Title: "Elysium"
Author: Lila
Spoiler: "The Telling"
~ * ~
Author's Note:
I'm working on another chapter of "Contradiction," but I just had to get this out first. This will probably also be a multi-parter, but only a few chapters. It's a bit darker than my usual work, but I think ya'll will still like it. Enjoy!
~ * ~
"No one has said what the truth should be
And no one has decided that I'd feel this way
If you felt as I
Would you betray yourself"
- "Elysium," Portishead
~ * ~
It comes to me in little bits at night when I'm dreaming. Or at least I think I am; I'm not so sure anymore. I'm not sure of a lot of things. I guess that's what happens when you're dead.
Kendall told me to take things easy for a while. "Rest up, regroup" he'd said. "When you feel better we'll decide how to take the next step." Sloane, his organization--they're still out there. I know Kendall wants me to go back. They all do: my father, Dixon, Marshall, even Michael Vaughn and his band of gold. That's another thing I don't understand either. I still love him or at least I think I do, but every time I bring his face to mind an image of that wedding band comes along with him. I push thoughts of Vaughn and his betrayal away. I can't deal with him now, just like I can't deal with anything else in my life.
It's a funny thing, being dead. People come out of the woodwork to mourn you. Right now I'm looking at a card from Susie Thompson. We went to college together and I always thought she hated me. Now she's "Beyond thrilled" to learn I'm alive. It seems a lot of people are glad to have me back, acting like I never left in the first place. Will comes by every day bringing coffee or muffins, little things to cheer me up. As if he could understand what it's like to be dead. He says he wants the old Sydney back, the one who used to be his best friend. I smile and nod, sip my latte, extra foam, and avoid telling him that Sydney doesn't exist anymore, that she died two years ago. How can I tell him that the girl he knew and loved isn't me? He laughed the first time I said that, said I should try and forget, be thankful I'm alive. He reached over and squeezed my hand, looked deep into my eyes, "I'm so glad you're back, Syd. You don't know how much I've missed you."
He's right. I don't know and I never will. For two years I've been dead. The man I love married another, my friends have moved on, even my apartment is gone. I look out the window of my new place, pick at the clothes Kendall bought for me. Will is watching me with his beautiful blue eyes, drinking in the sight of me like I might disappear if he looks away for a minute. I guess that's what happens when you're best friend comes back from the dead. I meet his gaze for a moment, but have to look away. I can't take this much longer. It's times like these, when I feel the full weight of what my disappearance did to the people I love, when I wish I hadn't come back to life. No one should have to live with that kind of guilt. Why should I?
Will is rambling on and on about a new movie he wants to see and all the places we should visit during my vacation time. I listen half-heartedly, my mind drifting to other things, like how a bike trip through Sonoma will make up for the two years of my life I lost. He changes the topic, launching into a monologue about how happy he is to have me back. I fidget nervously, running a blanket's edges through my fingers. I hate when he talks like this, reminds me of all the pain I caused over the last two years. The room feels small, stuffy, and I close my eyes for a moment.
Bad choice. All I see is the dirt falling on me, enclosing me in this prison of pain and guilt. Of course it isn't real. I might not know what happened to me for the last two years, but I know I wasn't buried alive; it's just my mind's way of dealing with two missing years. They're trapped someplace I can't remember, buried in the hidden recesses of my mind. Only I don't know where the grave is and there's no rebirth. Sydney might have come back from the dead, but what happened to her is gone forever.
Suddenly it's all too much for me. I feel like I can't breathe. "Will?" I ask and he turns to me obediently, like a dog obeying his master.
"Yeah, Syd?" His eyes are worried, full of concern, but they're the eyes of a stranger. He looks at me like I'm still the bright-eyed girl he used to know--but I'm not anymore. Sydney Bristow died two years ago and I don't know who the girl is wearing my face.
I look straight in those worried eyes and paste a smile on my face. "I'm a little tired, Will. I think I'm gonna lie down for a while."
"Of course," he says quickly, his voice laced with guilt. He's upset for wearing me out. As if he has anything to feel guilty about. It's not like he cost his best friend her career, or risked her life countless times, or made her think he was dead for two years. No, those are my crimes, my sins. Will has nothing on me. "Get all the rest you need, Syd," he says hurriedly, gathering coffee cups and paper bags. "Call me tomorrow. Maybe we can see a movie or something?" His eyes are full of hope, like he can make up for this afternoon by treating me to a movie. Too bad he doesn't know he has nothing to make up for, but I can see it's important to him to look out for me and after all I've put him through, I don't have it in me to let him down.
"Sure," I say. "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll figure something out"
He smiles gets his stuff together. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to call your dad or something?"
"No," I insist, probably a little too quickly and he looks up nervously. "Really," I say more calmly. "I'm just tired, okay? I'll be fine."
He nods reluctantly. "Call me if you need anything."
"Promise."
He gives me a quick hug, squeezes my hand, and finally gets the hell out. I rest my forehead against the door and take deep, gulping breaths. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I know he means well--they all mean well--but I just want to be left alone. See, try as they might, none of them--not my father or Will or Dixon or Vaughn, especially Vaughn--none of them know what I'm going through, because not a single one of them knows what it's like to be dead.
Of course I know I wasn't really dead, I even had a few meetings with that god-awful CIA shrink to prove it, but I might as well have been. Everything I know and love is gone, my life as I knew it is over, and I'm not sure who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and see the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, but something is missing. There's no sparkle in my eyes, no laughter in my smile. I'm dull, lifeless, like I'm not even there. It's not even cliché when I say I'm a ghost of my former self.
I push away from the door and pad to the deck where French doors lead directly to the ocean. It's funny. I never had much feeling for the ocean before, but after I resurrected myself all I wanted was to be near the beach. It's the only place where I feel at peace. When I can hear the waves crashing on the shore and smell salt on the wind I can breathe easy, I can let my mind wander. When I'm by the water the guilt slips away. I settle in my lounge chair and draw a blanket over me. It's a nice night, not too cold, and there's a slight breeze. I'm still for a moment, enjoying the sounds of the ocean and the stars twinkling brightly in a dark sky. Like it always does when I'm by the water, my eyes slowly slide close, and I drift off to sleep.
It happens again as my mind forms dreams and nightmares, tries to unearth where I've been for the last two years. I've had them before, all images of the beach and the sun and the ocean crashing against a white beach. Yet, there are never sounds, never people, never anything real, just postcard images of places I've never been. But this time is different. I'm standing on a porch, a lot like this one, gazing at the ocean before me. The sun shines brightly, the water glitters against a brilliant sky, and the sand is white, soft between my toes. I'm wearing a sundress, something gauzy and silky with a neckline lower than anything I'd dare wear here. My bare arms are golden, my hair sun-streaked, and a silver ring gleams on my middle toe. I hear laughter in the background, a child's laughter, and I turn from the porch railing. A little boy is tottering towards me on miniature legs. His hair is so blond it's nearly white and it curls around an angelic face. His mouth curves into an enormous smile as he nears me and he picks up speed, clutching a fluffy bear in one hand.
Through the haze of the dream I watch myself reach down and scoop the little boy into my arms, my laughter mingling with his. "Hey baby," I hear myself coo. "I missed you."
"Mama!" he cries and stares up at me with familiar blue eyes.
I giggle in turn and press kisses all over his face, laughing as he giggles hysterically. "Mama loves you, baby," I say and kiss his forehead. "Should we go find, Daddy?"
"Too late," a voice says behind me. "He's already been found."
"Perfect timing," I say and turn towards him, the baby in my arms.
He's gorgeous, his hair bleached pure gold by the sun and his tan accentuating the blue of his eyes. In other words, he's Sark.
~ * ~
My eyes shoot open, my breathing rapid and my heart racing. I push my hair off my face and shove the blanket away. I pull at the layers of clothing covering my midriff and run a tentative finger over the scar on my stomach. I can feel the bile rise in my throat as my fingers caress the ragged patch of raised tissue. "No," I think to myself. "It can't be." But what if it was? What else would explain the baby that called me "Mama?"
"Oh my god," I whisper. "What the hell happened to me two years ago?"
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!
Author: Lila
Spoiler: "The Telling"
~ * ~
Author's Note:
I'm working on another chapter of "Contradiction," but I just had to get this out first. This will probably also be a multi-parter, but only a few chapters. It's a bit darker than my usual work, but I think ya'll will still like it. Enjoy!
~ * ~
"No one has said what the truth should be
And no one has decided that I'd feel this way
If you felt as I
Would you betray yourself"
- "Elysium," Portishead
~ * ~
It comes to me in little bits at night when I'm dreaming. Or at least I think I am; I'm not so sure anymore. I'm not sure of a lot of things. I guess that's what happens when you're dead.
Kendall told me to take things easy for a while. "Rest up, regroup" he'd said. "When you feel better we'll decide how to take the next step." Sloane, his organization--they're still out there. I know Kendall wants me to go back. They all do: my father, Dixon, Marshall, even Michael Vaughn and his band of gold. That's another thing I don't understand either. I still love him or at least I think I do, but every time I bring his face to mind an image of that wedding band comes along with him. I push thoughts of Vaughn and his betrayal away. I can't deal with him now, just like I can't deal with anything else in my life.
It's a funny thing, being dead. People come out of the woodwork to mourn you. Right now I'm looking at a card from Susie Thompson. We went to college together and I always thought she hated me. Now she's "Beyond thrilled" to learn I'm alive. It seems a lot of people are glad to have me back, acting like I never left in the first place. Will comes by every day bringing coffee or muffins, little things to cheer me up. As if he could understand what it's like to be dead. He says he wants the old Sydney back, the one who used to be his best friend. I smile and nod, sip my latte, extra foam, and avoid telling him that Sydney doesn't exist anymore, that she died two years ago. How can I tell him that the girl he knew and loved isn't me? He laughed the first time I said that, said I should try and forget, be thankful I'm alive. He reached over and squeezed my hand, looked deep into my eyes, "I'm so glad you're back, Syd. You don't know how much I've missed you."
He's right. I don't know and I never will. For two years I've been dead. The man I love married another, my friends have moved on, even my apartment is gone. I look out the window of my new place, pick at the clothes Kendall bought for me. Will is watching me with his beautiful blue eyes, drinking in the sight of me like I might disappear if he looks away for a minute. I guess that's what happens when you're best friend comes back from the dead. I meet his gaze for a moment, but have to look away. I can't take this much longer. It's times like these, when I feel the full weight of what my disappearance did to the people I love, when I wish I hadn't come back to life. No one should have to live with that kind of guilt. Why should I?
Will is rambling on and on about a new movie he wants to see and all the places we should visit during my vacation time. I listen half-heartedly, my mind drifting to other things, like how a bike trip through Sonoma will make up for the two years of my life I lost. He changes the topic, launching into a monologue about how happy he is to have me back. I fidget nervously, running a blanket's edges through my fingers. I hate when he talks like this, reminds me of all the pain I caused over the last two years. The room feels small, stuffy, and I close my eyes for a moment.
Bad choice. All I see is the dirt falling on me, enclosing me in this prison of pain and guilt. Of course it isn't real. I might not know what happened to me for the last two years, but I know I wasn't buried alive; it's just my mind's way of dealing with two missing years. They're trapped someplace I can't remember, buried in the hidden recesses of my mind. Only I don't know where the grave is and there's no rebirth. Sydney might have come back from the dead, but what happened to her is gone forever.
Suddenly it's all too much for me. I feel like I can't breathe. "Will?" I ask and he turns to me obediently, like a dog obeying his master.
"Yeah, Syd?" His eyes are worried, full of concern, but they're the eyes of a stranger. He looks at me like I'm still the bright-eyed girl he used to know--but I'm not anymore. Sydney Bristow died two years ago and I don't know who the girl is wearing my face.
I look straight in those worried eyes and paste a smile on my face. "I'm a little tired, Will. I think I'm gonna lie down for a while."
"Of course," he says quickly, his voice laced with guilt. He's upset for wearing me out. As if he has anything to feel guilty about. It's not like he cost his best friend her career, or risked her life countless times, or made her think he was dead for two years. No, those are my crimes, my sins. Will has nothing on me. "Get all the rest you need, Syd," he says hurriedly, gathering coffee cups and paper bags. "Call me tomorrow. Maybe we can see a movie or something?" His eyes are full of hope, like he can make up for this afternoon by treating me to a movie. Too bad he doesn't know he has nothing to make up for, but I can see it's important to him to look out for me and after all I've put him through, I don't have it in me to let him down.
"Sure," I say. "I'll call you tomorrow and we'll figure something out"
He smiles gets his stuff together. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want me to call your dad or something?"
"No," I insist, probably a little too quickly and he looks up nervously. "Really," I say more calmly. "I'm just tired, okay? I'll be fine."
He nods reluctantly. "Call me if you need anything."
"Promise."
He gives me a quick hug, squeezes my hand, and finally gets the hell out. I rest my forehead against the door and take deep, gulping breaths. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I know he means well--they all mean well--but I just want to be left alone. See, try as they might, none of them--not my father or Will or Dixon or Vaughn, especially Vaughn--none of them know what I'm going through, because not a single one of them knows what it's like to be dead.
Of course I know I wasn't really dead, I even had a few meetings with that god-awful CIA shrink to prove it, but I might as well have been. Everything I know and love is gone, my life as I knew it is over, and I'm not sure who I am anymore. I look in the mirror and see the same brown hair, the same brown eyes, but something is missing. There's no sparkle in my eyes, no laughter in my smile. I'm dull, lifeless, like I'm not even there. It's not even cliché when I say I'm a ghost of my former self.
I push away from the door and pad to the deck where French doors lead directly to the ocean. It's funny. I never had much feeling for the ocean before, but after I resurrected myself all I wanted was to be near the beach. It's the only place where I feel at peace. When I can hear the waves crashing on the shore and smell salt on the wind I can breathe easy, I can let my mind wander. When I'm by the water the guilt slips away. I settle in my lounge chair and draw a blanket over me. It's a nice night, not too cold, and there's a slight breeze. I'm still for a moment, enjoying the sounds of the ocean and the stars twinkling brightly in a dark sky. Like it always does when I'm by the water, my eyes slowly slide close, and I drift off to sleep.
It happens again as my mind forms dreams and nightmares, tries to unearth where I've been for the last two years. I've had them before, all images of the beach and the sun and the ocean crashing against a white beach. Yet, there are never sounds, never people, never anything real, just postcard images of places I've never been. But this time is different. I'm standing on a porch, a lot like this one, gazing at the ocean before me. The sun shines brightly, the water glitters against a brilliant sky, and the sand is white, soft between my toes. I'm wearing a sundress, something gauzy and silky with a neckline lower than anything I'd dare wear here. My bare arms are golden, my hair sun-streaked, and a silver ring gleams on my middle toe. I hear laughter in the background, a child's laughter, and I turn from the porch railing. A little boy is tottering towards me on miniature legs. His hair is so blond it's nearly white and it curls around an angelic face. His mouth curves into an enormous smile as he nears me and he picks up speed, clutching a fluffy bear in one hand.
Through the haze of the dream I watch myself reach down and scoop the little boy into my arms, my laughter mingling with his. "Hey baby," I hear myself coo. "I missed you."
"Mama!" he cries and stares up at me with familiar blue eyes.
I giggle in turn and press kisses all over his face, laughing as he giggles hysterically. "Mama loves you, baby," I say and kiss his forehead. "Should we go find, Daddy?"
"Too late," a voice says behind me. "He's already been found."
"Perfect timing," I say and turn towards him, the baby in my arms.
He's gorgeous, his hair bleached pure gold by the sun and his tan accentuating the blue of his eyes. In other words, he's Sark.
~ * ~
My eyes shoot open, my breathing rapid and my heart racing. I push my hair off my face and shove the blanket away. I pull at the layers of clothing covering my midriff and run a tentative finger over the scar on my stomach. I can feel the bile rise in my throat as my fingers caress the ragged patch of raised tissue. "No," I think to myself. "It can't be." But what if it was? What else would explain the baby that called me "Mama?"
"Oh my god," I whisper. "What the hell happened to me two years ago?"
~ * ~
Please, please, please respond!