Title: Of Eyeliner and Nose Rings

Author: Dream Writer 4 Life

Genre: Hangst — humour/angst

Rating: PG for...I don't know, but I refuse to say this is G

Archived: SD-1, FanFiction.Net, and Cover Me. Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive

Spoilers/Timeline: Missing scene during 3.18 "Unveiled", so there are some spoilers if you haven't seen up 'til that point.

'Shippers' Paradise: S/V (seriously, do you even need to ask anymore?)

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Period. End of story. Wait, no it's not! Keep reading!

Suggested Soundtrack: Whatever the hell they played during that club scene in the episode; that was kick-ass. Otherwise "Whisper, "Everybody's Fool", and "Farther Away" by Evanescence and "Tourniquet" by Marilyn Manson (that's the only song I know by him, so sorry if it doesn't fit at all)

Summary: Syd and Vaughn on the plane to Berlin getting ready for the techno club. Missing scene from 3.18 "Unveiled". A Dream Writer Experience.

Author's Note: I have no idea what this is. It originally started out as a fluff piece tied to a heavy base, but the characters kinda ran away on me. I wasn't even going to write this, but as it was still in my head on Monday morning after the episode, I decided to write it. Let's just say that procrastination can be productive. And you can quote me on that.

Of Eyeliner and Nose Rings

"You're kidding me."

"I'd really like to meet the guy who comes up with these disguises."

"You're kidding me!"

"'Cause then I'd give him a piece of my mind...And maybe a concussion."

"YOU'RE KIDDING ME!"

"Or a black eye. That lasts longer."

Vaughn lost the power of speech as he fingered his studded black leather jacket. He and Sydney were on the plane headed to Berlin and getting their aliases together. 'Dixon said we might need extra time to get ready, but this is ridiculous,' She thought, running a hand over her own disguise. They were going to a club; that, they knew. But, as both of them were too afraid to ask, neither of them knew what kind. The two of them had bad experiences with clubs: the one in Taipei where they were separated and Vaughn was exposed to the virus; the most recent one in Berlin as well where the attire was more suited for the bedroom.

On, impulse, Sydney pulled out the dossier provided by Dixon and read it quickly. Groaning, she tossed the manila folder across the aisle to Vaughn. "It's a techno club. Of the gothic kind."

Looking up from the folder he asked hesitantly, "As in studs, eyeliner, and nose rings?"

"Yeah." They stared at each other, both on the verge of incredulous laughter. They hadn't had a mission like this in...years. That unpleasant reminder of her Missing Time made Sydney return to her alias's clothing. She picked up her black corset and tugged at the strings on the front. "What do you think her name is? Amy Lee?"

Vaughn chuckled lightly, setting the file on the seat opposite him. "I know his name: Marilyn Manson."

This made Syd laugh once loudly before covering her mouth with both hands. When he looked at her with his eyebrows raised in bemused confusion she explained, "You're not nearly that white to pull him off. Or nearly that strange."

"You have to admit," He countered, scooping his clothes in his arms and moving to sit across the table from the other agent, "this is kind of funny. I mean, not that long ago I was posing as Sark! How do you go from that to Marilyn Manson with a tan?"

She merely shook her head in response. Taking a good look at both of their disguises, something bothered her about them; something wasn't quite right. Yes, she did have a short skirt; yes, she did have fishnet stockings and tall leather boots. But...ah ha! She jumped up and took off down the aisle towards her luggage. Finding her carry-on, she lugged it back over to her seat, laid it next to her, and began digging.

"Syd?" He asked cautiously, attempting to peer into the bag. "What are you doing?"

"Hold on." She extricated a pair of black nylons, a burgundy t-shirt, and a pair of scissors, inspecting each before laying them on the table. Out of a side pocket, she produced a travel-sized sewing kit. Vaughn continued to stare as she cut the toes off the nylons, and then separated each leg at the hip. She proceeded to cut ovals along one side of each leg. Moving on to the burgundy shirt, she explained her actions as she cut long, vertical strips from the torso of the clothing. "My outfit was missing something, namely arms. I saw some teenagers with sleeves like these back in L.A. Hey, you don't happen to have any black thread, do you? I'm all out." He shook his head, still staring at her flying fingers in shock. Sighing and shaking her head, she began sewing the strips where the toes had been. "That's okay; I'll just use blue. Why don't you put on your clothes and we'll see if there's anything to add."

As if in a daze, he clutched his outrageous clothes close to his chest and headed towards the bathroom to change.

Syd had her 'sleeves' finished in a flash. Deciding to change right there, she stripped quickly, shimmied into both the fishnets and skirt, strapped herself into the corset, and slipped the homemade sleeves onto her bare arms. Sweeping away her previous utensils, she replaced them on the table with her make-up bag, mirror, and the wig she pulled down from the overhead compartment. Slipping the toes of one leg of the mutilated nylons over her ponytail, she took the display head into her lap for scrutiny. It was shoulder-length and black, but Syd wasn't sure if that was the right look for this Amy Lee knock-off. Remembering those gothic teenagers from her hometown, she began haphazardly braiding random sections of hair, doing her worst possible attempt at dredlocks. She'd gotten at least five completed before Vaughn stumbled out of the bathroom decked out in his disguise.

Dressed head to toe in black, he had his studded leather jacket over a black concert t-shirt featuring a German band. But there was one aspect that Sydney had a major problem with, and she addressed it quickly and bluntly. "Your pants are way too tight."

He blushed self-consciously and shuffled his feet as he approached their seats. "I never though I'd hear someone complain about that."

She frowned at him playfully as she abandoned the wig, rose, and circled her fellow agent. "I'm serious, Vaughn. They're too tight. I've never seen pants so snug on a gothic before."

"And I suppose you socialize with these people often, then?"

Playfully swatting at his arm, she stopped circling behind him. 'If only we weren't on a mission at a techno club,' She though ruefully. 'Then I'd get to admire those jeans a bit more.' She mentally slapped herself; this was definitely not the time to be thinking about him in that way; he'd already made his decision as to whom he wanted to be with, and that wasn't her. As much as she absolutely abhorred that decision, impressing him with her creativity (as she was doing then) wasn't going to change anything. 'You need to back off, Syd,' She told herself, squeezing past him to her seat and successfully resisting the urge to pinch his ass. 'Just do what you have to do. Nothing more.'

"Well?" He prodded, attempting to sit comfortably in the seat across from her. "Is there anything you can do for me, doctor?"

It was hard to put aside the impulse to tease him back ("No, and I'm afraid you'll never be able to play the piano again, either"), but as she refocused her attention on plaiting the wig, it became easier. "Not unless you've got about ten feet of extra black material, zippers, snaps, and bondage straps." She slapped herself mentally again; she even thought before she spoke that time. So much for detaching herself.

Vaughn held back a chuckle — which ended up a snort — as he stretched his legs into the aisle. "I'm not even going to ask."

There was silence for a time as Syd steadily plugged along on the wig; she almost thought he had fallen asleep. She allowed herself to sneak looks at him, trying to convince herself that they were to assure he couldn't add anything to his appearance. Of course it wasn't the real reason; at least until she glanced up at his hair. She grimaced, but continued tweaking the wig.

"There's something else wrong, isn't there?"

His voice scared her, making her jump slightly. Locking gazes with his now-open eyes she asked, "Why do you say that?"

"I saw that look," He replied, sitting up straighter. "It's the hair, right? Do I need to spike it? Or-or dye it?"

She laughed genuinely, remembering how he hated dying his hair, as she tied off the end of a braid. "I think spiking it would do. I've got gel in my bag if you need it."

He found the bottle, turned the make-up mirror towards him, and began styling his hair. She giggled quietly at his amount of concentration: his forehead wrinkles were parading across his façade full-force. She was mildly surprised there was no marching band or banners accompanying them.

"Put those things away," She suggested, flicking her eyes towards the folds. "You'll need them more when you put on your make-up."

His face instantly paled. "Make-up?"

Stilling her hands, she laughed again and dumped out the contents of her make-up bag. "Of course. You didn't think I was going to be the only one using an entire stick of eyeliner, did you?" He groaned loudly as he gave up wrestling with his hair and capped the gel bottle. Deciding to take pity on him, she brandished a black eye pencil and turned the mirror to face her. "How's this," She offered, leaning towards her reflection, "I'll demonstrate—" She thickly outlined her eyes and slathered black eye shadow around them as well "—and you copy." She handed the pencil to him over the table.

He took it rather reluctantly, spinning it betwixt his fingers like it was a lit stick of C-4. After giving him the mirror, she returned to the wig, keeping one eye on him to make sure he didn't stab himself. But before he could get very far, another possible addition to their ensembles struck her, and she dove back into her bag. Upon extracting about a pound of metal jewelry (including rings, bracelets, necklaces, chokers, and even earrings), she glanced back at Vaughn and very nearly keeled over in laughter. He looked across the table at her like a deer in headlights. "What? What did I do?"

She held up a hand to stall him so she could catch her breath. Shaking her head in disbelief, she finally squeaked out, "You're supposed to outline your eyelashes, not your eye socket!"

He had drawn a circle about half an inch greater in diameter than he had to, and Syd broke down laughing again.

Frowning in consternation, he threw the pencil down the aisle and slumped down in his seat. She recovered herself quickly, seeing how much it bother him that he couldn't apply make-up. "Hey, look at it this way," She offered, drying her tearing eyes without smearing her make-up, "at least no one will ever think you were a cross-dresser." He threw her a Look under his eyebrows, and she sobered further. "Vaughn, it's really easy to fix. C'mere." Both of them leaned in over the table, and Syd licked her thumb and smudged the lines in towards his lashes. Uncapping a container of liquid eyeliner, they locked gazes as she dragged the small brush along the outline of his eyes. He shivered under her touch; whether it was because of her or the cool liquid, she didn't know. She prolonged the action, relishing her close proximity as long as possible.

When she finished, she was not the only one loath to part.

Vaughn peered into the mirror, obviously perturbed at his reflection. "I look like a raccoon."

She painted a dark shade of lipstick on her lips and neglected blotting before replacing the make-up bag into her carry-on. "Do they look like raccoons?"

"Yes."

"Then you're fine." She smiled at him as she retrieved her eye pencil and sat back down. "Take some necklaces and bracelets, maybe a ring or two. These people wear a lot of jewelry."

He began poking and prodding through the pile, and eventually extracted five necklaces, four rings, and five bracelets, all having metal as a major component. As he started layering them on he asked, "Why do you have all this stuff? Did you buy it before we left?"

"No," She replied matter-of-factly, picking out her own jewelry. "That's part of my regular stash. I need those back, by the way." She began sweeping the rejects back into her bag, but paused when she came upon small matching hoop earrings. Glancing across the table, she caught Vaughn's gaze and smiled devilishly.

"Whatever you're thinking, the answer is no," He protested immediately, his raccoon eyes widening in horror.

Syd turned on the charm and smiled sweetly at him. "Oh, come on, Vaughn. I'm not saying to wear them on your ears—"

"—That's even worse! —"

"—Just your nose. And lip."

"Absolutely not."

"Please?" She stuck out her overly made up bottom lip, and she could feel his resolve crumble. He begrudgingly stuck out his head, and Syd deposited the small, metal rings in the centre of his palm.

"This is worse than that sex club. Remember that?" He reminisced, hooking one hoop around his lower lip and the other around his right nostril.

She was surprised he remembered as well, and she smiled genially. Before she could check herself she replied, "You never did get to wear that teddy."

For the third time that plane ride, she mentally slapped herself, and was one step away from really slapping herself. Or just jumping out of the plane altogether. His face drooped in remembrance, and he sat up straighter as if to rise above the sea of sadness flooding into the conversation. To break the interminable stillness, she plucked up the wig and fitted it over her nylon-clad scalp. "Forget I said anything," She whispered, rising and making to go to the galley.

Like the tongue of a chameleon, his hand darted out and latched onto her elbow. "Syd, don't—"

"I said forget it," She repeated, her threatening tone chased by an upturned note of sadness. She didn't want to hear what she knew he was going to say: a rationalization of his choice. Just like that time three years ago when he tried to explain away his involvement with Alice, she just did not want to hear it. For once, she would settle for a mystery, a deficiency of information. She didn't want to hear why she wasn't good enough to choose.

But he wouldn't let her leave this time.

His grip on her elbow was steady, strong. Locking eyes he whispered, "She's grieving right now. She doesn't have anyone else to turn to."

Her retort almost jumped off her tongue before she could stop it. Almost. The temptation to reveal her suspicions about Lauren was overwhelming, and the words teetered on the edge, held up by a measly summer breeze. So she bit it — her tongue — and waited to see if he would let her leave without having to flip him over his chair.

No such luck.

He rose to stand in front of her, the grip on her elbow still relentless. "She needs me right now, Syd. You remember what it's like to lose a parent."

'She didn't "lose" him; she murdered him!'

"I'm her husband. And she needs me. She really needs me."

She almost cleaved her tongue in two as she tried to keep her suspicions from tumbling over into the great abyss. Using all her will power, she nodded slowly, and he guided her back to their seats.

Syd finished re-packing her carry-on and was lacing up her boots when Vaughn spoke again. "Too bad Weiss isn't here. I'd kill to see him in a mohawk and studded collar."

She allowed her laughter to conceal the real reason for her tears.

END