Title: They never Thought.....
Rating: PG-13
Author: The Bone Lady
Summary: Vaughn discovers his body first, he wasn't on a mission.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias, sadly i do not own Michael Vartan either...but hey i can dream can't I? All i need is some good ol'candles and me drunken up and he i so mine!
A/N: Ok so i noticed a lot of people tend to write William Vaughn's death as on a mission. I can't remember if they ever said that in the show or not, but i just got this very interesting idea and i was like...what the hell i'm cutting kickboxing and writing me a story.....So i hope you enjoy it, I really appreciate reviews, and preferably good ones....if I suck then you'll probably understand why I wouldn't look forward to hearing that. If you've read some of my past fics, dont' worry I havent' completly stoped them i just have a major writer's block for a lot of them and can only write like a paragraph a day....Doesn't that suck?! Well any way i hope you enjoy this, and a future thank you for those who read and review-
The Bone Lady
P.S. I'm pretending Vaughn's Mother kept her maiden name
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They don't' know. A lot of people assume that it wasn't me who found him. But they don't' know. The pain of his memory startles me in my most pleasant and haunting dreams. Forever he will be my first teacher and my first burden.
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The blood tainted his skin, soaking in like a sponge. Gnarled scrapes ran up and down his arms, and a dark red ring was burned into his skin. It was obvious it had been torture. His face was warped, eyes open, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. His hands where still in the air scratching an imaginary wall. He looked so broken and lost. William Vaughn, officer of the CIA, father of 2, and husband of Marie Delorme, was dead.
As a little a boy he had asked his mother why daddy looked so beaten. He was a little catholic boy then. He thought the devil had punished his daddy for loving God. Today it seemed almost logical, Irina Dereveko seemed to be the mortal incarnate of Satan
He was coming home from baseball practice. His father was supposed to be home already waiting for him. They where going to go to the park. It was a ritual for them (at least it was when William was there). After practice, or after school, either way they always walked through the park together just taking in the scenery. Last year for Christmas Michael had gotten an English Cocker Spaniel puppy as a present. After a week of indecision they named him Harry, after his mother's influence, whenever they saw the pup he was always dirty, his mother constantly called him Dirty Harry, it stuck quite well with the pup. Ever since then they would through sticks in the park with Harry, enjoying the normal father son bonding. Today was different.
Michael walked in, noticing an unfamiliar smell in the air. Chivers spiraled down his spine, he noticed how much more pungent the air seemed. The familiar barking of Harry startled him. Usually he only barked when the mail man came or when Mrs. Delorme came home. His mother wouldn't be home for another hour, she was a teacher and was probably tutoring a student after school. And the mailman came every day at 11:00 am. Delivering the mail at 4 was much to late for him.
He stepped further into the house, noticing the knocked over book shelf and the slovenly look of the nearby kitchen. That wasn't what struck him as odd though. Up stairs he could hear a voice, he couldn't' define it as male or female. But the seductive and deranged nature of it etched itself into Michael's memory. Inside his mind told him to run and scream. To do something at least. He was a little boy, not yet the genius man he would become, but he already knew to listen to his instincts. Many times it had saved him from past endangering occurrences, the scary neighbor, the time he got stuck in the tree and so on. His trustworthy instincts told him to run, but for some strange reason he cut that voice out of his head.
Slowly he walked up the stairs. The sight of his little cocker spaniel slowly came into view. Harry was howling away. His tail was tucked in between his legs. He cowered slightly, afraid of an imaginary force. Michael reached out to touch the poor dog, but immediately Harry began to step back, horror of some unforeseen act latched into his brain.
Michael didn't try to comfort his dog, his eyes distracted by a small metal object. He slowly moved closer to it anxiety rising up. Examining it closer, he could see a sharp pointed edge, the part the made him even more scared was the blood glistening on it. It was still fresh. You didn't have to be a forensics expert to be able to figure that one out.
Then he heard a small noise, not from Harry, that he could tell. He turned only to see a black figure holding a gun. Terror filled his heart as he silently began to pray. If he was going to die this way, then surely he will go to heaven he thought. Confusion filled him when he realized several minutes had passed and still a shot had not been sounded. The figure wasn't clearly defined as a women or man either, who ever it was they where slim and wore clothes not incredibly revealing. A black bulletproof vest and a mask hid his or hers face, and black baggy pants and shirt held no way of helping in finding the identity of this person.
Suddenly the person pulled the trigger, he looked down to where he felt the pain, surprisingly though he did not see a bullet wound, instead a small vile with a needle and liquid slowly leaking into to his body was seen. His vision began to blur as the masked person ran toward a nearby window jumping out. He turned his head lethargically terrified of what was happening to him. His vision worsened as he opened the door to his parents room, Harry following meekly behind. There was his father. Body on the ground, blood was slowly engulfing the surrounding carpet. His hands looked as if they where frozen in the air. Slowly he walked closer to his father. His feet began to give out on him. Drunkenly he fell to the ground inches away from his fathers white eyes still staring in front of him. Everything became black the last thing he remembers is looking back at Harry who was howling even louder then before.
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When he came back to conciseness the arrows on his father's clock read 6:00 it had been nearly two hours since his terrifying encounter with what was presumed to be his father's murderer. He almost forgot until he slipped on his father's blood toppling onto William's degraded body. A scream of terror pierced through the silenced air. Slowly he stood up, blood stained permanently onto his clothes. He turned and faced his father again, this time an envelope caught his eye. He walked over to his parent's bed where it lay, carefully avoiding his fathers body. Gingerly he picked up the note. Written plainly in bold letters was the name Michael. He hurriedly opened it hoping that some how it was a letter from his newly deceased father, maybe he had thought ahead of his impeding death and wished for one last connection with his son.
Unfortunately Michael and his naiveté were very wrong. Opening the envelope he pulled out a small note written very quickly. Sharp acute letters looked back at him as Michael attempted to piece together the words, he was only 8 and not a very good reader.
Dear Michael-
I was only doing my Job.
I'm sorry. Please don't'
Try to understand. It will
Only hurt more.
Even in his childlike mind, which was only beginning to understand the difference between right and wrong, knew that this was a poor attempt to justify his father's murder. He couldn't' take it anymore, the smell of his father's body began to send waves of nausea through his body. Harry was no where in sight, there was no one to help him. His mother obviously was late from work and wouldn't' be home soon. The young boy's mind began to crumble, reciting in his head words that wrecked his innocence. My father is dead. My father is dead. My father is dead. He began to back up to a corner in the wall feeling incredibly caved in. He sat down knees up being held by his hands. His whole body rocking back and forth as sobs shook his body. To his confusion he heard the same words that where circling in his head spoken out loud, only to realize that he was the one saying the haunting words.
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An hour later a neighbor stepped in with Mrs. Delorme. Mrs. Delorme had car trouble and waited until the neighbor could come to the school and help, she left 4 messages on the machine. No one had picked up the phone, but she wasn't to worried. But as she stepped inside the house she knew something terribly wrong had happened. She dropped her shopping back with out a care and ran upstairs scream the name of her son and husband. When she walked into her bedroom the most excruciating image met her.
Little innocent Michael was covered in blood reciting words that where barely a whisper. What lay before her was the ghastly murder of her first and only love, William Vaughn. Today was truly the worst day of her life. Earlier she had found out she was pregnant, she was coming home excited to tell the news to her husband and son. Sadly Mr. Vaughn would never get to see his darling daughter, Florence Seville Vaughn. He would never see a lot of things ever again.
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Michael quickly shook himself out of that memory of the horrible day, nearly 16 years ago. He always wondered if it was really Irina Derevko that had killed his father. Or was it just another pawn in the world of espionage. If it was her then why would she leave such a inappropriate note. Why? His head was filled with this one word question for years. Today he finally had the nerve to ask it.
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The last part of this will be on Irina's and Vaughn's Conversation……..shall be interesting yes?
Sorry for any spelling or grammatical errors