Gone
By Celli Lane
Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome.
celli@fanfiction.net
Category: Angst (and lots of it); Alternate Ending for "Q
and A"
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: Up through "Q and A."
Summary: More Vaughn POV, more shippy angst.
Archiving: Primarily on my fic site, http://www.geocities.com/hcdoom/
Otherwise, just let me know where so I can come visit it.
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various other
people with lawyers.
Sadly, this means Vaughn will never be mine. I'd take Eric as a
consolation prize...
Warnings: Character death, AU.
***
I check my watch for probably the twentieth time. Bristow
called a half hour ago and said
to get to the warehouse ASAP. Where the hell is he?
Finally, a car pulls up. I am not going to go running out
there to see if Sydney is with him. I
stare blankly at the ground until I hear footsteps. Just one set.
"Where's Sydney? The pilot has been calling me every ten
minutes. The FBI is going to figure
out where she's headed if we wait much longer. What--"
Then I get a good look at his face. Bristow is fifty-three
years old; right now he looks decades,
centuries older. Shit.
"What happened? ...Jack?"
He drops into a chair. "They knew. Someone knew what car she would be driving."
Son of a...Haladki. I am going to destroy that weasel's career
if he's hurt Sydney. "She's back in
custody?"
"No."
"I don't--"
"They chased her to a pier. She was blocked in..."
He's slumped over, and it suddenly occurs to
me that he hasn't looked me in the eye since he walked in here.
"She drove in."
"She's in hiding?"
"No."
"Missing?" No. No, no, no!
"She...they found her--found Sydney in the car with her seat belt still on."
"No. It's a trick. SD-6--"
"Vaughn." Now he looks me full in the face, and I
wish he hadn't. "I just got back from the
morgue. It's no trick."
I'm halfway out the door by the time he finishes the sentence.
***
By the time Bristow catches up with me, I've already got my
trunk open. "What the hell are
you doing, Agent Vaughn?"
I check the clip before sliding it back in. Precise, efficient
movements; my hands are not shaking
in the slightest. "I'm going to Sloane's house. I'm going to
knock on his door. When he answers it,
I'm going to shoot him."
"You might as well shoot yourself while you're at it."
"I don't care. Sydney wanted him dead. This is the least
I can do for her." This is all I can do for
her.
"Vaughn--"
"You need to get out of here. Sydney's de--what happened
to Sydney will probably blow both
your covers wide open. It's time for that flight to Switzerland,
Mr. Bristow." I slam the trunk shut
and start to walk away.
"Goddammit!" Bristow grabs me and throws me against
the side of my car. "Listen to me! If you go
after him now, it's all for nothing!"
"Not nothing!"
"Not enough!" He eases off a little. "Right now
I'd gladly blow all of SD-6 to hell. And the DSR for
good measure. But it's not enough."
I straighten up, and he backs a step away. "What, then?"
"The mission--" His voice breaks, just for a second.
"This mission is the only thing Sydney and I had
in common. Destroying SD-6 and the Alliance."
"You can't stay in. You can't keep going."
"I can. With your help."
***
Six months later
University of Southern California
I'm sitting on a bench next to one of the many fountains on
the USC campus, pretending to read a
Russian Literature book and trying to ignore the feeling of my
new haircut. Eric says the longer hair and
the bleach job make me look ten years younger. I say they make me
look like an idiot.
There's someone in front of me, blocking out the sun. I look
up and nearly swallow my tongue when I
see a familiar face. Shit, it's Dixon!
"Michael Vail?"
He doesn't know me. Right. Breathe, Vaughn. "Yeah?"
"I'm Mark Dickens. I'm a recruiter for the United States
government." He holds out a business card.
"Do you have a moment?"
It feels weird to smile, like I haven't used the muscles in six months. "Have a seat, Mr. Dickens."
"The good news is I'm better
For the time we spent together
And the bad news is you're gone..."
--"You're Gone," Diamond Rio
--the end--
Author's Note: Again, thanks to Lizbet (aka Rhiannon); this
story owes a great deal to her "Alternates."
Also to Jen, for the weekly phone calls that save my sanity. I am
better for the time we spend together.