. She leaned her back against the wall, rocking the baby and herself.
Anton was waiting in the hallway when the doctor exited. "I know what I saw. Now I want an explanation."
Romanov started away from the cell. "You've heard of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Anton. Involuntary intrusions of traumatic events overtaking a person as if they were happening again."
"Flashbacks," Anton said, simply.
"Yes. The project is to cause such flashbacks. A seemingly harmless object seen during a traumatic event, only registered subconsciously. It then can cause these prolonged flashbacks to the related trauma." Romanov took the amethyst from his pocket and dangled it in front of Anton's nose.
"And the spray?"
"It was a neutral stimulus to bring her out of it."
"And what will she remember about the time she was…experiencing the flashback?"
Romanov shook his head. "Nothing. She may experience lingering feelings of fear and uneasiness. But she'll be unable to consciously register any of what happened while she was experiencing this type of conditioned flashback."
Anton was about to question further but just then Bronson approached him.
"You have a phone call, sir."
"Take a message."
"It's Akiva, sir. She wants to discuss the things she would like to see when she visits tomorrow."
Anton sighed. "We'll continue this later," he told Romanov.
The doctor nodded.
Six Days Earlier
Anton looked from Bronson and Graham as he approached the cell. He gave them an impatient frown and Bronson opened the door.
Sydney was lying on her side on the floor of her cell. She startled slightly upon hearing the door, but apparently didn't have the strength to look up and see who was coming. Her body was tensed, knees pulled up to her chest, an arm shielding her face. She was breathing heavily, whimpering ever so slightly. Her body shuddered involuntarily at random intervals. Bruises were forming on her arms, legs and face.
He moved to stand just beside her, knelt down. He grabbed an arm, expecting her to at least rey to pull away. But instead it was limp in his hand. He pulled it away from her face and looked at her. Her eyes were almost closed, fluttering slightly. She was bleeding from a cut to the side of her face. He dropped her hand and stood. "Who ordered this?"
Graham stepped forward immediately. "I did. She attacked me and tried to escape."
Bronson stared ahead blankly.
Anton watched them both a moment, before ordering, "Get her to medical."
Graham frowned. "After what she did to me?"
"Now," Anton snapped.
Graham backed down. "Right away, sir."
Anton glanced at Bronson. "And be sure they know, I'm authorizing primary treatment."
The meal guard nodded.
Anton headed out of the cell. An hour later he was informed that Sydney was fully setup in medical. However, when he arrived to check on her status, he was informed, "She's barely conscious."
Anton entered the room. She was secured to the bed by restraints, with an IV in her arm administering pain medicine. However, he noted she didn't actually look any more comfortable in the bed than she had lying on the floor of her cell. Her jaw was swollen. Bruises and cuts crisscrossed her face and arms, and she had a split lip. Her eyes still fluttered, and her face was contorted uncomfortably. Her chest rose and fell in shudders. Every breath expanded bruised ribs and then retreated, regretting it.
Anton sighed and took the seat by the bed. "You never give up, do you?" he said, dryly. "Never," he repeated softly. "No matter what we do." He knew he couldn't help but sound impressed. He honestly realized he was.
Normally, he eyed his prisoners as foolish if they continued to fight but not her. Even if he'd pictured her the same way at first, nothing she'd done was foolish. Nothing was a half hearted, last ditch effort. Everything she did was calculated, risk weighed against benefits. He was watching her do her best against every obstacle he threw at her. She kept trying, even knowing the consequences, accepting them. She was surviving this.
Except for this. This wasn't her. This couldn't have been a calculated effort. Graham hardly looked injured except in pride. What would there have been to gain? Unless the only purpose would have been an out. Was she giving up? Was she thinking she'd done all she could, all she was able, and now she was ready for this to be over with?
"It won't stay this way," he found himself saying. To her. To the room. To himself. "The tests are nearly complete. Another month at the most." He sighed. "That won't be the end of it, we won't...let you go. But if we make it there, I can make sure things are more bearable here. I know none of this makes any sense now, but there are reasons, and you are not going to die here."
He noted a nurse standing in the doorway, giving him a questioning glance. The nurse shifted nervously. "She's not going to remember anything you've said to her." She swallowed, as if she expected him to be displeased by this information.
Anton nodded. "I know."
The nurse checked the IV bag nervously then slipped back out of the room.
Bronson entered a few seconds after. "I was told you wanted to see me."
Anton didn't look up at him. He was watching Sydney's chest struggling to rise and fall. "I'm reassigning Graham. I believe his expertise was put to better use in Iceland. Any objections?" He glanced up when Bronson was silent.
The guard stiffened. "None, sir."
Anton returned his attention to Sydney.
Bronson didn't move and finally cleared his throat. "Was that all?" "I was told you got the baby out of the room before this happened?"
Bronson let a worried look pass behind his eyes. "He's with one of his day guards."
"Philippe?" Anton questioned.
"Yes."
"Good."
He saw Bronson blink in surprise at an actual commendation for such a thing.
"Now, that is all."
Bronson exited the room.
Anton stared at the bed again. She seemed to be coming around. The pained look on her face was increasing in intensity. Her body fought her, trying to convince her that returning to consciousness was a bad idea. He watched her eyes force themselves wide open anyway.
First, her eyes darted back and forth, taking in the room, vaguely recognizing it. Then, her arms and legs moved the millimeters they were allowed within the confines the restraints. She flexed a hand and dared to turn her head.
He stood, moving himself into her line of vision. He moved a step closer to the bed and she flinched, her brown eyes watered slightly at the pain the sudden movement had caused. He saw it in her eyes first. Terror at seeing him here. He realized she was recalling the last time she'd awakened to this situation. He sighed. He didn't regret what he'd done then; it'd been necessary. But she was watching him now expecting the same merciless treatment. She was already breathing even more irregularly than she had been moments before.
He turned to leave the room, knowing she wasn't going to relax until he did. Dr. Romanov was his first visitor upon his return to his office.
"I need more sessions with her," the doctor informed him.
"You were informed of what happened today?" Anton confirmed.
Dr. Romanov nodded. "It is why I felt you would agree. If she is still attempting escape, then apparently, she needs more time in my care, more frequently."
Anton blinked away the image of the woman on the bed who had looked at him with terrified eyes. He nodded. "Agreed."
"I will prepare," Dr. Romanov answered in a satisfied tone. He was out the door before receiving a proper dismissal.
Anton didn't care. He tried to turn his attention to paperwork.
Tearful, terrified eyes.
It wouldn't stay this way.
The tests were nearly complete.
Another month at the most.
Two Hours Earlier
She didn't want to open her eyes.
As long as she didn't, she could be anywhere. She could be home, in her own apartment. She could be waking up any day, at any time. She could be putting off going to work or to class. She could be getting up to go have breakfast with Will and Francie. Or to a meeting with Vaughn.
As long as she didn't open her eyes, the day didn't have to begin.
But there was movement from beside her and she opened her eyes. Bright blue eyes were staring down at her. They lit up at her movement, and she managed a gentle smile for him.
"Good morning," she said, in a voice she could almost convince herself was cheery.
The boy smiled and wrapped his arms around her neck. She hugged him back. "How are you? How'd you sleep?"
He responded by giving her a squeeze, then releasing her. He just leaned against her in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair as she did every morning, just smoothing it out as best she could with her fingers, trying to work through any tangles. Then, she turned him to face her. He grasped onto her hair and gave her a mischievous grin.
She smiled slightly and tickled him and he giggled. It amazed her how he could giggle, but it was her favorite noise these days. He wriggled away and darted across the room, trying to get her to chase him. And she realized that as he ran around the room, he wasn't wishing to be anyplace else or with anyone else. He was content to be right there playing with her.
"I'm coming to get you!" she said playfully.
He squeaked and ran to the other side of the room.
He stopped abruptly and she tensed. Sydney heard footsteps in the hallway. More than one set. Two guards this early in her day couldn't mean anything good. She moved forward and gripped the boy by the hand. She guided him to the corner farthest from the door, then sat down and held him close to her. She kept an eye on the door, tensely waiting.
There was a series of electronic beeps and then the heavy door rumbled open. She was relieved to see who entered first, just Bronson. It was normal to see him this early. But another guard entered behind him. He had vaguely familiar gray eyes and brown hair.
The unfamiliar guard took in the room in a single glance and then began to stare at Sydney. He turned to Bronson. "Been awhile since I've had to deal with her. She as much trouble as she used to be?"
"No, not anymore," Bronson answered, with an disinterested tone. He gathered up empty dishes.
Sydney turned her head and stopped looking at them. She stroked the baby's hair, listening. The boy burrowed himself against her. She whispered lightly in his ear, wanting him to stay calm.
"Really? Makes these duties so boring when everyone is cooperative." The guard crossed his arms with a frown. "What do they train us for?"
"I don't know." Bronson sighed. "Come on, Graham. We're done."
"No, just a minute. We'll never get promoted if we don't do something to get noticed."
The guard's tone prickled her ears. Sydney frowned as she realized Graham was approaching her corner. She looked up at him warily.
"Stand up," he ordered.
She tossed a glance at Bronson, wishing for him to get Graham to leave, but Bronson was just watching. Not seeing any other option, she rose slowly, holding the baby securely in her arms.
Graham smiled at Bronson. "We'd get noticed for stopping an escape." There was a glint in his eyes.
Sydney shifted uncomfortably. She could practically see the wheels turning in this guy's head. She used to try to escape all the time. No one would doubt her trying again, despite how well her behavior had been recently.
Bronson stood by the door. "Graham, what are you going to do?"
Graham didn't respond. His eyes were fixed on her. "Put that kid down. Don't know why they let you keep him anyway."
Sydney shook her head slightly, not sure what he was about to do.
Graham grabbed her arm firmly, starting to twist it. She realized if he was about to do some damage, then the baby would actually be safer out of her arms. She gently put the baby down on the floor and he toddled a few feet from them.
Graham's face darkened. She tensed just as he struck her across the face.
"Graham!" Bronson called sharply. "You aren't going to get anywhere by doing that."
Graham watched her a moment, prepared for her to retaliate. A temporary meal guard. He certainly wasn't worth the trouble that would be caused if she tried to attack him. She put a hand to her aching cheek and looked him in the eye, but she didn't move towards him.
"See, I told you. Now let's go," Bronson said, still having not moved from his spot by the door.
Graham didn't look away from her. "What did they brainwash her completely? Does she not even remember how to fight?" He grabbed her by her sore wrists and pulled her to him.
"I won't be apart of this," Bronson grumbled. He headed out the door.
Sydney braced herself for whatever was next. He twisted her wrists and she bit her lip in pain. She didn't even struggle in his grasp. He let out a frustrated growl and roughly shoved her away from him and into the wall. She leaned against it, ready to remain motionless until he left.
But out of the corner of her eye, she could see the baby watching them. Tears ran down his face and he started to toddle towards her. She shook her head at him but he held out his arms and came closer.
Graham narrowed his eyes at the baby with an exasperated sigh. He turned away from her and shoved the baby away. The boy lost his balance and fell hard on the concrete floor. He let out a wail that rose in volume to a scream cry.
Sydney glared at Graham and got to her feet immediately. She started to move towards the baby, but Graham grabbed her arm. "Let go," she said warningly.
Graham glanced at the baby. "He's fine."
Taking advantage of her unhealthily bony structure, she kneed him in the stomach. She didn't get the chance to be satisfied with her work. He coughed out a gasp as the cell door opened with Bronson and several other guards.
Graham fell against the wall struggling to breathe. "Get her!" he choked out.
Sydney threw up her hands in surrender as Bronson moved in and picked up the wailing child. He headed for the door. Sydney couldn't help the step she took to follow him. "No! Bring him back!"
Her single step was taken as a hostile gesture. Something collided with her head from behind and sent her hurtling towards the floor. Bronson disappeared out of the door with the baby. She saw the three new guards moving around her, batons readied. Though dazed, she had the vague sensation something warm was running down her face. She pushed herself up from the floor and onto her knees. Dizziness overtook her as she looked towards the door. Why had Bronson taken the baby? Was he okay? Were they going to bring him back?
A blunt force knocked her to the ground again. She curled her knees into her chest, trying to protect herself as more blows landed. Her chest tenderized. Her arms and legs screamed in pain. She tried to curl herself in tighter. As long as she didn't fight them, she knew they'd stop. She closed her eyes and drifted.
"Sydney? Where are you? Are you alright?"
"At what used to be SD-6. I can hardly believe it. I couldn't even sleep last night. I thought I'd wake up and it'd all be a dream. I've been here for almost an hour."
Silence.
"Eric, you still there?"
"I'm still here. I just--"
"You sound odd. Where are you?"
"At...Vaughn's apartment."
"What's wrong?"
"Syd, I...I don't know how to say this."
"What's wrong? Is Vaughn okay?"
"He....I--"
"Never mind, Eric, I'll come there."
"No, Syd! Don't come--"
She ended the call and headed out of the building. She couldn't get into her car fast enough. Her cellphone started to ring as she was exiting the parking garage. She knew it was Weiss, and she didn't answer it. The phone rang twice more before she reached Vaughn's apartment.
She parked her car on the side of the street and scrambled out of her car. The drive was lined with emergency vehicles and a flood of people stood on the lawn. She pressed through to the front of the crowd.
"No one beyond this point," a police officer told her firmly.
She flipped opened her CIA badge without a word. He scrutinized it momentarily and nodded to her. She moved onto the front step.
"Sydney?"
"Dad!"
Jack gave her a worried frown. "What are you doing here?"
"Weiss called me."
Jack glanced inside. "He called you? You shouldn't be here."
"What is going on? Why are all these people here?"
Weiss appeared in the doorway. He looked at her. His face was emotionless but his eyes were glassy. "Sydney, I told you not to come."
"Where is Vaughn?" she demanded. "I want to see him." She tried to look at them but both refused to make eye contact with her.
"Dad?" Her chin quivered. "Please."
Her father's face hardened. "Vaughn's dead, Sydney."
She blinked. That wasn't true. It couldn't be true. "But I saw him yesterday. He was fine!"
Weiss swallowed. "We think that sometime last night, someone got into his apartment. We don't know why yet..."
"No!" She started towards the doorway. They were lying. They had to be lying.
Weiss moved into her way as Jack grabbed her arm.
She had to find Vaughn and ask him why they were playing this cruel trick. "Where is he?" she cried. "I want to see him."
Weiss shook his head. "No, Syd. You can't go in there." He sighed and continued more softly. "You don't want to go in there."
She stared at them both with glassy eyes. "I have to see him!" If he was really dead, why would they try to stop her?
"Sydney, let's go back to your apartment," Jack said, carefully. He held her firmly.
"No, I'm not leaving." Her eyes flew to the door when it opened. A man in a coroner's jacket began wheeling out a gurney carrying a black body bag. They headed towards a coroner's van in the driveway.
She shook her head. "Stop!" she ordered. They didn't acknowledge her. She tried to pull away from her father's grasp. "Let go of me. They can't take him."
"Sydney, please."
She broke one arm free. "No, bring him back! Tell them to bring him back!" But two more hands gripped onto keeping her from following the gurney. Her vision started to blur and she realized tears were filling her eyes and flowing down her cheeks.
She turned and looked her father in the eye. "Please!" she begged. "Bring him back."
Jack stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and screamed.
She was ripped from the solace of her father's arms by a horrible stinging pain in her belly. Her arms and legs were throbbing. Her head pounded. She was afraid to move, for fear she might make it worse. She took a breath but moaned as her lungs expanding sent waves of pain through her rib cage. She considered never moving or breathing ever again.
There was sound of footsteps beside her. She curled herself in slightly.
She didn't want to open her eyes.
Nine Days Earlier
For the first time, she looked like a prisoner.
Bronson had told him she'd be different, but Philippe hadn't quite counted on this different. He was used to the woman who always looked like she'd attack them if they turned their backs on her. But as he stepped into the room, Sydney Bristow was a small figure in a corner with a baby in her arms, rocking herself.
Bronson entered and walked right over to her. He lifted the child from her arms and handed the boy to Philippe. Philippe was almost surprised that Sydney didn't even protest. The baby gripped onto him, as if he actually remembered.
Sydney didn't look up at them. She didn't let out an annoyed sigh. Bronson lifted her arms with ease, placing the cuffs on her wrists. He gave a tug that should have been painful to her bruised wrists. She didn't wince, just stood. She kept her eyes downcast as she was led from the room.
Philippe followed with the baby. The child was tense in his arms, wide eyes trying to keep Sydney in view. They rounded corners and rode an elevator. Sydney's eyes never seemed to take note of where she was being taken or who she was with. She didn't move unless pulled along, but she didn't resist.
Finally, Bronson reached a room on a sublevel. He opened the door and Sydney was pushed inside. The room was empty as far as Philippe could tell. Bronson directed Sydney sit down in the middle of the rooom. Then, he turned and walked out, locking the door securely with Sydney inside.
Philippe didn't have time to question what they were doing. Bronson lifted his radio. "She's in," he announced.
"Copy that," a voice on his radio cackled back.
The baby shifted in Philippe's arms, upset that he could no longer see Sydney. Philippe tried to hold him closer as if to comfort, but the child cried out.
Bronson actually turned to look at him. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded.
Philippe looked confused. "What?"
"You don't know?" Bronson questioned, surprised. "Look at him," he ordered.
Philippe cautiously looked at the little boy. First thing he noted was how badly the child needed a haircut. Platinum blond hair combed by fingers to try and keep it out of his eyes, but it truly needed trimming. Then, he saw blue eyes. Wide, perceptive. The child took in everything that happened in his world and tried to make sense of it.
Phillippe knelt down, placing the boy on the floor, where he stood carefully. Philippe examined the child's arms, but they were hardly injured. He examined the child's shirt, too large on him, but it was better than the clothes the baby had been growing out of. He carefully pressed on the child's stomach, and after he'd tried several spots the boy flinched. He had sore spots that were causing him pain. Phillippe picked the boy up again more gently.
"How long today?" he asked Bronson as they headed back for the elevator.
Bronson shrugged. "I don't know."
"So, they did something to him?" Philippe realized.
Bronson nodded.
"To make her like she is now."
Bronson nodded again. "I could hardly believe it either when I first saw her."
Philippe got off the elevator two floors down, but Bronson didn't. Philippe put the child down in the nice and bright hallway and held his hand, letting him walk beside him. He wished he could take the baby outside. That was all his kids had ever wanted to do at this age. Play outside. He looked down at this boy who was just happy to be allowed to wander a brightly lit hallway. To see his reflection in glass windows would make him giggle. Maybe it was a good thing he didn't get to go outside. He didn't miss it.
Philippe ate his lunch with the child in his lap. They shared a sandwich that the boy washed down with a bottle. They went on another long walk, until the baby tired of walking the hallways. He didn't stop and sit down, or let out plaintive noises. His steps got slower, but Philippe realized the child wasn't going to ask to be carried. He would walk until he fell asleep, but he wouldn't complain. He knew he wasn't allowed to complain.
Philippe lifted him gently and let the boy rest his head on his shoulder. The child was asleep in his arms before he made it back to the cell. He let the baby rest on the cot, but he didn't leave him. Bronson offered to relieve him for a couple of hours, but Philippe wasn't interested. He wondered the last time this baby had fallen asleep and woken up with the same person still around. Philippe knew they dragged Sydney away from him at random. She'd been gone over five hours now. He wondered if she was still in that room.
Philippe wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he dozed a little while waiting for the baby to awaken. He knew he was up the second the child stirred. He awakened with a whimper about to cry, then opened his eyes. Philippe smiled at him. "I'm still here." He pulled the child back into his arms. The baby had slept for nearly three solid hours. "You must be hungry."
The child looked at him hopefully. Philippe took him from the cell and got him another bottle that the child eagerly drank. They went for another walk around the hallways. They were ignored by anyone who passed them. Philippe got frowns when he brought the child with him to the lounge and shared his dinner.
He took the baby for walk out of the sublevels. He put him next to a window and let him look out. By the window, Philippe counted numbers and went over the ABC's several times. The child paid attention.
The sun went down and there was nothing to see out the window. Philippe dropped by a lab and got some rubber gloves. He blew air into them making a couple, five fingered balloons for the child to play with. The boy loved kicking and tossing those around. Philippe watched to take careful note of when the child's eyes started to blink tiredly. Philippe picked him up and headed back for the cell. The boy was almost asleep when they arrived.
"Where've you been?" Harris wanted to know. He was the child's other day guard.
"What's wrong?" Philippe questioned.
Harris sighed and shook his head. "Nothing. Just, you're relieved."
Philippe frowned slightly. "Overnight shift?"
Harris nodded. "Yeah, we have a lot of these now, with them running so many tests all the time."
"I'll stay," Philippe decided, stepping into the cell.
"No you won't. I'm already assigned to do it." Harris reached for the child. "So, go."
"Give me a minute, he's almost asleep," Philippe responded.
Harris gripped onto the baby and pulled him from Philippe's arms.
Philippe felt the child, startle and grasp for his shirt, not wanting to leave him. Harris held the baby in extended arms, not cuddling him at all. The baby coughed out the start of a wail, looking at Philippe with wide pleading eyes.
Philippe headed for the door, not wanting to hear the child cry and hoping he'd stop the sooner he left. Just before he stepped into the hallway, he heard Harris shout harshly, "That's enough! I don't wanna hear it!"
The child's cries stifled to whimpers.
Philippe blinked, wondering how long until his next shift. He discovered it wasn't for another sixteen hours. Sixteen hours that couldn't pass soon enough.
Harris was in a chair by the cell with the door opened, flipping through a tattered book when Philippe returned. He didn't even acknowledge him, when Philippe stepped inside. Philippe would have thought the cell was empty, but since Harris was right outside he knew the baby had to be in there somewhere. He found the child beneath the cot, face down. He was in a tense little ball and flinched when Philippe tried to touch him. Philippe sat back and looked around the room. Two bottles sat by the wall, both nearly full.
"You didn't feed him?" Philippe asked, incredulously.
"He wouldn't eat," Harris answered with a shrug. "He's all yours." Harris stood and left the cell.
Philippe sighed and looked at the bottles. The child had to be hungry. Philippe seated himself on the floor. He rubbed the baby's back gently and softly whispered to him that he was alright. The boy finally lifted his head to look. His face was red and tear-stained, but he hadn't been making a sound. He didn't dare to make a sound. Philippe gently pulled the child into his arms, wondering if he'd slept at all after being left with Harris.
"Hungry?" he questioned. He offered a bottle to the child. The boy shoved it away, not allowing Philippe to put it near his mouth. The guard sighed, guessing he wouldn't be very hungry either.
The boy looked towards the door and then back at Philippe hopefully. "We can go walk," Philippe said. He got up, ready for the child to be eager for a walk. The boy stopped at the doorway and looked up and down the hall, searching.
Philippe sighed. "She'll be back," he told the child, who didn't look comforted. It had to be hard for him to never know when Sydney would leave or when she would return, or if. Philippe had called home just a few hours prior to make sure his family knew he had another shift and wouldn't be home. He didn't want them to have even a few hours of uncertainty. The baby hadn't seen Sydney in almost two days. So he was insecure and wondering.
Philippe picked him up and carried him out of the cell. He had a feeling Harris hadn't taken him anywhere else and the child had nothing to do but miss Sydney as long as he was in that cell. He took the child into one of the labs. Immediately, the baby tensed in his arms, burying his face. "Hey, it's okay."
Philippe put the baby down and he clung to his leg. Philippe took an empty basin and filled it with water. He picked up the child and showed him the basin, then dropped in a couple Styrofoam bowls and the caps to a few empty medicine bottles, all of which floated in the water.
The baby stared at the objects with wide eyes. He reached towards the basin hesitantly, as if expecting to be told not to. Philippe grinned at him, encouragingly. The boy picked up one of the caps and put it back down. Then, he pushed it down with one hand so it sank. He let go and it popped back up to the top. He giggled and slapped the water, attempting to drown the other objects as well. Philippe realized this was going to be a messier activity than he'd expected and rolled up the boy's sleeves.
The child didn't seem to actually tire of water play, and fussed a little when Philippe finally took the basin away and began to dry him off. They headed for the lounge. Philippe heated a bottle and the boy hungrily chugged it down along with half another bottle, and the bits of Philippe's chicken sandwich.
Philippe was trying to decide what to do next as he was cleaning up from lunch. A crackle came across his radio, ordering him to return the child to the cell. Philippe responded that he was on his way. Though, he let the child walk on his own so it took him longer than it would have to actually return.
Bronson was waiting. "Finally," he said exasperatedly. He picked up the baby and set him in the cell on the cot.
Seconds later, the elevator doors opened and Sydney was dragged off and into the cell. Dragged because she didn't seem strong enough to walk. She wasn't fighting. Philippe watched from the doorway as she was deposited in the middle of the floor of her cell. She didn't move at first then sat up slowly. Her skin was unnaturally dark pink. Like she was covered in a horrible sunburn.
Philippe wondered if she'd know that'd this was what was going to be done to her when she'd so willingly let Bronson escort her to the room. Heat endurance test. She looked around the room, with a disoriented, emotionless expression on her face. Until her eyes settled on the baby. She forced a smile onto her dry, cracking lips and crawled across the room. She didn't have the energy to hold him. She sat beside the cot and rested her head on it. She reached a hand and touched the child's face, touching it gently. He laid down on the cot, resting his head near hers.
Philippe left, locking the cell securely. Sydney would get a day or two to recover enough for the next test. Then, he'd have another shift with the baby. He headed down the hallway. He was going to go home and see his own kids.
Four Days Earlier
It was foggy. Her vision. Her head. The room.
And she was achy. Especially her ankle and her wrists. She forced herself to stretch and sit up anyway. She focused and realized she was back in her cell. She didn't recall being brought back. She ran her hand across her face, finding one of her cheeks was swollen and bruising. She hugged herself and looked around. She was alone in the room. They hadn't brought him back yet. Maybe it would be soon. Maybe she'd only been back in the room a moment. She tried to recall.
She remembered him crying, and then, she felt a strange sinking feeling and it was dark. Somehow the deeper she sank, the quieter it was. She forced herself to try and think of anything besides the dark. There was a flash of an unfamiliar face, and then Anton's empty eyes.
She got up, and splashed some water from the basin on her face. She paced the room, but her ankle throbbed. She finally just sat down in the corner of her room. She curled up and closed her eyes. Phantom cries played in her ears. She nodded off back to sleep, despite her cramped position. She was certain hours passed.
Then, there were footsteps coming up the hallway. She watched the door, hoping. But it was just Bronson bringing her a meal. He set it down, but looked over at her in the corner seriously.
She stared back. "Where is he?" she managed to ask, only just loudly for him to hear.
Bronson gave her an uncomfortable look. He left without a word.
She stared at the door long after he'd left. Just listening for more footsteps. None came. What if they weren't intending to bring him back to her? What if they couldn't? What if he was too badly hurt? They'd hardly ever tended to her wounds .Would they tend to his? Or was he just somewhere suffering?
She looked at the meal, but her stomach didn't feel ready to accept any food. She buried her face against her knees. She just listened to her heartbeat. He could be dead. Maybe Anton was just thinking it'd be too traumatizing to her to kill him in front of her. But he was dead and they just weren't going to tell her. She brought her hands up to her face, trembling and finally broke down to cry again.
The sound of the lock startled her and she looked to the door. This time it was an unfamiliar guard, but she had no interest in him, only who was in his arms. She stood up, slowly. The child was deposited on the floor and the guard left.
He was in new clothes. A blue and black outfit. He looked around with wide eyes, and when he saw her lifted his arms. She moved towards him and picked him up gently, carrying him back to the cot. She pressed her head to his small forehead, but when she went to hug him, he squeaked softly. She sat him back in her lap and swallowed. She pulled back the sleeves on his shirt gently and slowly. There were hand print bruises in several places on both arms. She noticed a slightly red puncture wound on his left arm. She pulled back down the sleeves and lifted his shirt to look at his belly.
She felt her eyes sting at the crisscrossing red cuts across his stomach. He looked down at his wounds and back up at her silently. She put his shirt back down and took a deep breath, turning him gently so his back faced her. She took a deep breath and lifted the shirt only half way. A mess of purple and red marks assaulted her eyes and she let the shirt fall. She just cuddled him to her gently and kissed the top of his forehead. She stroked his cheek lightly with one finger whispering apologies in his ear.
She was thankful his back was to her. She didn't want him to see her tears.
Several Hours Earlier
His hands were ice cold. She realized her own hands probably weren't much warmer, but she rubbed his between hers. He looked up at her with curious eyes. He looked so confused. She shared his confusion. All this time and she was still practically clueless as to what was expected of her. What pleased them one day got her punished the next. Sometimes she wondered if it was for no other reason than to keep her off balance.
The small boy nestled himself further into her arms. She had to look at his face to realize he was crying. It frightened her the way he cried now. With no noise, just small tears. He kept taking deep breaths, breathing hard. Anything to force back any sound at all. As if afraid if he truly let any thing out something bad would happen. She ran her hand through his hair, wishing she could honestly reassure him differently.
Her ankle was nearly well enough to actually walk on again. She considered walking him to comfort him. But then there were footsteps in the hallway. She knew tensing would scare him but she couldn't stop herself. The door unlatched. The room filled with light. Two guards looked around the room and finally settled on her on the cot.
"Come on," the first guard ordered.
She hesitated, but turned to lay the baby on the cot. His arms clung around her neck tightly and his face contorted when she pulled him away.
"No, bring him too," he added.
She looked up at the guard with wide eyes. "There is no reason--"
"We don't have time for this," the second guard grumbled, coming towards them. "Put him down."
She let out a relieved sigh and lowered the baby onto the cot. He curled up face down. The first guard turned and snapped restraints onto her. He pushed her towards the doorway. Then, immediately turned and lifted the baby.
"No!" Sydney protested. Ready to spring into action despite her restraints and her ankle.
The guard turned the boy around, holding him around the waist with one hand and his hand on the child's neck. "You want to see him killed right here in front of you?!"
She couldn't stop the tears. "Whatever I did--whatever you want me to do!"
The guard laughed. He moved towards her never moving his hand from the neck of his small hostage.
She wanted to lunge at the guard and claw him apart with her bare hands. But to move an inch was to risk them hurting the baby.
The second guard nodded. "Now, you'll behave." He headed down the hallway. She followed, not about to let the baby out of her sight. The maze of hallways that she normally tried so hard to memorize were of no interest to her. Only him. And where they were taking them. What reason could Anton have for this? A new room? A medical exam?
But she saw them headed towards steel doors and stiffened. She tried to halt, but four guards peeled from their stations along the hall, grabbed her and held tight even as she twisted and contorted. She was half dragged, half carried into the room. They harshly strapped her down to a table. She looked around expecting Romanov to appear at any moment.
Instead a man came out from an adjoining room and the guard handed the baby to him. She narrowed her eyes, not recognizing this blond man. He carried the child towards her. "Is there any last thing you'd like to say to him?"
She swallowed. "What are you going to do to him?"
"What you have made necessary."
"He's just a baby! You can't hurt him."
"Can't we?"
They really were serious. "There's no reason!"
"Isn't there?" The man turned to walk away.
"What do you want? I'll do whatever you want!"
The man paused, clutching the baby to him. "Yes, you will. Or this will happen again." He disappeared into the adjoining room.
She wrestled with the restraints, needing them to give, needing to break free. "If you need to hurt someone, then hurt me."
A wail.
"Stop! Please. NO!"
She looked towards the room, but she couldn't see. She just heard him crying. Terrified crying. Pain crying. She wrestled again with the straps, going to pull her own arms out of the socket to break free of the table. She'd kill them. She'd kill all of them.
The cries increased in pitch and intensity. She cried out as well, the cries stinging in her ears, causing her pain. She'd do anything for them to stop. Anything they asked. Anything they wanted. She was crying. She was screaming. She'd do their stupid tests. She'd eat whatever they gave her. She'd tell them whatever she knew. She wouldn't fight them. If they would just make this stop.
One of the steel doors opened and she saw Anton approach slowly. He walked right up beside the table and looked down at her. She choked back a sob and looked him in the eye. His eyes were empty. No concern. No delight. No anger. No satisfaction. Just empty.
"Why?" she cried. What could she possibly have done that they thought warranted this punishment?
Anton stepped back and turned his head, for a moment listening to the baby's cries. Then, he turned and walked briskly towards the door. He stopped, just before exiting and looked back at his prisoner strapped to the table. She had shut her eyes and was quaking with silent sobs.
He exited the room and let the door slam. He headed down the hallway away from the room until he ceased being able to hear her cries or the child's. He stood there with his arms crossed and just stared at his watch. He watched the second hand go around the face maybe a dozen times. Then, he walked back in the side door, right into the room where Damien had been with the baby. It was quiet in there. He didn't even see Damien. A guard was holding the child. The baby was limp in his arms.
"Get him taken care of," Anton ordered. The guard left the room immediately. "And where's Damien?"
Another guard nodded towards the other room.
Anton opened the door to where he'd left Sydney. Damien was standing beside the table his hand raised as though he was about to hit her. But he turned when Anton entered.
"What are you doing?" Anton questioned. "The assignment was the baby."
Damien gave him a sideways smile and looked down at Sydney. "Yes. It was."
Anton looked at Sydney. The side of her face was reddened as if he'd already hit her once. "Your money is in my office," he said, pointedly.
Damien nodded once and exited the room.
Anton turned back towards Sydney. She wasn't crying any longer. She wasn't struggling. Her eyes were only half open. He moved and began to undo the straps around her ankles. Then, he moved to the straps on her wrists. As he finished with the straps, she actually opened her eyes wide enough to look at him. There was no anger behind them. Not even a fearful or pleading look. The only way to describe the expression on her face would be defeated.
Then, she looked away from him and just curled up on the table.
He knew before she would have leapt off the table and tried to fight him. But she had no desire to do that now. The fury was gone. Just as he'd wanted it. He'd won.
He gestured to the guards standing by the door. "Take her back to her cell." He turned and briskly exited the room.
He stopped just around the corner. His stomach was churning.
One Day Earlier
It was when he looked her in the eyes that he knew they had no control of her.
She'd follow the directions she was given. Move immediately, often without question. Everyone else thought it was an improvement. It wasn't. It was just her manipulating them. Getting them to relax around her. Off their guard. Because every once in a while he could see the vengeful look in her eyes. For all that they'd done. For hurting her. For holding her captive. For holding the baby captive.
When he looked her in the eyes, he knew was she was plotting his death. All of their deaths. And they weren't truly going to have any control of her until that changed. Anton turned over the progress reports of their latest tests on her. Nothing they did to her seemed to truly faze her. She just took it. Absorbed it. And added it to the fury behind her brown eyes.
Anton sent word to the facility in Siberia that he needed a temporary employee. The man that arrived wasn't anything like he expected. He was perhaps twenty-eight or twenty-nine years old. His hair was blond; his copper brown eyes gleamed.
He'd needed someone from another facility. Someone who hadn't spent three months in observance of the baby. Someone who wouldn't hesitate to complete the task he was about to order.
"The child is perhaps a year old." Anton's voice was tight in his throat as he went on to describe what he wanted done.
But the man in front of him hardly blinked.
When finished, the two men stood up and shook hands.
"You'll get your money when it's done," Anton informed him.
Damien nodded and headed out of the room.
Five Days Earlier
She couldn't stop shaking.
She didn't dare try to stand. She pushed herself away from the floor, trying to lay against the nearest wall for support. She couldn't focus on the room. Everything was blurry. She couldn't breathe properly because of the way she felt her lungs trembling inside of her. She was thankful her stomach was empty as she was certain she would have emptied its contents onto the floor beside her if it wasn't. She brought her hands to her face but they were shaking the worst. She laid herself back on the floor.
She must have had a session with Romanov. They were the only thing that left her feeling like this. She shut her eyes. She couldn't remember any session. It hurt to think. Her brain felt like it was quaking inside her head. She could picture Romanov's face, looking angry, looking calm. His mouth moving. But she couldn't recall any words or any sound at all.
Waves of heat and cold rushed through her. She opened her eyes and let the room spin around her. Dimly, she realized whatever they were doing to her, they weren't finished yet. This wasn't her cell. They had just left her here to rest up until they thought she was strong enough for them to continue. She winced as she tried to sit up again.
She hated this. She hated them. She hated herself. She hated being here.
It wasn't just about the pain, or how long it had been since she'd seen sunlight, or felt rain, or fallen asleep without being terrified of what they might do to her while she was unconscious. She wanted her father. She foolishly wanted Vaughn. He was dead. She wasn't going to see him ever again. She probably wasn't going to see her father ever again. Sometimes she was quiet when they came for her, good and obedient. Other time she's she'd shout, scream, and throw punches at them. They'd retaliate forcefully, overreact really, and beat her to the ground. They'd hit her until she stopped fighting and for several minutes after. They liked for her to beg. If she screamed for mercy, they would give it. She knew that, but still, she'd hold out as long as she could. She'd rub sore ribs and bruised knuckles down with cold water trying to ease the pain.
It bothered her most that they'd hit her in front of the baby. He would get so frightened, as if he thought they'd kill her. It wasn't a foolish worry. He'd cry out or sometimes he'd just freeze. As soon as they left her alone, she would crawl across the cell and over to him, try and pull him into her arms or touch in him any way that'd make him feel safe. He was the hardest thing about this. The way he was treated. The way he was cheated out of life because of her. What trouble she'd caused him. He deserved so much more. Parents that'd love him and keep him safe all the time.
He was always on her mind. Her first thought. Always. Was he eating enough? Sleeping enough? With being afraid so much of the time, how was he being affect? Would it impact the rest of his life? He'd impacted her life so severely.
Without Vaughn or her father or any connection to her life, she could have died. She could have stopped fighting. She could have hoped they'd kill her, that they'd shoot her during an escape, stop her heart during an electrocution, starve her, beat her to death. She wouldn't have cared. Hypothermia, heat exhaustion, any kind of death was preferable to this life, to this non-life that was the existence she'd endured for weeks now, she realized. This could be the end. And if it weren't for one small boy, she'd have been content to let it be.
Review please! I need the encouragement.
Review Replies:
Thanks Landi104 and RosieW.
Lily: Good question. ;)
