December Topic: Do you have faith?
In retrospect, it strikes him that the only person he ever tried to explain it to had been Sydney.
Jack and faith were anathema to each other, so bringing it up with him was pointless. Jack, enviably enough, had never felt the need to justify his existence beyond protecting those he loved, and besides, the language they shared, of pragmatism and games and wary affection, did not not offer the vocabulary for that which had driven Arvin Sloane to allow a dead 15th century Renaissance man to rule his life.
Elena Derevko, on the other hand, was of course a fellow believer, but her own obsession with Rambaldi was strictly limited to what he could do for her. As a consequence, she never experienced periods of doubt. "The only thing I never understood about you," she said to him after he had convinced her to let him join her, "was why you stopped for a while. You had to know the rest of us wouldn't. What did you hope to gain?"
He gave a reply appropriate to his cover. But even without the necessity to maintain it, a genuine conversation with Elena on the subject would have been impossible by the narrowness that made her ask this question in the first place. Elena never sacrificed anything because she never cared enough for anything but herself to make surrendering it a sacrifice. How could she possibly understand?
Sydney, now, that was another matter. She was an idealist; she did need to believe in something greater, but she thought patriotism and the need to protect not just her nearest and dearest, like her father, but just about everyone fulfilled that purpose. She was still young.
She also was the challenge and the doubter who was necessary for any faith. When Ana Espinosa went after Nadia, he told Sydney Ana would not succeed, and she asked him how he could still have his faith after everything. He asked her how he could not. But he hid Nadia from Ana, all the same. The contradiction never left him; either Nadia's life was safeguarded by Rambaldi's prophecies, or it was not. He continued to believe that it was, and to act as if it was not, until her life, and his faith, exploded in glass shards and blood and became one again. It was impossible, against every prediction, and yet fulfilling them all: and not having faith, after, was not an option any more, either.
And yet, and yet. When he was told Sydney was dead, with her life just as safeguarded by prophecies, he did not act on any commandment. "She died, just like anyone," Sydney's own voice said, and he knew he had to kill the person who did this.
It turned out to be the last test. Of course she wasn't dead. Of course it was not for him to either avenge her or kill her by mistake. Her role, after all, was to devastate... and to restore.
She was alive, as surely as she had been drawn four hundred years before her birth. And he had faith, again.
There really was no other choice.
Jack and faith were anathema to each other, so bringing it up with him was pointless. Jack, enviably enough, had never felt the need to justify his existence beyond protecting those he loved, and besides, the language they shared, of pragmatism and games and wary affection, did not not offer the vocabulary for that which had driven Arvin Sloane to allow a dead 15th century Renaissance man to rule his life.
Elena Derevko, on the other hand, was of course a fellow believer, but her own obsession with Rambaldi was strictly limited to what he could do for her. As a consequence, she never experienced periods of doubt. "The only thing I never understood about you," she said to him after he had convinced her to let him join her, "was why you stopped for a while. You had to know the rest of us wouldn't. What did you hope to gain?"
He gave a reply appropriate to his cover. But even without the necessity to maintain it, a genuine conversation with Elena on the subject would have been impossible by the narrowness that made her ask this question in the first place. Elena never sacrificed anything because she never cared enough for anything but herself to make surrendering it a sacrifice. How could she possibly understand?
Sydney, now, that was another matter. She was an idealist; she did need to believe in something greater, but she thought patriotism and the need to protect not just her nearest and dearest, like her father, but just about everyone fulfilled that purpose. She was still young.
She also was the challenge and the doubter who was necessary for any faith. When Ana Espinosa went after Nadia, he told Sydney Ana would not succeed, and she asked him how he could still have his faith after everything. He asked her how he could not. But he hid Nadia from Ana, all the same. The contradiction never left him; either Nadia's life was safeguarded by Rambaldi's prophecies, or it was not. He continued to believe that it was, and to act as if it was not, until her life, and his faith, exploded in glass shards and blood and became one again. It was impossible, against every prediction, and yet fulfilling them all: and not having faith, after, was not an option any more, either.
And yet, and yet. When he was told Sydney was dead, with her life just as safeguarded by prophecies, he did not act on any commandment. "She died, just like anyone," Sydney's own voice said, and he knew he had to kill the person who did this.
It turned out to be the last test. Of course she wasn't dead. Of course it was not for him to either avenge her or kill her by mistake. Her role, after all, was to devastate... and to restore.
She was alive, as surely as she had been drawn four hundred years before her birth. And he had faith, again.
There really was no other choice.