AN: New story! Yay! Again written for an assignment... well... for the Writing Task in the second practice QCS (Queensland Core Skills) Test. Written for SarahShalomDavid and based on her universe. I love you my bat. So much.
Just A Matter Of Time
We were told, early on in our training, to record everything we thought and felt, every action we took and why we did so. I thought, at first, that this was for our own benefit; a way to help us become stronger, better fighters, to learn from our past mistakes to better serve and protect our country. I know, now, the my Father never does anything without an ulterior motive but at the time I was still young, naïve even, and craving his praise as I faithfully recorded my thoughts, reactions, hopes, dreams, plans for the future each night. I should have known.
I was not the son, the first-born, the one who was born to help us take down our greatest enemies, the ultimate agent. The one, who, if not stopped, would have become our greatest threat… but that is a different story.
I was not his beloved younger daughter, the sweet, caring, gentle soul who never saw a fault in anyone. I was not his little girl, I did not seem to exist to him… until the day she died. Then was I finally his daughter? No, I was an opportunity, a dull blade to be hardened, tempered, honed.
I did all I could to make him proud. I became the best. I was the best MOSSAD had ever seen. I threw away my childhood for him! I gave up all thoughts of a family, for him! I still whished though. Maybe that is what possessed me to seduce that boy? Well… young man really. Maybe that was why? Not the fact that he was my assignment. Papa never said that I had to sleep with him, just get in, get the information he needed and get out again.
That was before Papa asked to see the journal. Luckily, I had not gotten around to writing down what had happened that night yet, or he would be watching me more closely now than he already is. He read about how I had to turn away after first killing a man so as not to be sick, and scoffed at my weakness. For him to read those plans for the future that I had faithfully recorded, never thinking anyone but I would ever read them, and laugh.
It was then that I realised. I had to get away. It was only a matter of time before Papa found out what I had done and it was only a short step from there to guessing about the life I now carried, safe beneath my heart. I had to get out, for her sake, I knew, even then that she was a girl. Mother's instinct? I could not watch as he stole her childhood, which he would if he found out, she would be groomed for MOSSAD from the moment she was born. I could not watch that happen to her, I promised myself she would be free from that.
I stood tall, unflinching, as he berated me, screaming about my weakness, my softness, my faults. I took the abuse calmly, showing no emotion, already planning where I would go. Her father was an American, the son of a wealthy businessman who had "borrowed" some information Papa wanted back. I would escape to America but first I had to allay his suspicions, assure him that the "silly little fantasies" would never be thought of again. It would take time, but I would do it. I had to.
Eventually it seemed he trusted me again. He started giving me small missions, easy tasks, over in a day or so. When he saw that I was doing them, following my orders like a good little soldier, he relaxed his guard. He gave me longer, more difficult missions, always within Israel, but he started dropping hints of travelling.
Finally, after seemed like aeons, but in reality had only been a couple of months, he decided I could be trusted enough to go on a mission overseas. I could not believe my ears when he told me where he was sending me. He was sending me to America, he said, to track and report on the movements of a sleeper cell of HAMAS suicide bombers, in Washington D.C. I did not really care what the mission was. I was finally going to be free! We would be safe from him forever.
I reached America safely, reported to my control officer who had been sent ahead a week before I and settled in for a long few months. I had hoped to run into the boy again during my time there, tell him about his… our daughter and hope that, if Papa found out and came for me, that the boy would care for her. I never saw him. Once, I thought I did and called out, but the young man did not turn.
The months passed. I had long ago stopped reporting in and no one had come looking. They must have believed the ruse that I had died when the warehouse I was supposed to be inside of exploded. My little girl, my wonderful, beautiful miracle was born just the other day. She is everything to me and Papa will never know about her. We are free!
Second AN: I am stuck on where to go for The Truth in the Lies if anyone has any ideas, please PM me.