Abductions and Reconstructions
Author: Amy
Rating: PG
Summary: Companion piece to Faithless Freedom. It centers around Sark…
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters of Alias. Or the Jewel lyrics used. Or the words to the title (those belong to a song by Thievery Corporation). But I do own these written words.
ETA: Ooops! Forgot to mention, there's a third piece in this series from Anna's POV...it will tie up the loose ends...
He walks with a skin of stone
In effort to keep his blood
From dirtying the pavement
Since the moment she left him, he could think of little else than her. His defenses down, every moment of their lives replayed in his mind. She consumed him. Moments would pass by; time would trickle away slowly at times, faster at others. But the passing of time never had any affect on him until the day that she left.
Memories bind. They bind a person to information, to places, to a moment in time.
Some memories are helpful. The face of an enemy, their motives, their methods of operation, their familiar haunts. He developed the skill at an early age, knowing that his very livelihood would depend on a sharp memory one day.
Other memories suffocate. These are memories of kisses, stolen glances, and soft touches. Sometimes these memories were followed by anger, betrayal, and sadness. All of these are better if put in a box, never to be opened.
When nothing remains, all memory is torture. The moments remembered taunt. A former life becomes visible, yet completely out of reach. He was no Pandora. He knew where to banish all thoughts of her.
The memories of her cut of his circulation. They were bound so tightly to his heart that the rest of his body would go numb. He could not allow that to happen. He had to hide them away and keep them frozen.
He had long ago taught himself to store facts of information in the deep recesses of his brain. He could pull them out when necessary and then replace them when no longer needed. He retrained his mind. He preserved his body and froze his soul.
* * *
Three years ago…
He made no noise as he walked up to the abandoned mansion. The house was a dark silhouette against the night sky. The air was balmy; surprising for Russia at this time of year. The door was already opened, having succumbed to the pressure of the soft wind. The whole scene was ethereal. The empty sound of the calm evening was deceptively relaxing.
She watched him approach the building with anger hidden by a calculating gaze. To her, he was the same. When he finally faced her, he stood calmly, waiting. His eyes relayed nothing. His face was unmoving, jaded.
Her eyes flash with a passionate fire that he had always felt radiating from her body, straight from her soul. She never gave up. And she never forgot a debt.
Anna.
They embrace each other with words rather than touch. They were once two souls completely alike; both calculating and lethal.
He listens unflinching. He watches her gesturing. The innate grace of her movements is captivating. He feels the familiar wash through him. Their past was long and complicated – they were simultaneously rivals, friends, and one-time lovers.
She’s deadly, this one. And he knows what she wants. He had made a promise to her long ago. This promise could not be broken now. Even though fulfilling the promise would eventually cause him to lose the only woman deserving of his love.
He closes his eyes
With deliberate determination
Trying to remember
She had seen them planning one afternoon. Her pretended not to notice her direct gaze, penetrating the air in his direction. Anna had insisted upon her ignorance. He agreed. They both had separate reasons, but both valid.
She believed that the murder of an old enemy was no concern of hers. He did not want her implicated.
So Sydney sat in ignorance. That evening when she had her nightmare she refused to let him comfort her. He accepted that as his punishment.
She was intelligent. She knew when she was being excluded. She knew when he was withdrawn and silent it was because he refused to let her love him. She knew that he needed to love her and nothing else.
She, she, she…
She punished and he accepted. She began to draw away from him, until she slipped away into the night. They both knew that he could find her with merely a few phone calls. But he could do nothing. He felt he must accept her choice as his final act of love and penance.
* * *
His target walked along the sidewalk, unaware of the stranger who watched and followed so quietly, invisible almost.
Five minutes later it was done.
After, his footsteps could be heard, walking in the middle of the deserted street, head raised, watching the clouds gather and be weighed down with impending rain.
His debt was paid.
* * *
He went to Anna. He touched her face softly. There was nothing more he could do for her.
She let him go.
He was free. But he was still bound to a promise made two years earlier. He would not go after her. But he did do one thing.
He freed the once hidden memories. He could no longer keep them inside. She became, once again, all he thought of.
The veins behind his eyes
Lead like blue road maps
To the ocean of everyone else
He closed his eyes. The sun shone brightly on the beaches of Anguilla. He came here to rest, to finally remember.
The island life suited him. It was small, contained to itself. The people there did not know him, except as an occasional visitor.
He bought a house. He changed his name. He drank when he wanted. He slept when he needed to. He lived, a shell of a man, his only companion the memories of her that haunted him. There was a recent memory that taunted him more than others.
He had been in London, walking the streets aimlessly a year earlier, deciding where to move to next. A car horn blared and he heard tires squealing. In order to remain inconspicuous, he followed the movement of heads. There she was, across the street. Unlike the crowds, she walked calmly along her way.
He started towards her. But his pride stopped him. She had left him, without notice, calmly, without any love left behind. He would not follow her like a lovesick fool. He had to escape to the one place where it was quiet.
* * *
Every once and a while he had moments of regret. He pictured in his mind that day in London, running after her, swallowing pride, telling her everything. Then he quickly discarded the line of thinking with a scoff of pride. He may have wanted her love, but he refused to beg for its return.
He began life as a proud boy. He would die a proud man. And at both moments, he would remember being completely alone.
Author: Amy
Rating: PG
Summary: Companion piece to Faithless Freedom. It centers around Sark…
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters of Alias. Or the Jewel lyrics used. Or the words to the title (those belong to a song by Thievery Corporation). But I do own these written words.
ETA: Ooops! Forgot to mention, there's a third piece in this series from Anna's POV...it will tie up the loose ends...
He walks with a skin of stone
In effort to keep his blood
From dirtying the pavement
Since the moment she left him, he could think of little else than her. His defenses down, every moment of their lives replayed in his mind. She consumed him. Moments would pass by; time would trickle away slowly at times, faster at others. But the passing of time never had any affect on him until the day that she left.
Memories bind. They bind a person to information, to places, to a moment in time.
Some memories are helpful. The face of an enemy, their motives, their methods of operation, their familiar haunts. He developed the skill at an early age, knowing that his very livelihood would depend on a sharp memory one day.
Other memories suffocate. These are memories of kisses, stolen glances, and soft touches. Sometimes these memories were followed by anger, betrayal, and sadness. All of these are better if put in a box, never to be opened.
When nothing remains, all memory is torture. The moments remembered taunt. A former life becomes visible, yet completely out of reach. He was no Pandora. He knew where to banish all thoughts of her.
The memories of her cut of his circulation. They were bound so tightly to his heart that the rest of his body would go numb. He could not allow that to happen. He had to hide them away and keep them frozen.
He had long ago taught himself to store facts of information in the deep recesses of his brain. He could pull them out when necessary and then replace them when no longer needed. He retrained his mind. He preserved his body and froze his soul.
* * *
Three years ago…
He made no noise as he walked up to the abandoned mansion. The house was a dark silhouette against the night sky. The air was balmy; surprising for Russia at this time of year. The door was already opened, having succumbed to the pressure of the soft wind. The whole scene was ethereal. The empty sound of the calm evening was deceptively relaxing.
She watched him approach the building with anger hidden by a calculating gaze. To her, he was the same. When he finally faced her, he stood calmly, waiting. His eyes relayed nothing. His face was unmoving, jaded.
Her eyes flash with a passionate fire that he had always felt radiating from her body, straight from her soul. She never gave up. And she never forgot a debt.
Anna.
They embrace each other with words rather than touch. They were once two souls completely alike; both calculating and lethal.
He listens unflinching. He watches her gesturing. The innate grace of her movements is captivating. He feels the familiar wash through him. Their past was long and complicated – they were simultaneously rivals, friends, and one-time lovers.
She’s deadly, this one. And he knows what she wants. He had made a promise to her long ago. This promise could not be broken now. Even though fulfilling the promise would eventually cause him to lose the only woman deserving of his love.
He closes his eyes
With deliberate determination
Trying to remember
She had seen them planning one afternoon. Her pretended not to notice her direct gaze, penetrating the air in his direction. Anna had insisted upon her ignorance. He agreed. They both had separate reasons, but both valid.
She believed that the murder of an old enemy was no concern of hers. He did not want her implicated.
So Sydney sat in ignorance. That evening when she had her nightmare she refused to let him comfort her. He accepted that as his punishment.
She was intelligent. She knew when she was being excluded. She knew when he was withdrawn and silent it was because he refused to let her love him. She knew that he needed to love her and nothing else.
She, she, she…
She punished and he accepted. She began to draw away from him, until she slipped away into the night. They both knew that he could find her with merely a few phone calls. But he could do nothing. He felt he must accept her choice as his final act of love and penance.
* * *
His target walked along the sidewalk, unaware of the stranger who watched and followed so quietly, invisible almost.
Five minutes later it was done.
After, his footsteps could be heard, walking in the middle of the deserted street, head raised, watching the clouds gather and be weighed down with impending rain.
His debt was paid.
* * *
He went to Anna. He touched her face softly. There was nothing more he could do for her.
She let him go.
He was free. But he was still bound to a promise made two years earlier. He would not go after her. But he did do one thing.
He freed the once hidden memories. He could no longer keep them inside. She became, once again, all he thought of.
The veins behind his eyes
Lead like blue road maps
To the ocean of everyone else
He closed his eyes. The sun shone brightly on the beaches of Anguilla. He came here to rest, to finally remember.
The island life suited him. It was small, contained to itself. The people there did not know him, except as an occasional visitor.
He bought a house. He changed his name. He drank when he wanted. He slept when he needed to. He lived, a shell of a man, his only companion the memories of her that haunted him. There was a recent memory that taunted him more than others.
He had been in London, walking the streets aimlessly a year earlier, deciding where to move to next. A car horn blared and he heard tires squealing. In order to remain inconspicuous, he followed the movement of heads. There she was, across the street. Unlike the crowds, she walked calmly along her way.
He started towards her. But his pride stopped him. She had left him, without notice, calmly, without any love left behind. He would not follow her like a lovesick fool. He had to escape to the one place where it was quiet.
* * *
Every once and a while he had moments of regret. He pictured in his mind that day in London, running after her, swallowing pride, telling her everything. Then he quickly discarded the line of thinking with a scoff of pride. He may have wanted her love, but he refused to beg for its return.
He began life as a proud boy. He would die a proud man. And at both moments, he would remember being completely alone.
