Title: Someday
Author: neumy
Summary: After all, things never work out the way you plan them…
Rating: Mild PG-13
A/N: Hey, all. I worked really hard on this fic, trying to make it the best that I could. I really hope that I succeeded and you enjoy reading it. This was completely inspired by Jason Mraz’s beautiful song ‘0% Interest,’ and if you haven’t heard it, try as hard as you can to listen to it. It’s awesome. Also, I want to give a really big thanks to Duck for putting up with me over the time span that this was written in. Love ya sweetie! Also, thanks to SAG for telling me that this wasn’t felgercarb.
I’ve had an exceptionally horrible day, so I posted this is efforts to make myself less depressed. I hope it's worth your while.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Alias, nor do I own any of Jason Mraz’s music, wonderful as it may be.
*************************************
She looks beautiful when she sleeps, finding tranquility in the shadows. As she dozes soundly next to me, the pain and the tension melt away, leaving nothing but a gentle, welcoming stillness.
As a soft rain falls outside, I lean over to trace a scar on her bare shoulder, a left over reminder of the life that we left. Unable to help myself, I lower my head and kiss the mark softly, wishing that I could erase its presence. She stirs at the touch, eyes slowly fluttering open. A serene smile plays at her mouth as she wakes, and without a word, she drowsily moves closer to me, losing herself in my embrace as my arms wrap protectively around her.
This is a world different than the one we used to know. In our old life, we couldn’t be close like this. We were bound by laws of protocol and fear of persecution. In this life, we can be together whenever we choose. We can be happy.
But there is a price. There’s always a price. Ours is the loss of everything we knew. This is in itself a curse and a blessing. Sydney and I no longer have the people we loved, no longer have the security of the fragments of routine that we could cling to. Now, every day is lived on impulse, each day different than the last.
One night in a seedy rundown hotel, the next in a high-class suite. One day spent driving down endless spans of highway, the next spent in a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere. We never know what will be thrown at us, never know when we’ll have to run again.
After all, things never work out the way you plan them.
The call came early one morning, jarring us from our sleep. No words were spoken, just a silent conversation between two pairs of eyes, formulating a plan that neither of us wanted to carry out.
We ran.
We jumped in my car and drove in no particular direction, to no specific place, just banking on our intuition to guide us. Only knowing that we had to leave.
We ran, knowing that staying would ensure our downfall.
We made one last stop before leaving town, driving by her house. The friends that had become her family sat out on the front porch, talking and laughing as she once told me they often did. The single porch light cut through the early morning darkness, illuminating their faces. She sat silently watching them, a single tear falling down her face. This was her goodbye.
She looked to me silently, signaling that she was ready to leave, wordlessly telling me that she was ready to abandon everything she knew and loved.
We drove without a destination, just kept going until day turned to night. Ditched our car somewhere outside of Reno, making sure to keep it intact. A promise that someday we would come back.
At a small gas station outside of Reno, we purchased a road map, not yet knowing that it would come to replace every S.O.P. and field manual that we had ever come across. Not yet knowing that the travel size atlas from the Reno gas station would become our reference guide, determining our fate each passing day.
After Reno, we headed east, needing to get the farthest from LA that we could. Once we hit Interstate 80, we never looked back.
We drove for 20 hours straight until we made it to a small town in Nebraska. We stayed in that seedy hotel for only four hours, unable to sleep as we tried to imagine what the next day would bring us.
The next day, it was 17 hours to Cleveland, Ohio. There, she slept for the first time since we left LA. Restless, tossing and turning, having nightmares about what was and what would be. Five hours later, we were on the road again, heading as far east as we could get.
We drove for another 18 hours, arriving in Portland, Maine just before dusk. Our arrival was just two and a half days after Reno, a mere three days since we had left LA. We had only been gone for days, but it felt like months.
Portland was our longest stay. Lodged in an out of the way cabin under false identities, paying with cash, we stayed as inconspicuous as possible. Hid in the shadows, basked in the darkness, reveled in the moments where we couldn’t be found.
We moved on a few days later, taking us across the border to a small town outside of Quebec. The time it took to get there was unknown; I drove blindly until I could no longer keep my eyes open, then she took her turn at the wheel.
It went on like this for days, the endless driving and indefinite stays in nameless cities. There was never a time when we wouldn’t look over our shoulder; there was never any time for rest.
There was one scare, in Winnipeg, when she awoke late one night convinced that she heard something outside of the door to our hotel room. She quietly nudged me awake, pressing one finger to my lips to keep me silent. Groggy and confused, I glanced around the room, trying to understand what she was telling me, but then I looked into her eyes. The fear was so evident there; her eyes said all of the words that she couldn’t.
She grabbed her gun from its place under her pillow, silently slipping out of the bed. I followed her, hovering as close to her as possible as a soft thud echoed through the room from outside. Each of us taking a deep breath, we slowly made our way to the door.
It had turned out that it had only been other guests of the hotel, a drunken couple staggering their way back to their room. But we couldn’t be too careful, couldn’t just assume that it was just a passerby or housekeeping. In our situation, assumptions were enough to end a life.
We left Winnipeg immediately, our paranoia increased by the event of the evening. We aimlessly drove, trying to get as far away as possible. Only stopping in remote locations to sleep, the drive was spent looking over our shoulders constantly, anxious and afraid.
We drove and drove, trying to leave our fears in that hotel room in Winnipeg.
We end up here, in this tiny city in Alberta. That journey brought us to this small hotel, sleeping next to each other in the room’s only bed as the rain softly falls outside. That journey brought us to this moment, leaving me to analyze what was and what is as she silently wakes.
We spend the day planning where we might go next, always calling back to the map we bought in the Reno gas station. She is quiet today, more subdued than usual. Her demeanor matches the rain outside, docile now, but holding the potential to brew unrest.
I sit at the window, looking out over the parking lot to the misty horizon, clouded by the muted rainfall. I steal a glance over to her, taking in the sight before me as the rain gradually begins to fall faster.
She looks so innocent there, reclining on the bed, reading a book and eating an apple, both purchases from the hotel’s small convenience store. By this image alone, you would never know what she has been through in her life. You wouldn’t know all of the power she possesses, the strength behind her hands, the intelligence in her head. You wouldn’t know everything that she was capable of. You wouldn’t even imagine. She looks so calm, so still.
As she turns a page in her book, everything changes. Something happens to her, hits her harder than intended, as a bolt of lightening flashes outside. The storm is starting now.
She pales, but continues reading, unable to stop herself. Something has struck a chord with her, unleashing raw emotion that has, until now, been caged.
I get up from my perch at the window, moving across the room to sit next to her on the king size bed. She barely notices my presence as she reads, losing more and more color with each passing minute. A layer of tears clouds her eyes; she wills them not to fall, but to no avail. They slowly form an agonizing path down her porcelain cheeks, dripping off of her ashen face onto the page.
Finally, it’s too much for her. She slams the book shut and runs to the small bathroom, relieving the contents of her stomach in the toilet as the storm steadily rages outside. I follow, scared for her as the events of the past month finally hit home. Kneeling beside her, I pull her hair back from her face with one hand, letting the other rub small circles on her back, a silent reminder of ‘I’m here, I’m here.’
She finds no peace when her stomach is finally empty; she continues to retch, and I know that it isn’t about her book. This is so much bigger than that.
Thunder booms in the distance, and the trials she has endured begin to play in her head. I can almost see the images she is visualizing, each one glimmering in her hauntingly beautiful brown eyes: losing the mother that she loved so dearly; her father’s indifference toward her as a child; meeting Francie; getting recruited by SD-6; Danny’s proposal; his brutal death. The pictures keep flashing, showing all that she has tried to forget.
The slide show of her life hits hard and fast, coming nonstop, giving her no time to take it all in. This here, this outlet is for those moments; this is for her life. The pictures, good and bad, wash over her relentlessly, leaving my heroine weakened and defenseless.
She slowly stills as the flood of pictures trickles to a halt. She leans into my embrace as my arms come around her, holding her as heartwrenching sobs begin to invade her already limp form. She clings to me like a drowning woman to a life preserver, and I realize that I’m all she has left. I’m all she has to keep her from drowning in this deep ocean of deceit and betrayal and lies. As her arms tighten around me and she grabs my hand, I realize that I need her, too; I realize that she’s all that I have.
As this idea processes, I find myself tightening my hold on her in return. I need her. I’ve always needed her, but now, as the reality of my need finally shows its magnitude, it means so much more. It means so much more here, on the tile floor of this small hotel room in Canada, than it ever has before.
I place a small kiss on her forehead, once again to reassure her that I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere. The only sound is of her cries echoing in the small space, the harsh sobs contrasting against the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Outside, the rain is slowing now, no longer a violent tempest.
Her cries gradually lessen as exhaustion overcomes her. The past months’ events have finally caught up with her as she drifts off to sleep in my arms.
I carry her to the bed, gently laying her down. Her eyes flutter open drowsily as her head hits the pillow, and she mutters a soft ‘thank you.’ I lean down to kiss her temple and brush a solitary tear from her cheek as she gropes for my arm, pulling it around her body. She mumbles another incoherent thought before her eyes drift shut again and the sleep claims her.
I don’t sleep, staying up to watch her chest slowly rise and fall, making sure that she stays with me. My arm tightens around her protectively, and as I huddle close to her, I know that I’ll take care of her. I know that I’ll never leave her.
She wakes the next morning, puffy eyes and pale cheeks. Before she even turns to look at me, she notes my arm draped across her figure and smiles, pulling it around her tightly.
Her eyes meet mine as she turns, and no words are spoken. None are needed. After the events of the previous night, she looks oddly calm, her eyes peaceful as opposed to the usual flurry of fear and rampaging emotion.
She interrupts the silence, telling me that she is seeing the world in a blue-gray haze. There’s a tint to everything she takes in, filtering what she sees. I place a small kiss on her temple, and she tells me in a meek voice that she hasn’t given up hope of going back. She says she knows the thought is naïve, but she doesn’t care. She knows that she needs it to hold onto, needs it to keep going everyday.
She says these words with such vulnerability. Before this, before all of this, vulnerability wasn’t something she knew; vulnerability was not something she went through. She was always the strong one, always the rock, through even the toughest times.
This isn’t then anymore.
This is the here and now, where she has the freedom to be vulnerable. Where she has the choice to feel whatever she wants to feel, no exceptions and limitations.
She can be whoever she wants to be. For the first time in her life, she can be herself.
We leave soon after waking, knowing that we can’t stay in one place for too long. I get behind the wheel, driving southeast as we decided earlier that morning with the map from Reno. We drive and drive, neither of us looking back to that hotel room that let her uncover everything that was hiding inside of her.
I glance over to her, seeing her head tilted back slightly as she takes in the wind from her open window. A peaceful smile plays on her face as her eyes drift shut serenely, ironic considering our situation. Still running for our lives, and she finally finds the tranquility that she has been seeking for years. Fleeing from the enemy, and she gains a quiet stillness that she has never before possessed.
She looks beautiful there, the sun beating down on her face as the calm washes over her in waves.
I can still see the sense of fear, the sense of dread and longing in her eyes. Things can’t change in one night, in one breakthrough.
It isn’t that easy.
But for now, it’s enough.
If I could, I would change this for her. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be running. There would never have been a reason to run if things were up to me. She would be happy, sitting with her friends on the front porch of her house in the early morning, talking and laughing. She wouldn’t see the world through a filter; she would she the world without a blue-gray haze. She wouldn’t ever speak with vulnerability; there wouldn’t be anymore mind-numbing fear.
If only it were up to me.
Right now, she can’t have those things. She isn’t living in the world she wants, isn’t living in the world I wish I could give her. She lives in this world, where we are running.
But as I take in the beautiful sight of her serenity, I am filled with hope that I hadn’t yet possessed. As I stare at her, peaceful, tranquil, I think ‘maybe’ for the first time.
She feels my gaze on her, and she turns slowly to look at me. Our eyes meet, and we silently share the same thought.
Someday.
*************************************
Well… I hope you didn’t think it was felgercarb. Thanks for reading, anyway.
Author: neumy
Summary: After all, things never work out the way you plan them…
Rating: Mild PG-13
A/N: Hey, all. I worked really hard on this fic, trying to make it the best that I could. I really hope that I succeeded and you enjoy reading it. This was completely inspired by Jason Mraz’s beautiful song ‘0% Interest,’ and if you haven’t heard it, try as hard as you can to listen to it. It’s awesome. Also, I want to give a really big thanks to Duck for putting up with me over the time span that this was written in. Love ya sweetie! Also, thanks to SAG for telling me that this wasn’t felgercarb.
I’ve had an exceptionally horrible day, so I posted this is efforts to make myself less depressed. I hope it's worth your while.Disclaimer: I don’t own Alias, nor do I own any of Jason Mraz’s music, wonderful as it may be.
*************************************
She looks beautiful when she sleeps, finding tranquility in the shadows. As she dozes soundly next to me, the pain and the tension melt away, leaving nothing but a gentle, welcoming stillness.
As a soft rain falls outside, I lean over to trace a scar on her bare shoulder, a left over reminder of the life that we left. Unable to help myself, I lower my head and kiss the mark softly, wishing that I could erase its presence. She stirs at the touch, eyes slowly fluttering open. A serene smile plays at her mouth as she wakes, and without a word, she drowsily moves closer to me, losing herself in my embrace as my arms wrap protectively around her.
This is a world different than the one we used to know. In our old life, we couldn’t be close like this. We were bound by laws of protocol and fear of persecution. In this life, we can be together whenever we choose. We can be happy.
But there is a price. There’s always a price. Ours is the loss of everything we knew. This is in itself a curse and a blessing. Sydney and I no longer have the people we loved, no longer have the security of the fragments of routine that we could cling to. Now, every day is lived on impulse, each day different than the last.
One night in a seedy rundown hotel, the next in a high-class suite. One day spent driving down endless spans of highway, the next spent in a secluded cabin in the middle of nowhere. We never know what will be thrown at us, never know when we’ll have to run again.
After all, things never work out the way you plan them.
The call came early one morning, jarring us from our sleep. No words were spoken, just a silent conversation between two pairs of eyes, formulating a plan that neither of us wanted to carry out.
We ran.
We jumped in my car and drove in no particular direction, to no specific place, just banking on our intuition to guide us. Only knowing that we had to leave.
We ran, knowing that staying would ensure our downfall.
We made one last stop before leaving town, driving by her house. The friends that had become her family sat out on the front porch, talking and laughing as she once told me they often did. The single porch light cut through the early morning darkness, illuminating their faces. She sat silently watching them, a single tear falling down her face. This was her goodbye.
She looked to me silently, signaling that she was ready to leave, wordlessly telling me that she was ready to abandon everything she knew and loved.
We drove without a destination, just kept going until day turned to night. Ditched our car somewhere outside of Reno, making sure to keep it intact. A promise that someday we would come back.
At a small gas station outside of Reno, we purchased a road map, not yet knowing that it would come to replace every S.O.P. and field manual that we had ever come across. Not yet knowing that the travel size atlas from the Reno gas station would become our reference guide, determining our fate each passing day.
After Reno, we headed east, needing to get the farthest from LA that we could. Once we hit Interstate 80, we never looked back.
We drove for 20 hours straight until we made it to a small town in Nebraska. We stayed in that seedy hotel for only four hours, unable to sleep as we tried to imagine what the next day would bring us.
The next day, it was 17 hours to Cleveland, Ohio. There, she slept for the first time since we left LA. Restless, tossing and turning, having nightmares about what was and what would be. Five hours later, we were on the road again, heading as far east as we could get.
We drove for another 18 hours, arriving in Portland, Maine just before dusk. Our arrival was just two and a half days after Reno, a mere three days since we had left LA. We had only been gone for days, but it felt like months.
Portland was our longest stay. Lodged in an out of the way cabin under false identities, paying with cash, we stayed as inconspicuous as possible. Hid in the shadows, basked in the darkness, reveled in the moments where we couldn’t be found.
We moved on a few days later, taking us across the border to a small town outside of Quebec. The time it took to get there was unknown; I drove blindly until I could no longer keep my eyes open, then she took her turn at the wheel.
It went on like this for days, the endless driving and indefinite stays in nameless cities. There was never a time when we wouldn’t look over our shoulder; there was never any time for rest.
There was one scare, in Winnipeg, when she awoke late one night convinced that she heard something outside of the door to our hotel room. She quietly nudged me awake, pressing one finger to my lips to keep me silent. Groggy and confused, I glanced around the room, trying to understand what she was telling me, but then I looked into her eyes. The fear was so evident there; her eyes said all of the words that she couldn’t.
She grabbed her gun from its place under her pillow, silently slipping out of the bed. I followed her, hovering as close to her as possible as a soft thud echoed through the room from outside. Each of us taking a deep breath, we slowly made our way to the door.
It had turned out that it had only been other guests of the hotel, a drunken couple staggering their way back to their room. But we couldn’t be too careful, couldn’t just assume that it was just a passerby or housekeeping. In our situation, assumptions were enough to end a life.
We left Winnipeg immediately, our paranoia increased by the event of the evening. We aimlessly drove, trying to get as far away as possible. Only stopping in remote locations to sleep, the drive was spent looking over our shoulders constantly, anxious and afraid.
We drove and drove, trying to leave our fears in that hotel room in Winnipeg.
We end up here, in this tiny city in Alberta. That journey brought us to this small hotel, sleeping next to each other in the room’s only bed as the rain softly falls outside. That journey brought us to this moment, leaving me to analyze what was and what is as she silently wakes.
We spend the day planning where we might go next, always calling back to the map we bought in the Reno gas station. She is quiet today, more subdued than usual. Her demeanor matches the rain outside, docile now, but holding the potential to brew unrest.
I sit at the window, looking out over the parking lot to the misty horizon, clouded by the muted rainfall. I steal a glance over to her, taking in the sight before me as the rain gradually begins to fall faster.
She looks so innocent there, reclining on the bed, reading a book and eating an apple, both purchases from the hotel’s small convenience store. By this image alone, you would never know what she has been through in her life. You wouldn’t know all of the power she possesses, the strength behind her hands, the intelligence in her head. You wouldn’t know everything that she was capable of. You wouldn’t even imagine. She looks so calm, so still.
As she turns a page in her book, everything changes. Something happens to her, hits her harder than intended, as a bolt of lightening flashes outside. The storm is starting now.
She pales, but continues reading, unable to stop herself. Something has struck a chord with her, unleashing raw emotion that has, until now, been caged.
I get up from my perch at the window, moving across the room to sit next to her on the king size bed. She barely notices my presence as she reads, losing more and more color with each passing minute. A layer of tears clouds her eyes; she wills them not to fall, but to no avail. They slowly form an agonizing path down her porcelain cheeks, dripping off of her ashen face onto the page.
Finally, it’s too much for her. She slams the book shut and runs to the small bathroom, relieving the contents of her stomach in the toilet as the storm steadily rages outside. I follow, scared for her as the events of the past month finally hit home. Kneeling beside her, I pull her hair back from her face with one hand, letting the other rub small circles on her back, a silent reminder of ‘I’m here, I’m here.’
She finds no peace when her stomach is finally empty; she continues to retch, and I know that it isn’t about her book. This is so much bigger than that.
Thunder booms in the distance, and the trials she has endured begin to play in her head. I can almost see the images she is visualizing, each one glimmering in her hauntingly beautiful brown eyes: losing the mother that she loved so dearly; her father’s indifference toward her as a child; meeting Francie; getting recruited by SD-6; Danny’s proposal; his brutal death. The pictures keep flashing, showing all that she has tried to forget.
The slide show of her life hits hard and fast, coming nonstop, giving her no time to take it all in. This here, this outlet is for those moments; this is for her life. The pictures, good and bad, wash over her relentlessly, leaving my heroine weakened and defenseless.
She slowly stills as the flood of pictures trickles to a halt. She leans into my embrace as my arms come around her, holding her as heartwrenching sobs begin to invade her already limp form. She clings to me like a drowning woman to a life preserver, and I realize that I’m all she has left. I’m all she has to keep her from drowning in this deep ocean of deceit and betrayal and lies. As her arms tighten around me and she grabs my hand, I realize that I need her, too; I realize that she’s all that I have.
As this idea processes, I find myself tightening my hold on her in return. I need her. I’ve always needed her, but now, as the reality of my need finally shows its magnitude, it means so much more. It means so much more here, on the tile floor of this small hotel room in Canada, than it ever has before.
I place a small kiss on her forehead, once again to reassure her that I’m here, that I’m not going anywhere. The only sound is of her cries echoing in the small space, the harsh sobs contrasting against the gentle hum of the air conditioner. Outside, the rain is slowing now, no longer a violent tempest.
Her cries gradually lessen as exhaustion overcomes her. The past months’ events have finally caught up with her as she drifts off to sleep in my arms.
I carry her to the bed, gently laying her down. Her eyes flutter open drowsily as her head hits the pillow, and she mutters a soft ‘thank you.’ I lean down to kiss her temple and brush a solitary tear from her cheek as she gropes for my arm, pulling it around her body. She mumbles another incoherent thought before her eyes drift shut again and the sleep claims her.
I don’t sleep, staying up to watch her chest slowly rise and fall, making sure that she stays with me. My arm tightens around her protectively, and as I huddle close to her, I know that I’ll take care of her. I know that I’ll never leave her.
She wakes the next morning, puffy eyes and pale cheeks. Before she even turns to look at me, she notes my arm draped across her figure and smiles, pulling it around her tightly.
Her eyes meet mine as she turns, and no words are spoken. None are needed. After the events of the previous night, she looks oddly calm, her eyes peaceful as opposed to the usual flurry of fear and rampaging emotion.
She interrupts the silence, telling me that she is seeing the world in a blue-gray haze. There’s a tint to everything she takes in, filtering what she sees. I place a small kiss on her temple, and she tells me in a meek voice that she hasn’t given up hope of going back. She says she knows the thought is naïve, but she doesn’t care. She knows that she needs it to hold onto, needs it to keep going everyday.
She says these words with such vulnerability. Before this, before all of this, vulnerability wasn’t something she knew; vulnerability was not something she went through. She was always the strong one, always the rock, through even the toughest times.
This isn’t then anymore.
This is the here and now, where she has the freedom to be vulnerable. Where she has the choice to feel whatever she wants to feel, no exceptions and limitations.
She can be whoever she wants to be. For the first time in her life, she can be herself.
We leave soon after waking, knowing that we can’t stay in one place for too long. I get behind the wheel, driving southeast as we decided earlier that morning with the map from Reno. We drive and drive, neither of us looking back to that hotel room that let her uncover everything that was hiding inside of her.
I glance over to her, seeing her head tilted back slightly as she takes in the wind from her open window. A peaceful smile plays on her face as her eyes drift shut serenely, ironic considering our situation. Still running for our lives, and she finally finds the tranquility that she has been seeking for years. Fleeing from the enemy, and she gains a quiet stillness that she has never before possessed.
She looks beautiful there, the sun beating down on her face as the calm washes over her in waves.
I can still see the sense of fear, the sense of dread and longing in her eyes. Things can’t change in one night, in one breakthrough.
It isn’t that easy.
But for now, it’s enough.
If I could, I would change this for her. If it were up to me, we wouldn’t be running. There would never have been a reason to run if things were up to me. She would be happy, sitting with her friends on the front porch of her house in the early morning, talking and laughing. She wouldn’t see the world through a filter; she would she the world without a blue-gray haze. She wouldn’t ever speak with vulnerability; there wouldn’t be anymore mind-numbing fear.
If only it were up to me.
Right now, she can’t have those things. She isn’t living in the world she wants, isn’t living in the world I wish I could give her. She lives in this world, where we are running.
But as I take in the beautiful sight of her serenity, I am filled with hope that I hadn’t yet possessed. As I stare at her, peaceful, tranquil, I think ‘maybe’ for the first time.
She feels my gaze on her, and she turns slowly to look at me. Our eyes meet, and we silently share the same thought.
Someday.
*************************************
Well… I hope you didn’t think it was felgercarb. Thanks for reading, anyway.
I give you 