(Untitled)
The thing about adults, Alex found, was that they were always changing their minds about him. One day, he was an adult, and they’d send him off to dangerous situations without a single thought. On others, he was a child. They wouldn’t let him have a gun, or any weapons at all. Most adults - especially those in the intelligence game - simply didn’t
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Alex figures she must be lying, but then, he himself can't figure out how he got here in the first place. He knows what it's like to be knocked out, whether it's from drugs or simply from being hit in the face and knows that the first thing he often recalls is pain. Either from the needle going into his arm or the punch that knocked him out cold. Here, there was nothing except for the feeling of breathing water instead of air.
The textbooks and news articles had gotten it all wrong. It wasn't simulated drowning. He had been drowning.
"...Okay," he agrees, mostly with the air of somebody who doesn't really have a choice. Which, honestly, was not at all surprising.
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"My name is Olivia Dunham," she said as she worked on the last of the straps, hands on his shoulders to brace him and help him up when he was finally free. "What's yours?"
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He's not scared anymore. Or at least, he pretends he isn't. In fact, he breathes deeply once or twice and then it's like this never happened at all, at least outwardly.
"Alright, then. What's going on here? Are you with the CIA?"
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"I'm with the FBI, but that hardly matters now." It stung to admit so, but it was the truth. "You're obviously not where you were a minute ago. It's hard to explain, but you've been transported to a...different dimension, sort of. Nobody knows how we get here, nobody knows how to get back to our homes. I'm sorry you had to appear this way."
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Alex had never thought of it that way. He had simply accepted it.
The FBI was one agency that he actually hadn't worked with or really encountered over his time as an agent, though Alex had suspected that it was only a matter of time at this point. More worryingly were the words that came next out of her mouth. A different dimension.
Well that was just rubbish, wasn't it?
"There have got to be better cover stories than this," he quips, though truly he is grateful for her untying him. "I thought it was the FBI's job to know things."
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Certainly that was what she'd thought of most of her Fringe cases, but even those had eventually been explained away by science and the occasional dose of faith and belief. This island fell under new rules entirely.
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If Alex had learned anything in his time with MI6, it's that every question has an eventual answer. It may not be one that he initially suspected, but the truth would come out eventually. So either Olivia wasn't telling him the whole story, or she didn't have enough security clearance to know.
"Can you please tell your government that I didn't blow up that boat? That's probably what they thought. Maybe they'd believe you over me. And even if you don't know what's going on here, there has to be a plane or something. Or a boat. Just point me in that direction."
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Dangerous and hard to believe, yes, but not odd.
"There is no way to get home. We have boats, but you can't get far, and there aren't any planes. I'm very sorry, but you can't go back home."
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What he's trying to figure out is what can't means in this situation. Does it mean that she won't let him, or just that it simply isn't physically possible? The schoolboy in him wants to trust people at their word. The spy in him knows otherwise.
"Is there any way of at least getting a message out? I just want to let someone know that I'm alright."
He owes Jack that much, at least.
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