2010-07-07: Tears Tears Go Away



Date: July 7, 2010



"Tears Tears Go Away

Safehouse— Location Undisclosed

Another long day in and out of FBI questioning. And now in the stark looking safehouse the witnesses get to hang in until WP determines what to do with them— or those that accept the protection— Sydney sits wrapped in a blanket on one of the few chairs in the main area. The doors are covered by agents on the outside, but despite this, she doesn't feel quite safe.

Dressed in her large, oversized sweater and dark wash jeans that had been supplied to her, she's staring. Just staring at the wall. Strangely, she's been doing this for a few hours— detached, not all there, reflecting perhaps. Regardless, she seems lost in something. Her face is still that mess of colours and her hair touselled even after the shower— she couldn't be bothered to do anything with it; she's too distracted.

Fred has spent most of the day sleeping in the safehouse. What else is there to do, really? Especially when you haven't slept in a proper bed, nor had a proper sleep, for quite some time. So long, you don't even know how long it was. Slowly making his way down to the main area after his rest, Fred finds himself looking at Sydney. While some might find the fact that she's staring, seemingly into space, Fred wouldn't find it in the least bit unusual, considering what they've been through. "Hey, Syd." He says tentatively as he takes a seat. "How's it going?"

At the voice and the sound of her name, Sydney stirs to life just a little as a hand absently clutches at her throat. She doesn't turn away from the wall, but she blinks and forces a kind of weak smile before lazily closing her eyes. The question washes over her like something unknown and altogether apart from this moment. With narrowing eyes she weighs it in silence until she answers with a cracked voice, "…fine." Implicitly as fine as things can be, but then, how fine is that?

Moving to take a seat where Sydney can see him, Fred sits down, gazing at Sydney with worried eyes. "Do…do you want to talk about it, at all, Sydney?" He asks cautiously. He'd quote how it's 'good to talk' and it will make her feel better to 'get it all out in the open'. He's knows she knows this, however. They are both smart cookies, after all. Maybe crumbled cookies at this point. But still the same none the less.

As he occupies her line of vision, Sydney forces him a smile, it's weak, broken, humourless, and never extends to her eyes, but it's there in all its weakness and near discomfort. Her gaze only stays directly on him for a moment before she's glancing at the floor. "I'm…" she twitches before stammering further "…I'm.. t-trying to figure out how screwed up everything became… w-what…" she can't manage to finish her though and so she just falls silent again.

Fred gives her a small smile of his own, attempting to make it seem as comforting as possible. "Life…it is…not going to be the same as it was before. With all that's happened. But I do want you to know, Syd, that I will be her with you every step of the way. And beyond, if you want me to. I'll be a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen to all you have to say, whether it seems to make sense to you or not." He moves his chair a little closer.

Sydney's eyebrows furrow as she pulls her knees to her chest, hugging her legs up into her body. It's more comfortable, safer, protective from outside forces. Resting her chin on her knees, her smile fades into a kind of plain neutrality. She studies him carefully, unsure of how to even speak; she's been so silent thus far. Pushing past the current issues at hand— like her face, the swelling, the bruising— and moves onto something somewhat more substantial, "…This… it's not my life." She shrugs a little before sniffing silently.

Fred moves the chair a little bit more closer and places a gentle hand on Sydney's knee. Concern is rife across his face. Concern most of all for her. "I…I know it's not. You're the sweet, kind, caring, and loving psychologist from San Francisco. All of this, all that has happened, is terrible. More so beyond words. And there's a fear that people won't believe you as well. About certain aspects, anyway." He sighs. "I know. I mean…I don't know all that you're feeling, but…" He takes a deep breath in, sighing it out slowly and gazing at the woman who sits before him. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you more in there. I wanted to. I did."

Her grip tightening on her legs, Sydney's gaze turns back to Fred again quietly listening, perhaps too attentively. Her lips quirk down into a kind of small frown when she shakes her head. "Not your fault." She blinks and then sighs before she wrinkles her nose, "But… I'm not. Not really. Someone sweet, kind, caring, and loving wouldn't be thinking…" she sighs and shakes her head before squeaking, "I slapped an FBI agent." There's a pause. "Hard."

With a slight shake of his head, Fred speaks. "Maybe not, but it doesn't make me any less regretful for not trying something." He says softly. Softly, he says, "Even a sweet, kind, caring, and loving person can think things that aren't all too pleasant." Suppressing a chuckle, he continues, "It's okay to slap an FBI agent, you know. Well…maybe they don't see it that way. But I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to hit one too. Hard. They're not the most pleasant of folk a good part of the time." He offers what he hopes is a reassuring smile. "Why did you slap this one?"

Sydney's gaze turns downward now, as she remembers. Her gaze shifts to the right as she absently lifts her left hand to look at it reflectively. Her lips twitch a little as she quietly admits, "He said… I deserved… or implied I got what I deserved…" She frowns now— neutrality empty from her face. Closing her eyes she refuses to register anything other than her own thoughts, "…he… wasn't wrong…" her face flushes now.

Fred gasps sharply. "That's awful!" Using his forefinger, he gently places it under Sydney's chin and just as gently tries to lift Sydney's face so he can look at her directly. "You did NOT deserve what you got. Understand me? Not in the slightest. And to thing that he wasn't wrong…no. He wasn't right. Regardless, he should not have said anything like that to you." He takes a deep breath in. "What happened to you is nothing more than the happenings of a man who is completely deranged and egomaniacal. Whatever happened you did not deserve!" A pause, a few deep breaths. "What was the name of this agent?"

Lips press together as Fred raises her face to look him. And once it's raised slowly, she opens her eyes, the brokenness reflects in them, try as she might to hide it. Her chin quivers a little, but determined, she fights the tears that come all too easily these days. "Wright. Agent Wright." Ironic really, if he is indeed in the wrong. "…I did it. I always do it… I press people and then they snap and…" she gestures to her face and then shrugs.

Fred shakes his head once more. "This is not your fault. Trust me. Pressing people is just a part of our job as psychologists and therapists!" Sure, psychologists and therapists and the like need to know when not to push, but he's not going to mention that little tidbit. "One way or another, that should not lead to what happened to you. Trust me. This…this…this Agent Wright sounds like an asshole to me." Yes. He just said that. "I'm going to see about talking Agent Wright's supervisor. You are a victim, not a thug or criminal they take off the streets. You should not be treated that way." He seems pretty firm in his resolve in this matter.

Frowning further she sighs. "I slapped him." Like that makes anything better. "It… left a red imprint on his face… in… the shape of my hand…" She combs a hand through her hair, pulling it into a side ponytail with an elastic around her wrist. She stares at Fred intently and wrinkles her nose before shaking her head a little, she's dropping the issue; there's no fight left in her to debate the point. And then, as if to idly change the subject she murmurs, "They… want us… to go into Witness Protection…"

Fred smiles. "Well, that's something that he deserved, most certainly." He says softly. "Witness protection? I suppose that makes sense. Especially for you." He says thoughtfully. "And Amy." Him? He's got an ace or two up his sleeve in the form of an old vampire…erm…a boss. An old boss of his. Or current boss, as some might see it, depending on his position currently. "There's umm…something I want to talk to you about, when your mind is less distraught with other pressing matters."

Sydney twitches at the comment before shaking her head wordlessly; she's not going into Witness Protection. They can't make her. She opens her mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and she ends up just gaping at him for a moment. She's not sure how to respond or what to say. Finally she chokes on a few words, but they're not the ones she intends, her eyebrows furrowing, "What is it, Fred? Everything… is everything okay?"

Fred shakes his head. "Don't worry about it now, Syd. I just want…need to know that you're going into witness protection. You have to. Please." His eyes, as well as his words, plead for her to do so. "Please Syd. If you do one more thing for me in this entire world and nothing else, please go into Witness Protection. I want to protect you, I do…but I can't do that if you're out wandering the streets somewhere I can't find you, or where no one else can. I was worried sick enough about you when you left my place." It's his turn to start choking back tears. "Please…please. I'd die if I knew you were out there and got hurt again by him."

Silently, wordlessly, Sydney listens. Her eyes clamp shut as if considering the words before she shakes her head. "He… he can find me anyways. He's got…" Ways. "He's… collecting people… his… his family…" She doesn't really know why, but there's something to that. "I want my life back. I need… home…" her stammering is interrupted with a few sniffles and some choked on tears. "… I don't… I don't know what that even means anymore…" Her eyes droop as she stares at the floor again, her eyes glassy.

Fred shakes his head. "I've got plans for him, Syd. I've got contacts." Contacts that neither the FBI nor the police are aware of. "I'm going to make sure he can't get to you any more. I know, I can't promise anything right away. But I want you to know that I'm pulling every ace from up my sleeve to make sure you'll be safe. But please, PLEASE go into protective custody. I'll go with you. And so will Dr. Masterson, I'm sure." He says quietly, imploringly. "Whatever your life is…wherever your home is and whatever either of those mean…I want to be a part of it, Sydney. I want to be a part of your life." And there, he goes quiet.

A queasy feeling forms in the pit of Sydney's stomach as her skin takes on a slightly green hue. Conflict isn't wearing well on her. Her eyes turn glossy as she looks at him, full of tears threatening to fall. "I've… I don't… I haven't… I haven't been home" there's that word again "since December. I need… I need my life… Fred. Please. Don't… I need…it's my… what… what do I…" She buries her face against her knees. And then finally in a whisper she manages what she's really thinking, "I'm a mess. I need… to go home. I need something, anything normal…" Her voice cracks.

Fred gently pulls Sydney into a hug. "Sshhhh. Sssshhhhhh. I know." He says softly. "I know. And it pains me to see you like this. It does. But please…please promise me you'll go to the safehouse." He says softly. "It pains me that you can't go home. It does. But the most important thing right now is to be safe." He makes no more mention at the moment of the rest of what he said.

"I… can't," Sydney squeaks as she looks up from her knees, her cheeks stained with tears that stream down them. "I need… I need… to recognize the face in the mirror again…" Sniffling loudly she stammers through the words, her entire body shaking with each gasp for air. "…I can't stand the sight of my own reflection… I need my life… I can't be bullied… into… losing… who… I am…"

Fred rubs Sydney's back gently. "No one is talking about bullying you into losing who you are, we're talking about protecting what you are." Slowly moving away from the hug, he says, "Some of us love you no matter what you look like. And some of us what to protect you so that you never have to go through that experience again." There are tears falling down his own cheeks now, as he turns away, almost ashamed of them. "I'm sorry. I…I shouldn't have bothered you." Slowly he starts to stand.

"I'm not…" Loveable. Worthy of time or attention. Worth anything. She leaves her implicits hanging, and she tries again, "You weren't…" but she can't finish that thought either, never uttering the end of the sentence. Instead she sinks into a quiet mess of gasps, hiccups and tears. Her body heaves between the sobs, nowhere near as silent as her tears before. Her entire body tightens under the pressure.

Fred is about to turn and walk away when he stops himself. Is he really gonna do this? Is his really going to leave her now? No. Slowly, very slowly, he starts to sit back down. Maneuvering his chair to a better angle, he takes Sydney into a hug and holds her, assuming she lets him, and he just remains like that, head lightly bent towards hers. He doesn't say a word.

She doesn't fight the hug and her sobs only leave her raw and broken. Sydney continues to bawl uncontrollably, her life has become confusing and convoluted with nothing common and easy to understand. She gasps for breath again, attempting to regain some air. Her face reddens underneath the stress.

Fred continues to hold Sydney, not letting go and not saying anything more, but merely making soothing noises every now and again. He'll not let go until she either asks him, or falls asleep. Should she fall asleep? Well, he'll carry her to bed. Simple as that. Nothing more, nothing less.

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