Title: Three Names
Author: Duck
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13 for language and suggestive theme
Ship: Syd/Danny, Syd/Noah, Syd/Vaughn
Timeline: Anytime after "Snowman"
Distribution: Cover Me, and anyone else that wants it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias, or anything connected to it, (besides a few books). Although, if the world were perfect, Michael Vartan would belong to me.
Summary: Cover Me January Challenge: An addiction, a plane crash, and the words, "The trick is to keep breathing."
"Slut"
"Whore"
"Siren"
You've heard it all before, in many different languages, and it has the same effect on you. None at all. The only difference is the truth. You are those words. You have become them, trying to find something. Someone. You are looking for someone to fill your heart, because it empty.
Or shattered. And now you realize it's not repairable. It never has been.
Your heart had been whole at one time.
But now you listen to a horde of angry women insulting you, thinking of how to painfully kill each one. You don't, but you think about it. They have a right to be furious, you slept with their husbands, their boyfriends. You were the town whore, and you got caught.
The women have quieted from their curses, and one petite woman asks tearfully, "Do you have a heart?"
No. You do not have a heart. Your conscious is clear of emotion and feeling. Even the colors have faded to a dull gray.
They stare at you, waiting.
"My heart has been ripped from my chest. Three times."
Third times the charm. You know it's gone for good now.
The woman is speaking again, and you try not to listen, but her words slice through your barrier. "We all get our hearts broken. They mend."
It almost makes you want to laugh. Your heart is not broken, you realize. It's just gone. And it can't be repaired, because it doesn't exist.
Danny took part of it.
Noah took some too.
And Vaughn. Vaughn stole what was left.
None of them deserved to die the way they did. One in a bathtub, one with an ice pick in his chest. And Vaughn. He died in a freak plane crash. A plane that had been monitoring your activity during a mission. The last death had pushed you over the edge, making you run as far and as fast as you could.
And you became that woman at the bar. The siren in the red dress. The one who bought men drinks and invited them to your apartment. You started buying sheets everyday, because you always had to throw them away from the night before.
You thought the sex would stop the aching, but it only made it worse. It became an addiction, one you hate.
"How do you do it? Live like that?" Another woman asks.
You reply sarcastically, with a thin smile on your lips. "The trick is to keep breathing."
And you remember the first man, and the battle you fought to keep from crying out a name. Three names.
Danny
Noah
Vaughn
Three men you loved, and lost. That saying, tis better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. Bullshit. You would rather never loved, than lost three times.
And you know, from the hollowness of your chest, that you are cursed. So you ran, where no one knew you and you could curse others.
Because your life was ruined.
You selfishly want others to feel your pain. To lose the ones they love.
After all, you've saved the world. It owes you the pleasure of seeing others suffer as you have.
*Fin*
A/N: This is my first shot at angst. Please let me know if I should stick to fluffy smutty fun.
*Duck
Author: Duck
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13 for language and suggestive theme
Ship: Syd/Danny, Syd/Noah, Syd/Vaughn
Timeline: Anytime after "Snowman"
Distribution: Cover Me, and anyone else that wants it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alias, or anything connected to it, (besides a few books). Although, if the world were perfect, Michael Vartan would belong to me.
Summary: Cover Me January Challenge: An addiction, a plane crash, and the words, "The trick is to keep breathing."
"Slut"
"Whore"
"Siren"
You've heard it all before, in many different languages, and it has the same effect on you. None at all. The only difference is the truth. You are those words. You have become them, trying to find something. Someone. You are looking for someone to fill your heart, because it empty.
Or shattered. And now you realize it's not repairable. It never has been.
Your heart had been whole at one time.
But now you listen to a horde of angry women insulting you, thinking of how to painfully kill each one. You don't, but you think about it. They have a right to be furious, you slept with their husbands, their boyfriends. You were the town whore, and you got caught.
The women have quieted from their curses, and one petite woman asks tearfully, "Do you have a heart?"
No. You do not have a heart. Your conscious is clear of emotion and feeling. Even the colors have faded to a dull gray.
They stare at you, waiting.
"My heart has been ripped from my chest. Three times."
Third times the charm. You know it's gone for good now.
The woman is speaking again, and you try not to listen, but her words slice through your barrier. "We all get our hearts broken. They mend."
It almost makes you want to laugh. Your heart is not broken, you realize. It's just gone. And it can't be repaired, because it doesn't exist.
Danny took part of it.
Noah took some too.
And Vaughn. Vaughn stole what was left.
None of them deserved to die the way they did. One in a bathtub, one with an ice pick in his chest. And Vaughn. He died in a freak plane crash. A plane that had been monitoring your activity during a mission. The last death had pushed you over the edge, making you run as far and as fast as you could.
And you became that woman at the bar. The siren in the red dress. The one who bought men drinks and invited them to your apartment. You started buying sheets everyday, because you always had to throw them away from the night before.
You thought the sex would stop the aching, but it only made it worse. It became an addiction, one you hate.
"How do you do it? Live like that?" Another woman asks.
You reply sarcastically, with a thin smile on your lips. "The trick is to keep breathing."
And you remember the first man, and the battle you fought to keep from crying out a name. Three names.
Danny
Noah
Vaughn
Three men you loved, and lost. That saying, tis better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. Bullshit. You would rather never loved, than lost three times.
And you know, from the hollowness of your chest, that you are cursed. So you ran, where no one knew you and you could curse others.
Because your life was ruined.
You selfishly want others to feel your pain. To lose the ones they love.
After all, you've saved the world. It owes you the pleasure of seeing others suffer as you have.
*Fin*
A/N: This is my first shot at angst. Please let me know if I should stick to fluffy smutty fun.
*Duck