Topic 18: Tell us about your number one regret (ficlet)
Regret
He did warn her. Judy Barnett, armed with the weapons Freud, Jung and assorted successors equiped the psychiatric profession with, arrives to make him talk about his regrets. What Arvin Sloane tells her before talking about anything else is as clear as he could possibly be with her.
"I manipulate people," he says. "I'm good at that, and I know it. I lie. I keep secrets. I divulge only what I must in order to elicit the reaction I need. That skill, in part, is why I'm still alive. One of those secrets affects the only two people I care about in the world, Sydney and Jack Bristow. There are many secrets I enjoy keeping. There is power in secrets that you keep. But this one, no. This one wears on me. It has for many years. It's central to my very existence. It's who I am."
Naturally, Dr. Barnett takes this as a challenge. She'll make him confess this secret. This greatest regret. She will not be manipulated. She has read his files, she has profiled him for the CIA. Both Bristows, even the completely repressed Jack, have at times confided in her. She is more than ready for Arvin Sloane. Of course, she also has to admit to mundane curiosity. This is a man who at one point used a weapon to burn a church full of people alive, not because he hated any of them, not because he actually planned to keep the weapon himself; simply because he needed it as a bargaining tool in order to aquire a manuscript, and had to demonstrate its effectiveness to the thug who possessed the manuscript in question. So what past crime does haunt him?
"I have betrayed people," he tells her at last, standing in front of a cloak room, "many of whom deserved it. But only one didn't. It was a long time ago. I sometimes try to convince myself that it was worth it, that she was worth it."
This is stunning and anticlimatic at the same time. Adultery. An affair. Something any clerk or bookkeeper who never in his life harmed a fly could have confessed to. On the one hand, Dr. Barnett is disappointed, and chides herself for it; on the other, she is even more intrigued because of the degree of sociopathy this choice reveals, and of course once he names the woman in question, the implications for her patients are fascinating.
"Are you telling me Sydney is your daughter?" she whispers.
"I never tried to prove it, one way or the other. But the strength that Sydney finds within, I like to believe that comes from me." He smiles at her. "Hmm, how about that. The world didn't come to an end."
She has sex with him the same night and is aware what this says about her. In the months that follow their brief affair, she never can make up her mind whether his confession was a complete lie, a mixture of lies and truths, or actually true. He is, she thinks, capable of telling the truth if it serves his purpose. He did have an affair with Irina Derevko, though it resulted in a woman named Nadia Santos rather than in Sydney Bristow. But is this really his primary regret? Because it meant a betrayal of his late wife? Because it meant a betrayal of Jack Bristow before Jack betrayed him? Or did he just use the story to camouflage something else, if, indeed, he felt regret at all?
She can't decide, and it is something that keeps gnawing at her, together with her own sense of failure and embarrassment about her conduct. More than a year later, he's in prison again, his case awaiting revaluation, and her superiors ask her to interview him. She reviews the files first and is somewhat stunned that both Bristows and even Marcus Dixon have written statements pleading his case.
Her interview with him mostly consists of cool, polite statements on both parts. He says the expected things, and says them well; after all, he doesn't want to stay in prison, that is the one thing Judy Barnett is sure about. At last, she throws caution away and embarks on a final gamble.
"Given that your daughter Nadia is of such tremendous importance to you," she says softly, "would you still call the affair that produced her your greatest regret?"
There is a spark in his eyes, but she can't tell whether it is anger or acknowledgement.
"I never called it my greatest regret," he replies. "I called it the secret I never wanted to have. Why else would I have shared it? Really, my dear, a woman in your profession should know that a man in mine never chooses his words by accident."
Judy Barnett rises, and only years of self discipline prevent her from flushing. She can't believe he's still able to do that to her.
"Judy," he says, and she tries to ignore him, switching off the recording tape, packing it into her purse.
"The fundamental problems with regrets is this: they imply one wishes an action undone, and yet without that action, one would never have reached the state to regret it."
She stops, considering this.
"But you do wish actions undone?" she asks, cursing herself for being weak enough to pose the question he undoubtedly wants her to ask.
"Naturally, Dr. Barnett," he says, and smiles at her again. "Don't we all?"
Not the pure sociopaths among us, she thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. She has this much discipline at least, and besides, she knows it isn't true. But she finishes packing, and without looking at him, says cooly: "Name one. Just one."
Shooting his daughter would be an obvious choice, but then again, given that not shooting her would have resulted in the death of Sydney Bristow and hell on earth, not a realistic one. Never having heard of Rambaldi would be the most sensible choice, given the harm his pursuit of Rambaldi wrought on all those people he claimed to love. Or even something like his order to kill Sydney's fiance Danny, following Alliance procedures, the action which ensured Sydney's hate for him.
"I shouldn't have bothered playing Elena Derevko," he said. "I should have done what Irina did. I should have killed her on sight."
She never asks him another question again.
He did warn her. Judy Barnett, armed with the weapons Freud, Jung and assorted successors equiped the psychiatric profession with, arrives to make him talk about his regrets. What Arvin Sloane tells her before talking about anything else is as clear as he could possibly be with her.
"I manipulate people," he says. "I'm good at that, and I know it. I lie. I keep secrets. I divulge only what I must in order to elicit the reaction I need. That skill, in part, is why I'm still alive. One of those secrets affects the only two people I care about in the world, Sydney and Jack Bristow. There are many secrets I enjoy keeping. There is power in secrets that you keep. But this one, no. This one wears on me. It has for many years. It's central to my very existence. It's who I am."
Naturally, Dr. Barnett takes this as a challenge. She'll make him confess this secret. This greatest regret. She will not be manipulated. She has read his files, she has profiled him for the CIA. Both Bristows, even the completely repressed Jack, have at times confided in her. She is more than ready for Arvin Sloane. Of course, she also has to admit to mundane curiosity. This is a man who at one point used a weapon to burn a church full of people alive, not because he hated any of them, not because he actually planned to keep the weapon himself; simply because he needed it as a bargaining tool in order to aquire a manuscript, and had to demonstrate its effectiveness to the thug who possessed the manuscript in question. So what past crime does haunt him?
"I have betrayed people," he tells her at last, standing in front of a cloak room, "many of whom deserved it. But only one didn't. It was a long time ago. I sometimes try to convince myself that it was worth it, that she was worth it."
This is stunning and anticlimatic at the same time. Adultery. An affair. Something any clerk or bookkeeper who never in his life harmed a fly could have confessed to. On the one hand, Dr. Barnett is disappointed, and chides herself for it; on the other, she is even more intrigued because of the degree of sociopathy this choice reveals, and of course once he names the woman in question, the implications for her patients are fascinating.
"Are you telling me Sydney is your daughter?" she whispers.
"I never tried to prove it, one way or the other. But the strength that Sydney finds within, I like to believe that comes from me." He smiles at her. "Hmm, how about that. The world didn't come to an end."
She has sex with him the same night and is aware what this says about her. In the months that follow their brief affair, she never can make up her mind whether his confession was a complete lie, a mixture of lies and truths, or actually true. He is, she thinks, capable of telling the truth if it serves his purpose. He did have an affair with Irina Derevko, though it resulted in a woman named Nadia Santos rather than in Sydney Bristow. But is this really his primary regret? Because it meant a betrayal of his late wife? Because it meant a betrayal of Jack Bristow before Jack betrayed him? Or did he just use the story to camouflage something else, if, indeed, he felt regret at all?
She can't decide, and it is something that keeps gnawing at her, together with her own sense of failure and embarrassment about her conduct. More than a year later, he's in prison again, his case awaiting revaluation, and her superiors ask her to interview him. She reviews the files first and is somewhat stunned that both Bristows and even Marcus Dixon have written statements pleading his case.
Her interview with him mostly consists of cool, polite statements on both parts. He says the expected things, and says them well; after all, he doesn't want to stay in prison, that is the one thing Judy Barnett is sure about. At last, she throws caution away and embarks on a final gamble.
"Given that your daughter Nadia is of such tremendous importance to you," she says softly, "would you still call the affair that produced her your greatest regret?"
There is a spark in his eyes, but she can't tell whether it is anger or acknowledgement.
"I never called it my greatest regret," he replies. "I called it the secret I never wanted to have. Why else would I have shared it? Really, my dear, a woman in your profession should know that a man in mine never chooses his words by accident."
Judy Barnett rises, and only years of self discipline prevent her from flushing. She can't believe he's still able to do that to her.
"Judy," he says, and she tries to ignore him, switching off the recording tape, packing it into her purse.
"The fundamental problems with regrets is this: they imply one wishes an action undone, and yet without that action, one would never have reached the state to regret it."
She stops, considering this.
"But you do wish actions undone?" she asks, cursing herself for being weak enough to pose the question he undoubtedly wants her to ask.
"Naturally, Dr. Barnett," he says, and smiles at her again. "Don't we all?"
Not the pure sociopaths among us, she thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. She has this much discipline at least, and besides, she knows it isn't true. But she finishes packing, and without looking at him, says cooly: "Name one. Just one."
Shooting his daughter would be an obvious choice, but then again, given that not shooting her would have resulted in the death of Sydney Bristow and hell on earth, not a realistic one. Never having heard of Rambaldi would be the most sensible choice, given the harm his pursuit of Rambaldi wrought on all those people he claimed to love. Or even something like his order to kill Sydney's fiance Danny, following Alliance procedures, the action which ensured Sydney's hate for him.
"I shouldn't have bothered playing Elena Derevko," he said. "I should have done what Irina did. I should have killed her on sight."
She never asks him another question again.