Prerequisites
By: Ellie (Chshalogrl)
Rating: PG
Summary: Syd takes her own advice.
A/N:-
The insomnia is back. This was written over the past few (late) nights. Every
time I sit down to update "TEIP" or "WWCH", I end up writing a new fic. I think
I just must be on S/V overdrive in anticipation of their reunion. This is
something a little bit different, but I've really enjoyed writing it. I hope
you like it.
Thanks to DarlingSaila for the partial beta! You rock, my dear.
Dedications: To my beloved Blossom286 because she's a wonderful
friend and an amazing author. I have such high hopes for you, my dear. You are
truly a strong, beautiful, and special person. I feel so privileged to know
you...and to have spoken with you on the phone! And to Angvau57
because it was her writing that motivated this fic in the first place. This is
my "Ode to Angela". :)Hope it doesn't
disappoint.
Prerequisites
The light from the television flickered throughout the living room like an
eerie strobe as she sat hunched over the files on his coffee table. The
anonymous program was on mute, as her television always seemed to be, and she
offered no more attention to the figures on the screen than the occasional
upward glance and sigh over the lack of quality television programming.
Tracing the circular rim of her shallow glass, she gripped her evening cocktail
and gave it a gentle shake before raising it to her lips and draining it of the
amber liquid. With a quick flick of her wrist, she dumped an ice cube into her
waiting mouth and bit down on it with delicious force before frowning at the
drops of condensation that now marred the file in front of her.
Reed, Lauren.
The name caused her lip to curl disgustedly as the thought of the pain her
deception had caused for Vaughn. It was certainly no surprise to anyone privy
to her family history that she was vehemently opposed to swallow missions. To
lie, cheat, and steal was one thing. Such tasks were a part of her
jobdescription and she did them well. But to do so under the
pretense of loving someone and building a life with them. And Vaughn was
proof of her one-time belief in the purity of love.
She sighed softly as she imagined what he was doing at that very moment. Since
discovering Lauren as the mole, he had been assigned to maintain the charade of
their marriage and to act completely oblivious to her alliance with The
Covenant. It had been agonizing to see another woman wearing Vaughn's ring,
accepting Vaughn's kisses, laughing at his terrible jokes. But even now, she
just wasn't sure that the pieces would ever fall into place for them. Fate
seemed to have an assortment of plans for them and it looked as though their
romance was and always would be a short-lived one.
She gave an indignant grunt when she felt her eyes aching with the weight of
her tears. She hadn't cried in at least two days and she was fairly certain
that her body had been thrown off by such an irregularity. Slamming the file
closed, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared dazedly at the
television.
A hockey game was on now.
In one instant, she had repossessed the remote control from between the
cushions of the couch, and began flipping furiously through the channels, her
thumb pulsing against the button in near involuntary motions as she blinked to
the rapid beat of the blinking screen.
The doorbell pulled her from her catatonia. And heaving a sigh of defeat, she
lifted herself to her feet to see who could possibly have come to see her.
* * * * * * * *
He stood awkwardly in front of flat, dark green door and stared at the worn
brass fixtures with a timid eye. Fiddling with the square item in his hands, he
leaned a bit to his left in an attempt to discover some evidence of her current
state. The blinds were folded against the windowpane, letting only the dimmest
bit of light flicker through the cracks. She must be watching television.
Turning the item over, he glanced quickly at the short list he'd read several
times over since discovering the item in her old bedroom.
Jack had never been overly fond of Michael Vaughn. He'd worked with and
respected Bill Vaughn, so he'd tolerated the younger agent out of respect to
his deceased father, but his skepticism had never failed when Agent Vaughn had
been assigned to Sydney's file. Still, he
couldn't deny the successes the pair had achieved during their partnership and
he wasn't surprised when their professional pairing had transitioned into
something much more intimate. Sydney had never seemed so
happy and after the disappointment he had caused her throughout her childhood,
Jack certainly wasn't in a position to intervene.
So he watched from an onlooker's perspective as his daughter fell more and more
in love with her handler. He noticed the twitch in her lips when their gazes
would cross during debriefings, the eager bounce in her step when the couple
walked side-by-side, and he was mindful of the concern etched deeply into her
features when Agent Vaughn would find himself in a volatile situation. However,
Jack had been so fixated on the evidence of his daughter's emotions that he had
never quite realized just how mutual the feelings were.
It had taken the sight of the sobbing man sitting amongst the rubble of his
daughter's house for him to realize the depth of Michael Vaughn's feelings for
his daughter. So he had pulled him up from the mounds of ash and soggy
splinters of wood to exorcise the demons that one inevitably faced after losing
the one they love.
It had taken the sight of this grieving man sitting in the center of his
bedroom whispering desperately to the pictures around him for Jack to realize
that Michael Vaughn might just drown in the depth of those feelings.
Nearly 3 Years Earlier
No one had answered the door. Out of concern for Vaughn's devastation, Jack
had jiggled the doorknob to the apartment only to find that it was open. With
silent steps, he ventured through the unfamiliar space to the near-silence of
the whistling air conditioner. The clatter of glass against glass was the
betrayer of Agent Vaughn's whereabouts and Jack moved quickly down a short
hallway. He halted in the doorway of a bedroom where he was met with the sight
of the familiar figure huddled next to a bottle of liquor and a multitude of
photographs spread across the plain, gray carpeting.
It wasn't until Jack cleared his throat that Vaughn even acknowledge
his presence.
"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was raspy as though he'd been
screaming ceaselessly for the weeks since Sydney's death. Though his
eyes were bloodshot and watering heavily, he was cleanly shaven as he ran a
hurried hand over his exhausted countenance.
"The door was open." Jack paused. "I'm pleased to see, Agent Vaughn, that in
all of your self-destruction, you've still managed to keep tabs on your razor."
Vaughn's eyes widened slightly before the hand was back at his cheek, his own
thumb brushing across the cleft in his chin in a motion that looked remarkably
like a lover's gesture. "Sydney doesn't like when I
don't shave every day. Stubble irritates her skin." He glanced down towards the
photographs. "Right, Syd?"
And in a moment of terrifying enlightenment, Jack moved towards the pile of
photos and leaned down to survey the creased and glossy images of his daughter.
Sydney. As
he had never seen her before. Living the parts of her life that he
hadn't been a part of. Sydney
smiling shyly for the photographer. Sydney laughing gleefully as
Vaughn sneaked a pair of "bunny ears" behind her head.
He watched as Vaughn took a swig straight from the long-necked bottle before
snatching a photo of Sydney on ice skates. And
Jack was startled to find his throat swelling with pain as his daughter's
drunken beau began to whisper. "I bought you a pair of skates, Syd. They were
supposed to be a surprise, but I couldn't wait. Let's go try them out later.
Okay?"
Silence seemed to be a good enough answer for Vaughn as he nodded in
satisfaction before taking another drink.
He'd known then and there that Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow had been meant
to be together. He didn't like subscribing to such ideas of fate and destiny,
and he certainly didn't relish the idea of pushing his daughter back into the
arms of another man. Especially when he had only recently
become accustomed to having her in his own embrace. But he was more than
willing to give her that nudge if it meant that he could hug her without having
to worry about drying her tears. Some might say that his moral code was more
than slightly scrambled, but his daughter had never failed to be first and
foremost in his thoughts. He would do this for her.
With a gentle hand, he lowered the small item to her doormat, firmly pressed
the doorbell, and moved swiftly out of sight.
* * * * * * * *
Her front door was swollen in the cool evening air and she offered a silent
apology to her waiting visitor as she pried it open. A wave of cool air chilled
her as soon as she stepped out into the open and she found herself rubbing her
bare arms as she looked around, puzzled by her empty doorstep. Probably just some teenaged prank. Taking one more
look around, she turned to go back inside and finish her pity party in silence.
But an impulse caused her to glance down at her bare feet and her brows lifted
slightly at the sight of a small book laying flat on her doormat.
She was suspicious at first. She was, after all, a spy. And mysterious packages
tended to be the reddest of flags in the world of espionage. But at closer
examination, she was startled by the familiarity of the object. Picking it up,
she moved quickly back into her apartment before slamming and locking the front
door behind her.
Sinking back into the comfort of her couch, she turned the blue book over with
a sense of awe. And she felt a small smile tug at her lips as she traced the
embroidery of the front cover. She knew exactly where the book had come from.
It had been one of the castaways in her move from her father's house to her
college dorm and she hadn't seen it since that fateful day.
She knew her father had left it for her. But what she didn't know was why. So
she decided to start from the beginning and as she pulled the stiff front cover
open, she found herself transported to another world.
*
*
*
April, 1988
The day was supposed to be special. She'd dreamed all
night about waking up to her mother's smiling face, pink and purple balloons,
and perhaps a springtime bouquet carefully selected by her father. It wasn't
everyday a girl turned thirteen after all.
But with the sound of the day's weather blaring over the speakers of her clock
radio, she knew that her dream was just that. So she buried herself beneath her
lavendar comforter with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and willed herself to
return to the fantasy land where her mother was singing "Happy Birthday" and
her father was making a special batch of chocolate-chip pancakes…just for her.
"Sydney! Breakfast!"
The shrill voice of Olivia, her live-in nanny, diminished any hopes of luring
herself back to sleep and, with a sigh, Sydney threw the edge of her
blankets away from her body and proceeded with her normal morning routine. Just another day.
Olivia was a now graduate student working towards her PhD in Child Development
and had been hired by Sydney's father following her
mother's death. While Olivia was quite a skilled nanny in most respects, she
wasn't quite as proficient in her culinary skills, and Sydney couldn't hide the
grimace that appeared on her face as she arrived in the kitchen.
No bouquet. No balloons. No parents.
Instead she was greeted by a plate of burnt scrambled eggs, soggy toast, and
pulpy orange juice. The perfect start for birthday to forget.
Sitting down in her chair, Sydney couldn't help but pout
slightly. Surely her friends would remember that she was thirteen today, but
she certainly couldn't help but be disappointed at the lack of celebration in
her own house.
"Breakfast okay?" Olivia moved to stand behind her and began to divide Sydney's hair in preparation
for her usual French braid.
"S'fine." Sydney replied glumly.
"Your dad was sorry he couldn't he here today, but he left this for you."
Sydney brightened slightly at
the mention of her father and turned to Olivia with a hopeful smile. "He got me
a present?" Her hopes were immediately dashed however as she caught the
apologetic expression on Olivia's face as she handed Sydney a check before
tying off the long, brown braid.
A $100.00 check made out to Sydney Bristow, the words "Sydney Birthday"
scribbled across the 'Memo' line.
Sydney stared at the check
with disappointment before heaving a sigh of boredom and letting it drop to the
table. She continued to poke and prod at the inedible breakfast when a small
package wrapped in pink paper slid across the table to appear in front of her.
Sydney glanced up at Olivia
in surprise.
Olivia shrugged good-naturedly. "Happy Birthday, Syd."
Feeling her spirits lift just the tiniest bit, Sydney chewed excitedly on
her bottom lip as she tore into the paper and freed a small blue book from the
wrapping. Turning it over to examine it, she smiled at the pretty, blue-denim
cover with the neatly stitched daisy on the front. Flipping through the thick
pages, she found that she was slightly intimidated by their blankness. But she
smiled at Olivia and nodded. "Thank you."
Olivia nodded. "You're growing up. A girl your age needs to start writing the
important things down. Someday, a long time from now, you'll want to remember
who you were when you were young." Olivia gestured towards the book. "That will
tell you who thirteen year-old Sydney was. And what she
wanted." She glanced towards the grandfather clock in the living room.
"But you're going to be late if you don't get going."
Nodding, Sydney quickly scooped up the
journal and dropped it into her backpack. And as soon as she arrived in
homeroom, she tugged it from her backpack and chewed thoughtfully on her pen.
Dear Diary…
No. Too dumb and babyish. Sydney shook her head. Anne
Frank had given her diary a name. And she'd written as though she were talking
to her best friend. Sydney quickly erased the
words and thought about the person she wanted to share her deepest and darkest
secrets with. It wasn't a difficult decision.
Dear Mom…
*
*
*
Sydney grinned as she read some of her first
entries. Because Olivia had mentioned writing down the "important things",
she'd spent a good portion of her thirteenth year trying to write things that
seemed important. She had attempted to sound more intelligent and grown-up by
discussing books and future goals. It wasn't until she was nearly fourteen
years old that she began to open up to the journal as though she were truly
speaking to her mother.
Brushing her fingertips across her tongue, she turned several pages before she
finally settled on a specific entry.
*
*
*
June, 1990
Dear Mom,
I can't believe that I've finally finished my first year of high school. I was
so scared when I started because I thought that I would never fit in. I've
always felt like I seem to blend into the background. Maybe it's because I do
blend into the background when I'm here at home. Sometimes I don't think that
Dad even knows I'm here.
The other day I was almost in an accident. My friend Lisa's brother, Jake, was
driving us home from school and a driver ran a red light. Luckily Jake saw the
driver coming and he managed to slam on the brakes. He's a really great driver.
And he's really smart too. He made sure we were okay before he brought me home.
But when it happened, all I could think was that I didn't know who would go to
the hospital for me. Probably Olivia. And I love
Olivia. But she's not Dad. Or you, Mom.
And even though we weren't actually in an accident, I was scared. And I cried
when I got home. Would Dad cry if I died? Would he come to the hospital to
visit if I got hurt? Part of me wished that I had gotten in an accident so that
I could see if Dad really loves me. Maybe I sound like a baby, but I just
wanted him to hug me and tell me that it was alright. But he was busy. He was
in his study. He didn't even come out to say hello or ask me about my day.
Lisa came up with this idea the other day. She made a list to describe her
perfect boy. I thought it was stupid at the time. I even teased her a little
bit. But I think I know what the first thing on my list would be.
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.
That's not too much to ask, is it? Is that stupid? I think it might be stupid.
But that's what I would want.
~Sydney
*
*
*
She could remember the near-accident like it had been only yesterday. An
Aerosmith song had been assaulting her through the car's speakers and the vinyl
seats had been sticky against her legs. She could still feel the lurch of the
small vehicle and the deafening squeal of the brakes as they'd skidded into the
intersection. And she could still remember the terror she'd felt as she sat
alone in her room trying to discern whether or not her father would have been
sad to see her go.
Funny how things change.
Funny how Jack Bristow was now the most important man in her
life. Even funnier was the fact that he'd made such an odd late-night
delivery to her apartment. But captivated by her younger self, she kept the
pages turning, and she smiled when she saw another familiar selection.
*
*
*
October, 1990
Dear Mom,
It's been a long time since I've had so much fun! A new girl transferred into
my English class recently. Her name is Francie Calfo and she is one of the
nicest people I've met in a really long time. We got paired for a presentation
on Hamlet and we've really gotten to be good friends. I think we might even end
up being best friends. It's nice because Lisa has been acting so different
lately. She's got a new boyfriend and she never really has time to spend time
with me.
I spent the night at Francie's last night and her family is so wonderful. Her
parents always know what's going on in her life. She hates it and she tells me
that they're nosy, but I tell her that she's lucky. I don't even think Dad
knows that I'm first in my class. My teachers have been telling me that I
should consider applying to some Ivy-League schools. Maybe it would be nice to
get away. But I still have two years to think about it.
Anyway, Francie's parents took us miniature golfing and we had a blast! Her dad
was so funny. He kept cracking all sorts of bad jokes and Francie was totally
embarrassed. Afterward, we went back to her house and watched some videos. We
told each other a bunch of embarrassing stories and we tried to make a cake.
Apparently, you aren't supposed to turn the electric mixer on high when it's in
the cake batter. Even Mrs. Calfo couldn't help but laugh when she saw us
covered in chocolate.
When I left, they told me that I was a lot of fun. They said that I can come
back anytime. I never realized how much I love to laugh, Mom. I think that's #2
on my list. Remember? The list for the perfect guy?
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset
2. Someone who can make me laugh
I think that this list might take awhile.
~Sydney
*
*
*
Sydney couldn't keep herself from laughing out loud
as she recalled the cake-baking debacle. She and Francie had often reminisced
over the memory. And so had Mrs. Calfo. But just as Sydney was delighted by the
memory, she was also devastated by the fact that her best friend was no longer
there to laugh with. Francie would have loved to read through the old journal
with her. Especially she they both had starring roles in her entries. Blinking
in an effort to dry her moist eyes, Sydney attempted to shake her
emotions out of her head and she settled her focus on the next few entries. She
knew exactly where she would find her #3.
*
*
*
December, 1991
Dear Mom,
I can't believe I'm finally writing this.
I finally have a boyfriend. I'm sixteen years old and I finally have a serious
boyfriend. Francie says I'm long overdue. She says that I intimidate guys
because I'm smart, but I think that's just the excuse people use when they
don't know what else to tell you. But he's a really nice guy. His name is
Zachary McMartin and he asked me to go to Winter Ball with him. I don't know
what I'm going to wear, but I'm going to have to pay for it myself because I
don't want to have to ask Dad for the money. Francie told me that she'll go
shopping for a dress with me. She's going to the dance too, of course. She's
seeing a football player named Hank. I think we're all going to rent a limo and
go together.
I think that one of the reasons that I really like Zach is because he's really
smart and serious about school. It's nice to be around someone who knows about
literature and enjoys math. He doesn't think I'm a nerd. He challenges me to do
even better in school. And he makes me want to reconsider the possibility of
applying to Ivy-League schools. He's a senior so he's already applied to
college. I'm sure he'll be able to go anywhere he wants. He's really a great
person and I can't believe that he wants to be with me.
Don't look the gifthorse in the mouth, I guess.
I haven't kissed him yet. And I'm kind of nervous about that. The last time I
kissed a guy was during a stupid game of Spin-the-Bottle at Lisa's house. It
definitely didn't count. And it's always different the first time you kiss
someone new. I really like Zach, Mom. I think I could love him someday. I
really want to be a better person when I'm around him. And he made me realize
what I want #3 to be.
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.
2. Someone who can make me laugh.
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.
He's all three of those things. I can't wait until Winter Ball!
~Sydney
*
*
*
Sydney could practically feel the butterflies of
excitement that had been flitting around her stomach when she had written the
entry. Zach McMartin had been her first love and, though she knew how things
ended, she wouldn't change the feeling of being in love for the first time for
anything. There was nothing in the world as euphoric.
Except for true love.
And she found herself thinking of Vaughn.
But such thoughts didn't last long as she brought her knees toward her chest
and let her chin settle upon the soft flannel of her pajama pants. Hugging her
legs to guard herself from a sudden chill in the room, she let out a soft sigh.
First love was euphoric. First heartbreak was devastating.
*
*
*
May, 1992
Dear Mom,
I can't believe I'm still writing in this ridiculous journal. I know it's a
childish thing to do, but I don't really have many options when it comes to
sharing matters of the heart. I feel stupid crying to my friends about this.
And I'm certainly not going to talk to Dad. I'm so alone, Mom. I just feel like
I don't want to go on anymore and I've never felt that way before in my life.
If this is what happens when you fall for someone, I hope that I never fall in
love again! Because it hurts. And I don't know if I
could ever handle this kind of pain again. I don't know if I can handle it now.
Zach broke up with me. I thought that everything was great between us. We
decided to go to the prom together and I bought a new dress, got my hair done,
and even got a manicure. He took me out to the most romantic dinner before we
went to the dance. And he was so wonderful to me that night. He told me that he
loved me and that he was going to miss me when he went to Yale in the fall. He
told me that he wanted me to apply to Yale so that we could go to college
together. And then he surprised me by telling me that he had gotten a room at
the Hyatt for the night. So we went back after the dance and we ended up
spending the night there. I was so nervous, but he was so sweet. He made me
feel beautiful and special.
And now I feel careless and stupid.
That was last weekend. He broke up with me yesterday. He says that it's because
he doesn't want to be tied down. No other explanations. I'm so disgusted with
myself! I really thought that he loved me the way I loved him. And I know now
how idiotic I've been. I've always thought of myself as being smarter than the
types of girls who let guys take advantage of them. I guess I was wrong. I hate
myself for being so vulnerable. I hate that Zach knows some of my most personal
secrets. All I can do is cry. I'm not hungry and I can't sleep. I'm pathetic
and weak. I hate this version of myself. And I hate that I'm so alone that I
have to write all of this in a stupid journal.
I've got another addition to the list.
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.
2. Someone who can make me laugh
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do
4. Someone who respects me.
I'm starting to think that this guy doesn't exist.
~Sydney
*
*
*
Sydney felt her throat tighten at the familiar pain
and despair that still saturated the scribbled words. She traced a nostalgic
fingertip across the blotted remnants of the decade-old teardrops and pressed
her lips firmly together. With a pang of maternal sympathy for her heartbroken
teenaged self, Sydney let her eyes flutter
to a close and let her mind roll back to the first time she'd been faced with
the loss of a love.
She could practically feel the thin cotton of her nightgown between her
fingers, its pale pink darkened with her tears as she lifted the hem to dab at
her eyes. She could have sworn that the thick purple pen was still shaking her
hands. And she could almost feel the pressure of her smothered sobs as she
tried to hide the noise from her father's detached curiosities.
If someone had asked seventeen year-old Sydney
whether it was possible to feel anymore pain that the suffering she had
experienced in that moment, the answer would have been an unwavering 'No'.
If only the chain of losses in Sydney Bristow's life had started and ended in
1992.
If only she had been spared the horrors of working for Arvin
Sloane and of losing Danny, the terror of losing two years, and the numbness of
seeing Michael Vaughn in a committed relationship with another woman.
Wetting her fingertip with her tongue, she continued to flip through the pages,
and she smiled as she skimmed the entries that documented her slow but steady
recovery her first painful breakup. Her smile faded somewhat as she realized
that she was reaching the end of the journal entries…and the end of her
childhood.
It seemed more than coincidental that the spine of the small book was cracked
down the center causing the pages to flip to the last entry in her makeshift
biography. She remembered this entry more clearly than any others. And not just because it was the most recent. Sydney found herself suddenly
fixed on an image. Her eighteen year-old self in a dark-blue cap and gown,
sitting at her child-sized desk, scratching a furious epilogue into the
cream-colored pages.
*
*
*
June, 1993
Dear Mom,
It may be clichéd for me to say so. But I did it! I'm graduating from high
school today. Most people say that high school flies by. But these have
definitely been the longest four years of my life. I was out for a run the
other day and I was thinking about all of the important things that have
happened over the past few years. All of the firsts.
And as much as I wish that I didn't go through them by myself, I know that I'm
stronger for it. And I know that I'm ready to start at UCLA this fall.
I have to keep this pretty short because Dad is waiting downstairs to drive me
to the ceremony. He's actually coming. And Olivia is bringing her new husband
with her. I'm so excited to see her and to meet him! But I just have to say…as
much as I feel that I'm ready for the real world, I'm also scared. Surviving
high school alone is one thing, but the world is a scary place. I'm not sure an
eighteen year-old girl from a gated community in Southern California is equipped to handle
all of the obstacles in life…no matter how well she did in high school.
This is going to be my last entry in this journal, Mom. I've been writing the
important things here since I was thirteen and I'm eighteen now. I know that
I've complained and called it childish, but the truth is…sometimes I really
feel like I'm talking to you when I write here. So for my last entry on my last
day of high school, I want to make a request. I guess you could call it a wish,
although I'm not sure I believe in wishes. I'm scared. I have a feeling that
there's a lot that I'm going to be facing now that I have to be a grown-up. I
need someone to protect me. Someone to watch over me and care
about my well-being. Maybe someone I could talk to…kind of like this.
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.
2. Someone who makes me laugh.
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.
4. Someone who respects me.
5. Someone who will protect me.
I guess that's it. That's my list. Five years and five
prerequisites later.
Dad's calling me so I've got to go. Wish me luck.
~Sydney
*
*
*
The front and back covers of the denim journal sat in
her palms and she clapped the two ends together in tidy punctuation to her
reading. Her eyes were rough from exhaustion and her fingertips were sensitive
from the constant scraping against the journal's coarse pages. She glanced
towards the glowing digital display on her VCR and squinted slightly as her
eyes adjusted to the bright numbers. She'd been reading for nearly four hours
and it was after midnight. She surprised herself
with a sudden yawn and reached up behind her to pull the fringed blanket from
the back of the couch. Tucking its edges around her slim frame, she began
playing with the silky strands that bordered the fabric before she turned over
on her side to eye the book as it rested on the coffee table.
A satisfied sigh whistled from her lips and she relished the feeling of
relaxation she felt as she let her eyes close and her muscles loosen. There was
just one thing on her mind as she felt herself being pulled toward the warm
embrace of slumber. She just couldn't seem to get the "list" out of her mind…
*
*
*
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.
*
*
*
"It's not your fault. How could any of us have known?"
Though they had been sitting upright on the couch just moments before, they had
eventually adjusted to the more comfortable spooning position, and the movement
of his lips against the back of her neck rustled stray flyways that had slipped
free from her ponytail.
"I know that. But knowing doesn't make the guilt go away." She turned over in
his arms and glanced upward. "I should have known Sloane's style. He's an
eye-for-an-eye kind of man. Maybe we could have put Diane in protection or we
could have…"
"There's nothing we could have done." He cut her off with firm words and a
stubborn frown. "You work every day to bring justice to Arvin Sloane. You're
one person, Syd. And while you're the most capable person I know, it doesn't
change the fact that there's only one of you." He paused when he saw her eyes
narrow slightly and he recognized the slight tremor in her lip as she tried to
keep her emotions in check. Gently, he tightened his arms around her middle and
pulled her up until her face was even with his.
"It's just…the kids. What if something were to happen to Dixon? And I don't know how Dixon is going to function
without Diane. I keep telling him that he'll be okay…" Her voice hitched
slightly as she sniffled. "I just hope I'm right."
Vaughn gave her a genuine smile before raising a hand to the moisture on her
cheek. "He'll be okay. With someone like you as a friend, how could he not be?"
* * * *
2. Someone who makes me laugh.
*
*
*
"Touchdown!"
Both Will and Vaughn threw their arms up in defeat and groaned loudly while
Sydney and Francie high-fived each other.
"Why didn't you tell me that they were star powder-puff players?" Vaughn
inquired of Will.
It was a beautiful spring day in Los Angeles and as a means of
celebrating a rare day off, the foursome had decided to hit the park for an
invigorating game of touch football. Unfortunately for Vaughn who had declared
it 'Guys vs Girls', both Sydney and Francie were rather accomplished handlers
of the pigskin.
Huddling together in preparation of their next strategic play, Sydney was oblivious to her
surroundings. So it was fairly safe to say that she wasn't ready to be
bulldozed by her rather bitter nemesis in an attempt for vengeance. After
charging her full-tilt, Vaughn had scooped her up and over his shoulder before
tackling her to the ground for an all-out sparring match.
The battle didn't last much longer than a minute or two before their pokes and
punches turned to tickles and caresses. Sydney's shrieks of laughter
had captured the attention of both Will and Francie who observed from a few
feet away. Just as Sydney was charming Vaughn
with a dimpled grin, both heard Will call out
uncomfortably.
"So…anyone know any jokes?"
Vaughn sat back on the grass and pulled Sydney up with him before
turning to Will.
"A grasshopper walks into a bar…"
* * * *
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.
*
*
*
Sidling up to the desk in the small office, Sydney cleared her throat to get
the attention of the man poring over a stack of papers before she moved to seat
herself on his cluttered desk. His gaze started at legs that were dangling from
the desk's edge and allowed it to rove upward until he was looking her in the
face.
She smiled when his eyes found hers and raised her eyebrows playfully when she
saw that he'd loosened his tie and rolled his shirtsleeves up.
"Long day, Agent Vaughn?"
He sighed before nodding. "Actually, I'm glad you came in. I was looking over
the details you submitted for the operation in Prague. I think there are
some details that we need to go over and reconsider."
Sydney blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's not a big deal, Syd…"
'It is a big deal. I can't believe you're telling me how to do my own
assignment. Those plans are fine, Vaughn. Where do you come off deciding
otherwise?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she challenged him with her
narrowed eyes
"I'm not some smitten schoolboy, Sydney! I'm not going to accept
less-than-perfect just because we're together! Especially where your safety is
involved."
"Are you suggesting that I'm using our relationship as an excuse to scrimp in
my work?"
He shook his head in complete frustration before letting out an irritated
groan. "I don't know what I'm saying! There's never been a moment that I
haven't been aware of your intelligence, Sydney. But sometimes I think
that your stubbornness and your brilliance are at complete odds with each
other. I'm just suggesting that we look over these specs together to see if
there's any way we can improve them."
"You know what they say about too many cooks, Vaughn." She responded dryly.
He glanced up from the folder and sent her a withering glare. "Your experience
is in the field. It's your responsbility to accept the fact that things won't
always go as planned. But I have a little bit more experience than you do when
it comes to planning missions. You have to account for every possible outcome.
I just think that there a few scenarios you might not have considered." He
shrugged slightly as though to assure her that his comments were nothing to be
angry about.
Rolling her eyes, she lifted her shoulders in a relenting motion before
remarking playfully.. "I guess this means that we're
going to have a late night tonight."
"I guess so."
She regarded him carefully before continuing. "Vaughn?"
"Yeah?"
"You really think I'm brilliant?"
* * * *
4. Someone who respects me.
*
*
*
She felt like one half of a high-profile, celebrity couple. While she and
Vaughn had been trying ceaselessly to keep their relationship under wraps,
there had finally come an occasion when such secrecy just wasn't necessary.
When Vaughn had requested that she accompany him to an employee's dinner party,
she'd asked him if he was insane. After he had assured her that he wasn't, she
had agreed. So they had arrived arm-in-arm at the impressive two-story home and
with their subsequent displays of devoted affection, they'd managed to put the
rumors to rest.
Yes. They were a couple. No. They really weren't a very exciting one.
So after a pleasant dinner and some friendly conversation, Sydney had managed to escape
the clutches of the other women so that she could go in search of Vaughn.
Moving casually through the tastefully decorated home, she was relieved to hear
his familiar voice echoing from the nearby den, and she was about to enter the
room when she realized that they were discussing work. Rolling her eyes over
the men talking shop at a social gathering, she decided to wait outside until
there was a break in conversation so that she could snatch Vaughn and make a
getaway.
"I think I'll talk to Devlin about that. He might have some input since we've
got some rookies that don't seem to know right from left." A man's voice
finished.
"You know, I think I'll discuss this with Sydney. I'd really like to
get an agent's perspective on it before we take it any further. She's the best
we've got right now. I've never met anyone who seemed so naturally suited to
field ops. She's unbelievable with the improvisation and she's sharp. She's
saved my ass more than a few times." He admitted.
Sydney froze in the hallway
when she heard her name. And she couldn't keep herself from blushing as she
listened to Vaughn singing her praises.
Another man spoke up, "And it doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous."
Vaughn responded with a chuckle. "No. It doesn't. But that's not why I respect
her…"
* * * *
5. Someone who will protect me.
*
*
*
Soothed by the steamy cocoon she'd created during her hot shower, Sydney wrapped herself in a
terry robe before staring into the cloudy mirror. Raising a fist to the wet
glass, she wiped the condensation away until she had a clearer view of herself.
With caution, she pulled the front edges of the thick material apart and she
frowned at the sight of her skin, mottled with bruises from her latest mission.
The shower had helped to relieve some of the stiffness in her muscles, but she
had yet to discover a way of remedying the post-mission ache that never failed
to appear over every inch of her body. She was so busy with the task of
assessing every mark and bruise, that she didn't hear the bathroom door open or
feel the sudden trickle of cool air that had leaked into her makeshift sauna.
It was only when another pair of hands appeared from around her waist that she
glanced over her shoulder to see Vaughn with an expression that could only be
described as something between tender and horrified.
"Syd…" Her name wasn't much more than a breath on his lips and she could hear
the hurt in his voice. "God, Syd. Why didn't you tell me?"
She shrugged and fell into her habit of playing down her injuries to avoid
further discussion. She knew by the scolding look in his eyes that he wasn't
falling for it.
"I'm sorry." He said solemnly before letting his lips hover over her
towel-dried skin.
"For what?" She glanced back at him in surprise.
She could almost feel the dampness of her hair seeping into his shirt as he
leaned in to answer.
"I'm supposed to protect you. When you're hurt, it means I'm not doing my job."
*
*
*
* * * *
Not even two hours passed before the high-pitched screech of skidding tires
managed to wrench her from the pleasant assortment of semi-conscious
remembrances she seemed to have unleashed. As her upper-body snapped forward,
the warmth of her blanket fell into her lap and left her bare arms exposed to
the chilly night air. She didn't notice her own shivers however as she reached
through the dark and felt for the embroidered denim of the journal. Once she
had the book safely within her grasp, she kicked at the blanket and scurried
blindly through her living room to flip the light switch.
The sudden burst of brightness was a insult to her
sleep deprived eyes and she groaned slightly before raising a hand to block out
the intrusion. Journal still in hand, her bare feet slapped heavily against the
kitchen flooring, and she impatiently rooted through her junk drawers until she
found the felt-tipped marker she'd been in search of.
Lifting the pen triumphantly, she let the journal fall open to her last entry,
and she turned the page to one of the few remaining blank spaces. Pausing for a
moment to consider whether or not her actions would be completely idiotic, she
shrugged off her indecision and plucked the cap from the pen. Then, in her very
cautious script, she dated the page and began to write.
* * * * * * * *
Michael Vaughn couldn't sleep. He hadn't truly had a good night's sleep since Sydney had returned.
Emotional baggage tended to frighten away any semblance of restful slumber. But
since he had discovered Lauren's duplicity, he truly hadn't been able to do
more than let his eyes fall closed while his mind continued its wakeful
activity.
Tonight was certainly no different, he thought. And he forced himself to focus
his attention on the re-run of the Kings game that he had discovered at such an
obscene hour of the night. Following the quick-moving puck with a weary eye,
Vaughn found himself thinking of Sydney. Lately, he wasn't
sure there was a time that he didn't think of Sydney. Though he knew that
he was required to remain wedged in Lauren's uncomfortable charade, he couldn't
help but fantasize about all the ways he would have reunited with Sydney if given the chance.
He wasn't a complete idiot. He'd acted like one. But he wasn't. He knew that
she'd been understanding of his decision to return to
Lauren. But he also knew that he hadn't been the most compassionate of callers
when he'd delivered the news. So while he fantasized about kisses and dimples
and cheekbones and fingertips; he also recognized the more likely reality of a
dark-green door slamming in his face.
Not even hockey could take the sting out of that wound.
His wallowing didn't have a chance to wade any deeper in misery due to the
sudden buzzing that rattled the coffee table at his feet. The blue display of
his cellphone flashed obnoxiously and, puzzled, he glanced down at the caller
ID before quickly answering the call.
"Hello?"
"Joey's Pizza?"
Huh?
Oh.
"Wrong number."
A quick note to Lauren later, he was driving frantically towards a place he
hadn't visited since just after meeting Lauren. Lauren The thought of
her repulsed him. Angered him to a level he hadn't known was possible. And in
all of his frustration, he braked a little too suddenly, and his breath hitched
as the car lurched over some loose gravel just outside of the warehouse.
There were no cars outside and there was no sign of anyone inside as he pulled
anxiously at the cyclone fencing before stepping inside. It required conscious
effort on his part for him to block the barrage of memories that were
inevitably linked to this particular location. It had been her. He would
know her voice in a crowd of hundreds and he knew that there was a reason for
her to send him across town in the middle of the night.
The reason was sitting atop a precarious stack of crates. A
small, blue book with a daisy on the front. It was the only thing out of
the ordinary in the space and he knew, with one look at it, that it was hers.
So he picked it up with an air of reverence and he lowered himself to a stack
of crates.
And he met Sydney Bristow. The Sydney he had always wanted
to know. The Sydney who'd existed before suffering at the hands of SD-6, Arvin
Sloane, and The Covenant.
He fell in love with her all over again.
After skimming several of the entries, he lowered the journal to his lap and
glanced down as it fell open to one of the last entries. The
day of her high school graduation. The last entry in
the book. But it wasn't the last entry, he realized. He could see the
bold strokes of the next entry through the thick sheet of paper, and he turned
the page over to read the true finale.
April, 2004
The List-Final Version
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.
2. Someone who makes me laugh.
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.
4. Someone who respects me.
5. Someone who will protect me.
6. Someone I can't live without.
I thought that he didn't exist, but then I found you.
Now, I'll wait.
And he smiled.
FIN
Let me know what you think!