There were never such devoted sisters...

[sunshine_queen]

And because I am worthless with homework, I bring you part two of the Nina fic:

 

 

When Sydney woke up, Nina was already gone, and there was a note tacked on to her fridge. "Syd- Gone to school- no more milk." Pure Nina, insouciance with a dash of charm. Her letters licked up in dark curves, neatly running along the lines. Below the text was a slanted heart, below which she had scribbled "Na,"- her nickname for herself.

"You're not 'Na,’ Nina," Sydney had tried to explain years ago. "You're Nee-na. Nee. That's important."

"Na," Nina had replied seriously. "Na-nya. Na."

"Nee-na."

"Na, Na, Na," she'd sang. Once Nina had decided to speak, there had been no stopping her- although for the first few weeks, she refused to be parted from Sydney's side. Sydney had been her ambassador, talking for her, creating explanations for her- while Nina squeaked out a few whimpers and let tears fill her big brown eyes- rarely, if ever, allowing them to fall.

Sydney had sighed, rolling her eyes. The little girl had not been there long, but their entire household had changed. The bedroom next to hers had been converted into a little girl's room- frills and flowers and pink, signed for by Jack Bristow, but never seen. Toys and clothes and dolls, all for Nina, who would blink at every gift regaled and look around to gauge others' reactions. Sydney was her ally of choice, but if Jack was around- which he rarely was- her eyes would find him first.

Now, before school, Sydney's nanny could no longer devote her time to simply prodding Sydney along. "It's time you started getting faster in the mornings anyway, Sydney," the nanny had huffed, trying to chase Nina down for a bath. "With Nina…" and she had trailed off. Yes, Sydney understood. Now, there was Nina.

Nina loathed anything sharp, baths, the dark and big dogs. She could be found in the night clutching her sheets fretfully, her eyes wide open, the head of a bear she had requisitioned from Sydney's bedroom peeking out of the curve of her arm. The nanny said that Nina was simply "nervous" and that she would grow out of it if only no one would coddle her- and she said this was a dark look in Sydney's direction. It was Sydney who would secret Nina away and into her own bed, preferring less room to worrying about the little girl.

Nina had grown out of it- and into speech, and normalcy. She became your every day American girl, long-limbed and freshly beautiful, tall and needing glasses, just like Sydney. Both girls were bright, but Nina preferred numbers and chemistry to words and literature.

There had been portraits and proms and sweet sixteens, new cars in the driveway when they woke up, without a word from their father. The Bristow girls knew the meaning of silence.

In it, what they had was one another.


Sydney goes on a mission: to Geneva, with their father, whom she no longer trusts. She sees Nina occasionally- she gets a new boyfriend, breaks up with him, gets back together, breaks it off for good, and then then crashes on Sydney’s couch after a night of barhopping. There are more missions, more lies. She says nothing to Nina about their father, nor does she mention the reappearance of her mother.

 

It unnerving that Irina Derevko knows about Nina, but, Sydney chides herself, she seems to know everything, so why not that? When she visits her, Irina makes sure to always ask about Jack’s daughter carefully. She has no more interest in Nina than she does in anything else- a calm, careful indifference that draws more out of Sydney than outright curiosity ever would have.

 

This way, Irina learns that Jack’s younger daughter is twenty years old, majoring in statistics with a minor in Spanish at UCLA, no longer living at home, and, according to Sydney, prettier than she is.

 

Nina, Sydney assumes, is safe from Irina’s clutches, simply because Nina has nothing to do with her. Nina is not her daughter, therefore she has nothing against her. Feeding her these small bits of information is a satisfactory way to retaliate, Sydney’s passive-aggressive way of saying that they all survived without her, without Laura, and could do so again.

 

 

“You did it, Jack,” Irina says to him, her voice lilting with amusement, “You pulled it off.”

 

Jack keeps his face blank while he waits for her to elaborate. “What I find most- most delightful, about it all, Jack, is that no one suspects. And people say that I’m ingenius with facades. You far surpass me.”

 

“Irina,” he says with disdain, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

 

Her smile is genuine: she is honestly gratified by his response. “And that is what will set you free, isn’t it?”

 

 

 

 

Jack had fired the nanny two months after Nina’s arrival.

 

He told Sydney it was because she was ill-equipped to deal with two of them; she knew it was because the nanny knew too much about the family to be trusted with the girls. What he did not expect, of course, was the loose tongues of the rest of his staff.

 

The replacement nanny was younger, blonder, and more energetic than the former had been, and she tackled the Bristow girls like it was her personal mission in life to make their lives as smoothly enjoyable as possible.

 

The nanny- named Karen- assumed that there was nothing out of the ordinary about these girls. Mrs. Bristow was dead, Mr. Bristow was often away on business, and the two Bristow girls needed supervision, especially the baby. The poor lamb, Karen would cluck as Nina scampered about, growing up without her mother.

 

“She’s not Mrs. Bristow’s daughter,” the cook had replied eventually, when Nina was five. “Sydney is, but Nina’s not.”

 

Sydney had frozen where she stood in the kitchen doorway, retreating so that she wasn’t visible. Nina’s origins were never spoken of. “I knew Mrs. Bristow,” the cook was saying, “And there was never a lovelier woman. Devoted wife, loving mother. After her death, Mr. Bristow took to tomcatting.”

 

At eleven, Sydney could only guess what tomcatting meant. She knew from the way it was said that it was nothing good.

 

Karen had looked horrified. “So you mean Nina’s-“

 

The cook had nodded, her lips pursed, before going back to cutting up vegetables- red peppers, their skins shiny under the fluorescent lighting of the kitchen. “Yes. Can’t imagine what Mr. Bristow was thinking, bringing her home. Guilt, most likely. But the idea of Mrs. Bristow’s daughter with that, it breaks my heart…”

 

Sydney had swallowed back harsh words, instead running to find Nina, to reassure herself that Nina wasn’t different, or evil, or strange, because they didn’t share the same mother. And Nina was- bright and pretty and the same as she had always been.

 

Sydney did not mention this occurrence to her father.

 

 

Comments

[dollsome.livejournal.com]

Ohhh, so much love for this! Beautifully written, and I love the way that everything's unravelling, and there was a SpyRents conversation! Life is sweet. You are too good, you are.

¡Necesito más! ¡Ahora!

[puggywuggy.livejournal.com]

You know I love it. :D

Especially mathgeek!Nadia. HEE.

[thepodsquad.livejournal.com]

Well, you KNOW I adore this so so much.

I just heart Nina. And poor Syd cannot catch a break. At all.

[kerlin.livejournal.com]

You have a lovely way with description. I'm still loving this!