Quite Contrary
Title: Quite Contrary
Date posted: 01-19-06
Fandom: Alias
Disclaimer: Nadia belongs to JJ, sadly.
Spoilers: Season Four, I guess.
Notes: Written for alias500's rewind challenge.
Nadia's first memory is looking up into the face of La Santísima Virgen María.
She was young, of course, and had wandered into the church outside the orphanage's property. Behind the altar was a high stained-glass window; to the right was a statue of José the forgotten father, to the left, la Virgen María.
There could be no punishment for a child who wandered away to be found genuflecting at the foot of la madre de Jesús. She was told gently to tell someone before she left and the next day the youngest nun handed her a rosary of white beads and taught Nadia to pray.
María was the face Nadia gave to her own lost mother: the high, pure forehead, the dark, compassionate eyes, the tender mouth turned upwards with a gentle secret, folds of her light blue shawl. The statue exuded its own quiet light, turned away from the crucifix on the adjoining wall. Nadia always thought this a sensible idea, no mother would like to see her child suffering.
It wasn't that Nadia was a particularly pious child, or very well-behaved. Her luck was in her beauty- the complexion so clear she matched the statue, her own dark eyes that could blink messages of complete innocence. She was strong and stubborn and adventurous, but with the face of a saint and the blessings of Sofia Vargas, she was given free rein. What she could not escape, however, was confession.
Confessions were long, painful, drawn out affairs involving uncomfortable squirming and short answers that inevitably ended with lengthy penance. Nadia's break from the church, she would reason, would spring from the long hours spent staring at Jesus's bloody feet nailed to the cross as she prayed, knees aching, feeling no holier or cleaner without her venial sins. Forced reconciliation made her want to behave for the first few minutes- the chastened, pitiful feeling of a child- with no lasting results.
Sundays were the most painful punishments for Nadia. Communion wine was thick and heavy on her tongue, always and forever blood, and the taste made her hot and sick with guilt. There was no reconciliation great enough to atone for her sin in having a hand in His death, and she could not face María's statue after mass.
María had been there, the Bible said so, to see her son die for others, and Nadia could not help but feel that the sweet face was really frowning at the parishioners who took their redemption so lightly. After church, the people looking to take home little girls came to the orphanage to find their perfect child. Most girls took care to stay neat, their hair gleaming and bows tightly tied. Between the guilt and Nadia's private understanding with María that if she didn't hope for a mother, a father would come, Nadia would show up bedraggled and muddy, scowling sullenly, even going so far as to bare her teeth to those brave enough to attempt conversation.
She would lose her religion along with her rosary the day she ran away. The streets were no place for prayers to María, whom Nadia didn't particularly want watching her anyway.
Many years later, when she is older and is on a mission with a sister she never knew existed, she realizes that while her mother bears a striking resemblance to the statue she idolized for so long, Irina Derevko was never María at all.
Date posted: 01-19-06
Fandom: Alias
Disclaimer: Nadia belongs to JJ, sadly.
Spoilers: Season Four, I guess.
Notes: Written for alias500's rewind challenge.
Nadia's first memory is looking up into the face of La Santísima Virgen María.
She was young, of course, and had wandered into the church outside the orphanage's property. Behind the altar was a high stained-glass window; to the right was a statue of José the forgotten father, to the left, la Virgen María.
There could be no punishment for a child who wandered away to be found genuflecting at the foot of la madre de Jesús. She was told gently to tell someone before she left and the next day the youngest nun handed her a rosary of white beads and taught Nadia to pray.
María was the face Nadia gave to her own lost mother: the high, pure forehead, the dark, compassionate eyes, the tender mouth turned upwards with a gentle secret, folds of her light blue shawl. The statue exuded its own quiet light, turned away from the crucifix on the adjoining wall. Nadia always thought this a sensible idea, no mother would like to see her child suffering.
It wasn't that Nadia was a particularly pious child, or very well-behaved. Her luck was in her beauty- the complexion so clear she matched the statue, her own dark eyes that could blink messages of complete innocence. She was strong and stubborn and adventurous, but with the face of a saint and the blessings of Sofia Vargas, she was given free rein. What she could not escape, however, was confession.
Confessions were long, painful, drawn out affairs involving uncomfortable squirming and short answers that inevitably ended with lengthy penance. Nadia's break from the church, she would reason, would spring from the long hours spent staring at Jesus's bloody feet nailed to the cross as she prayed, knees aching, feeling no holier or cleaner without her venial sins. Forced reconciliation made her want to behave for the first few minutes- the chastened, pitiful feeling of a child- with no lasting results.
Sundays were the most painful punishments for Nadia. Communion wine was thick and heavy on her tongue, always and forever blood, and the taste made her hot and sick with guilt. There was no reconciliation great enough to atone for her sin in having a hand in His death, and she could not face María's statue after mass.
María had been there, the Bible said so, to see her son die for others, and Nadia could not help but feel that the sweet face was really frowning at the parishioners who took their redemption so lightly. After church, the people looking to take home little girls came to the orphanage to find their perfect child. Most girls took care to stay neat, their hair gleaming and bows tightly tied. Between the guilt and Nadia's private understanding with María that if she didn't hope for a mother, a father would come, Nadia would show up bedraggled and muddy, scowling sullenly, even going so far as to bare her teeth to those brave enough to attempt conversation.
She would lose her religion along with her rosary the day she ran away. The streets were no place for prayers to María, whom Nadia didn't particularly want watching her anyway.
Many years later, when she is older and is on a mission with a sister she never knew existed, she realizes that while her mother bears a striking resemblance to the statue she idolized for so long, Irina Derevko was never María at all.