Disclaimer:
Alias is not mine.
Title:
Endgame
Author:
Ayaren
Rating: PG
(cos it's a bit dark)
Timeline: Last in the Broken Series:
Broken
I: Under a Shadow
Broken II: Descent
Broken III: Black-Winged Angel
Broken IV: Acceptance
Broken V: Endgame
Summary: Her appearance, mere metres away, changed everything. And then everything changed into Hell.
Warning: ANGST –though really, the whole damn series has been one long angst-fest!
Michael Vaughn stood in the ruins of what had once been a warehouse of no particular consequence. Only two days ago it had been a meaningless place, a building as unremarkable as so many billions like it spread across the globe. Now it was gone, and it had taken so much more than its four walls with it.
He moved further into the broken remains, treading carefully over shards of concrete and metal until he reached the last spot he had seen them alive. He watched in silent detachment as the forensic staff combed the rubble with mechanical precision. He watched the medics bear the bodies away with the stoic expressions of people who had done so a hundred times before.
He watched and wished he could weep for the dead. But all the remained in his heart was a numb relief. The pain, the guilt that he had been carrying for so long, had lessened in the past hours. The burden of trying to avoid what had become inevitable was gone. And he did not mourn it, even if he had failed.
It had taken nearly four years but now it was over. It was done. He could finally lay the worst of his ghosts to rest.
Footsteps crunched in the debris behind him and Marcus Dixon fell in beside him. Neither man spoke, but they were both thinking the same thing as their eyes rested on that one spot where the one betrayal neither had ever come to terms with had finally ended.
She had finished it, but it was too early for Vaughn to understand who the real winner was.
In the beginning it had been just like any other mission. Sneak in to the warehouse, steal the required object and somehow get out without triggering any alarms. Same old pattern, same old song.
Somewhere in the middle, however, the familiar rhythm had been interrupted. A discordant note sounded in the empty container and the flash of blonde hair as a furtive figure darted around a corner in the maze of crates.
The CIA agents had given chase, they needed those discs and the chance to capture the elusive Mr Sark was too tempting to pass up. For some it was the prestige of being the one to bring in a notorious criminal, for others the matter was personal.
Sark was their only lead on her; their fallen angel, their faithless Sydney.
At first Vaughn had been intent on capturing the blonde, but then he had heard a voice calling to his prey, urging Sark forward, and he had recognised it as hers.
Her appearance, mere metres away, changed everything. And then everything changed into Hell.
Sark went down first, his demon-born luck finally failing him as the hail of bullets ripped through his lower body, below the protective armour of his vest. Eyes that had no right to be so pure a blue widened in surprise and then blossomed with the pain, giving him a touch of humanity even as he fell. He gave an agonised grunt, blood trickling from his mouth as he bit his lip to keep from crying out and alerting the woman several paces in front of him.
She heard him anyway, felt the instant his presence at her back fell away. Turning without missing a step she ignored the fresh wave of gunfire that peppered the air around her and crouched down over her partner.
Vaughn could not find it in himself to fire on her, even though she had shown no such hesitation in shooting him. He had loved this woman once and, if he was honest with himself, he still did.
The agents around him did not share his inclination for mercy and their gazes were hardened against her pained gasps as several bullets hit home. They had not known her before her defection, did not have that personal connection that had not only Vaughn but Dixon holding back as well.
Those who had not known her could not imagine the closed look on Jack Bristow's face as he listened from the safety of the Ops Centre, the tightening of his lips and the grief shadowing his eyes as Kendall gave the order.
Shoot to kill. She was no longer Sydney, she was Bristow and she was too dangerous to leave alive. She knew about revenge, and they all knew Sark would not make it out alive without some kind of miracle.
She had destroyed the Alliance to reach Arvin Sloane. She had the resources to declare war on the CIA to avenge her lover if she chose.
But, it seemed, even Sydney Bristow knew that it was time for things to end, one way or the other. Later Vaughn would try and understand, but now he only watched in horror as she slipped a hand into the front pocket of Sark's vest and withdrew a small device, no bigger than a cell-phone.
Vaughn felt a shiver of dark premonition and took an unconscious step back, his gun-arm wavering slightly. He had fought beside and against this woman; he knew what she was capable of.
Sydney looked up at them from beside her angelic lover, brushing a loose lock of hair from her face even as the life began leaking from her familiar brown eyes. Go, her expression said and she held up the detonator for them all to see. Not everyone present needed to die tonight.
It was her final gift, an acknowledgement of the years she had been one of them.
Vaughn called for a withdrawal immediately, somehow knowing that she was not bluffing. Not with that look in her eyes, the calm acceptance of the death she had evaded so many times in the past. This time she had nothing to lose.
He had made the right decision because moments later his team was thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion that ripped through the building. Flat on his stomach with his arms protecting his head he wept a brief scattering of tears for the woman whose love he had once been fortunate enough to possess.
Even before the inferno was extinguished and the forensic team brought in they all knew she had not escaped. She could have, Vaughn knew she had not been wholly incapacitated by her injuries, but she had chosen to stay. He felt a twinge of bitterness and banished it almost immediately; there was no use in dwelling on what might have been.
For her, avenging Sark had not seemed worth it in the end. She had chosen to die with the man she loved rather than live alone without him.
With a sigh Vaughn tore his gaze from the place where Sydney Bristow had perished and turned to walk away, his footsteps resounding with the realisation that it was finally over, and when he thought about it he realised it could not have ended any other way.
Sydney had always known she would end her life where it had begun; on the job; in the field; under fire. Sark was the same. And that alone made him worthy of her.
The cold, dawn light filtered through the nearby trees as the lone man traversed the maze of tombstones, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his heavy, grey jacket to ward off the chill.
Nearing his destination his determined stride faltered momentarily as he set eyes on the figure already present. Even from the back, and swathed in a large coat and scarf, he could recognise the dark hair and stance immediately. It was fitting, he supposed, that she would be here the first time he had dared to visit this place.
She had probably known it would be today before he did. She always knew.
He did not acknowledge her as he reached the pair of graves where she stood. Instead he let his eyes trace the name and date carved into the closest stone, his breath hitching silently in his throat as he wondered what parent should ever have to stand by their child's grave and mourn.
He had tried so hard to protect Sydney from the world, but in the end he had been unable to save her from herself.
Noting the twin angels carved into each gravestone he knew instantly they were the work of the woman next to him, her own way of acknowledging the connection between the two deceased. They had both been her children in one way or another; one the child of her body, the other of her mind. And she had loved them both as well as she could.
It was her tribute; they were angels who had fallen but who found each other anyway.
Sighing softly he turned to look at the woman standing silently beside him. She was watching him, the usual hardness in her gaze tempered by grief. "Irina," he accompanied her name with a sharp nod.
She responded with a melancholy smile, "Jack."
Almost unconsciously he moved and slipped an arm around her, drawing her against him. Usually he loathed physical contact but he knew they both needed to feel close to someone in this place. She tucked her head into the crook of his shoulder, one hand clutching at his clothes as if he were suddenly the only thing holding her upright.
"No parent should ever have to bury their child," she whispered hoarsely, unconsciously echoing his earlier thought, "Not even parents like us." And she buried her face in his jacket and wept. She wept for Laura Bristow who had wished her life was real. She wept for Irina Derevko who had forgotten what it was to love and then rediscovered how six years earlier.
She wept for the daughter she never really knew and the son she never wanted but could not help loving. She wept for the happily ever after that had never been possible.
The man who had once been her husband held her with a tenderness he had not felt for a long time and stared silently at the stone angels as she shuddered with grief in his arms. He felt the wetness on his own face and bowed his head, letting his famed mask crack and fall away for the first time since he had lost his daughter.
He had tried to protect her for so long, but in the end Sydney had chosen a path he could not follow. Even as he hated Sark for what she had become, he knew there was no other man to whom he could have let her go.
Together, the graves said, in life and in death always together.
Jack Bristow never found that peace, but he was thankful his daughter had.
END PART FIVE.
END OF THE BROKEN SERIES.
A/N: Please don't hate me, this was the conclusion that my muse wanted, and I don't think darkSyd could have ended happily ever after anyway.
And I know Irina and Jack are kinda out of character in the last part but I figured that losing someone as precious as them as Sydney would make them grieve at least once together before they went back to being their usual selves. And actually, after watching their interaction in S4 I think they aren't that OOC.