Wind
by
Chris AndersonDisclaimer: Alias is the property of other people, including J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot productions.
Written for the Theatrical Muse 'gifts' challenge.
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Gifts are simple and yet so complicated, more so lately than in the past. They are also more rare, because of the state in which she lives- so often in motion, without the desire or even the ability to put down roots. She has sacrificed that, like so many other things, upon the alter of greater goods and lesser evils, sacrificed it to necessity and expediency. The driving passions of her life allow little room for such norms, such simple pleasures.
She covets them anyway.
* * *
All gifts are unusual now, of the greater value for their rarity, and none more so than these faint stirrings, sometimes subtle breezes, more often raging storm winds, these signs which tell her that Jack Bristow still haunts her life, and is haunted by it.
She brings out all that is dark and chaotic within him, and she enjoys this power. It is easier to face him thus, when he comes to her standing tall, knowing what he wants and willing to pay the price for it- Easier to face him thus than in other ways, so much more common in the years their daughter was dead, when he was bowed under by the weight of his grief, so perilously close to broken...
She wants him to want her, but she has never wanted him to need her, not with that terrible desperation.
And she has never wanted to need him, but the truth, the terrible gift of truth she must face, now- is that she does.
It is dangerous for her to want this much, a risk she should not take, a weakness she should not allow... But together they are strong enough that nothing is going to break them, and the storm wind is no weakness. She worries for the gentle breeze, the bit of him that is still fragile, but never the storm wind.
* * *
One night he brings her a simple message. Three words, the greatest gift of all.
"We've found her."