Playing God
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Sometimes lies are worth telling. SV angst. Season 3. 1 of 1.
Spoilers: S3
Ship: Syd/Vaughn
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Alias.
Author's note: Sorry, I know that it's a little unpolished. Constructive criticism greatly appreciated. If you're looking for a soundtrack, I suggest Walk Away by Ben Harper, She Says by Ani Difranco, and Split Screen Sadness by John Mayer.
Even she doesn't understand how her passion, her determinedness to come out on top survived as long as it did. Her life as it used to be, sweetly flawed, morphed into something disturbingly bizarre. She shouldn't have tried to be so strong. The drinking binges, hidden hangovers and reliance on old friends felt right, as did her renewed dependence on her father. The tears that threatened to explode from her eyes when she was washing her hands in the public bathroom or buying apples from the smiling supermarket clerk in a green apron: these somehow fit. The nights spent with Weiss, before they both wised up, when her midnights were spent getting drunk and trying her hardest to fuck him. (He always was too good for her or Vaughn. They didn't deserve such a loyal man looking out for them. Sometimes she wished he was as weak as she was, just so she could have had some kind of comfort. However, her corruption wasn't destined to touch him.) Of all the things that she had, these vices and weaknesses fit her best. But her strained politeness to the other woman did not fit at all. Neither did that time she kissed him, and he pulled away with a deep well of pity and regret and shame in his eyes. These things were too contrived for the likes of her, and she was too good for them. And, (she tried to tell herself) she was too good for him.
She tried, for a time, to just walk away. She listened devotedly to all those pop songs that told her about moving on, but in the next breath talked about "eternal love." What bullshit. But she tried, by buttoning up her new jackets and combing her hair in the office bathrooms. This "moving on" would be good for her.
Eventually, her resolve faded.
When she thinks of how she was strong like that, it occurs to her that she should be curled up in a mental ward by now. She should be in a bar, looking to get something stronger than alcohol. She should be waking up with a different man every morning and not quite remembering their names. She shouldn't be waking up in his arms once again. But her strength failed her. When she couldn't rid herself of her love for him (no matter how many drinks she had or times she snubbed him or pep talks they gave her), she just went outside the system. She was tired of being that person, so she fixed it.
(Two wrongs make it all all right tonight) She decided, without informing him, that she would erase his memory of his past two years, just as someone had done to her. He would wake up in a strange house with her, confused and disjointed by her surprised expression and strange hair color. All he would remember was the night before "Santa Barbara" was supposed to happen. But when she says something like "how did you survive?" or "how did you find me?" he will begin to realize that something is wrong. Eventually, he will find the scar from (the time she stabbed him to save them both) when he "died."
She tells him about the "accident," whatever lie she contrives that would have had her believe his death, and how she was put in a twisted kind of hiding, where now he will join her. And he accepts this as truth, because it comes from her lips and he has never known her to tell him anything else. Back in the days of SD-6, she risked her life and reputation to tell him everything. Why should it be any different now? He settles into their life in this new city and, from the first smile he gives her, she starts to settle too.
They somehow live the life they were never given the chance to lead before. It's almost like back when they were dating, except for the new names and constant fear of discovery. Also, even though he has no idea he was ever married, she can recall in perfect detail that night that Weiss told her all about the wedding. She can remember Lauren's face, as much as she tries to forget. So their life is almost what it would have been, except she strives not to remember every untruth she has told him. And there are no parents, no congratulatory dinner parties with Weiss and his new sweetheart. And there is never any talk of children, because having a little Sydney or a little Vaughn living in this fear with them is just painful to imagine.
The things that are the same, or better, about their new life override the bitter truth completely. It's no contest. For hours at a time, she is able to forget how he gave up on her once, how she has lied to him every day since she took him back. A kiss every time they separate, holding his hand in the parking lot, waking up with him in a tangle of sheets and skin and realizing they forgot to get dressed after they tore each others' clothes off last night. No gnawing conscience can disturb that bliss.
So when he briefly recalls hints of his nights spent in the arms of another woman, he will assume it was his shame, an accident because he didn't know who he was or what he was doing. She will keep the secret that, in reality, he did no wrong. He was married to that other woman, shared a life with her. Unlike Sydney, the other woman had a ring and no lies behind her eyes to remind her of who she really was.
Vaughn doesn't deserve his shame and Sydney doesn't deserve any of the precious new life.
. . . Because she, when she is being straight with herself, lied to him. She doesn't deserve his trust and happiness.
. . . Because not suffering the pain of being apart means more to her than suffering the pain of forcing him to live this life, and forcing him to look over his shoulder wherever he goes.
. . . Because she didn't try hard enough by herself to earn any part of this life. And it would haunt her forever. It really would, if those lonely, isolated weeks hadn't melted her conscience away. Maybe if she hadn't modeled herself after her father's disregard for morality wherever his daughter was concerned.
But sometimes lies are worth telling. Definitely, the lies that led to this life were worth telling. She realizes this when he lightly strokes her wrist where it feels best, when he bakes her a cake, when he apologizes in words and flowers for not leaving a note and making her worry. And she knows that he may not be telling her everything, even now, but being with him is enough this time. Selfish? Probably. But she never claimed to be a hero. She ignores the warnings that he may have discovered what she did to him. She revels in her ignorance and thinks that if he has found her out, she could just erase it again. The principles by which she once lived dissipated along with her trust in the United States government and her belief in an ultimate right and wrong. She doesn't mind playing God, as long as he is her angel.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summary: Sometimes lies are worth telling. SV angst. Season 3. 1 of 1.
Spoilers: S3
Ship: Syd/Vaughn
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Alias.
Author's note: Sorry, I know that it's a little unpolished. Constructive criticism greatly appreciated. If you're looking for a soundtrack, I suggest Walk Away by Ben Harper, She Says by Ani Difranco, and Split Screen Sadness by John Mayer.
Even she doesn't understand how her passion, her determinedness to come out on top survived as long as it did. Her life as it used to be, sweetly flawed, morphed into something disturbingly bizarre. She shouldn't have tried to be so strong. The drinking binges, hidden hangovers and reliance on old friends felt right, as did her renewed dependence on her father. The tears that threatened to explode from her eyes when she was washing her hands in the public bathroom or buying apples from the smiling supermarket clerk in a green apron: these somehow fit. The nights spent with Weiss, before they both wised up, when her midnights were spent getting drunk and trying her hardest to fuck him. (He always was too good for her or Vaughn. They didn't deserve such a loyal man looking out for them. Sometimes she wished he was as weak as she was, just so she could have had some kind of comfort. However, her corruption wasn't destined to touch him.) Of all the things that she had, these vices and weaknesses fit her best. But her strained politeness to the other woman did not fit at all. Neither did that time she kissed him, and he pulled away with a deep well of pity and regret and shame in his eyes. These things were too contrived for the likes of her, and she was too good for them. And, (she tried to tell herself) she was too good for him.
She tried, for a time, to just walk away. She listened devotedly to all those pop songs that told her about moving on, but in the next breath talked about "eternal love." What bullshit. But she tried, by buttoning up her new jackets and combing her hair in the office bathrooms. This "moving on" would be good for her.
Eventually, her resolve faded.
When she thinks of how she was strong like that, it occurs to her that she should be curled up in a mental ward by now. She should be in a bar, looking to get something stronger than alcohol. She should be waking up with a different man every morning and not quite remembering their names. She shouldn't be waking up in his arms once again. But her strength failed her. When she couldn't rid herself of her love for him (no matter how many drinks she had or times she snubbed him or pep talks they gave her), she just went outside the system. She was tired of being that person, so she fixed it.
(Two wrongs make it all all right tonight) She decided, without informing him, that she would erase his memory of his past two years, just as someone had done to her. He would wake up in a strange house with her, confused and disjointed by her surprised expression and strange hair color. All he would remember was the night before "Santa Barbara" was supposed to happen. But when she says something like "how did you survive?" or "how did you find me?" he will begin to realize that something is wrong. Eventually, he will find the scar from (the time she stabbed him to save them both) when he "died."
She tells him about the "accident," whatever lie she contrives that would have had her believe his death, and how she was put in a twisted kind of hiding, where now he will join her. And he accepts this as truth, because it comes from her lips and he has never known her to tell him anything else. Back in the days of SD-6, she risked her life and reputation to tell him everything. Why should it be any different now? He settles into their life in this new city and, from the first smile he gives her, she starts to settle too.
They somehow live the life they were never given the chance to lead before. It's almost like back when they were dating, except for the new names and constant fear of discovery. Also, even though he has no idea he was ever married, she can recall in perfect detail that night that Weiss told her all about the wedding. She can remember Lauren's face, as much as she tries to forget. So their life is almost what it would have been, except she strives not to remember every untruth she has told him. And there are no parents, no congratulatory dinner parties with Weiss and his new sweetheart. And there is never any talk of children, because having a little Sydney or a little Vaughn living in this fear with them is just painful to imagine.
The things that are the same, or better, about their new life override the bitter truth completely. It's no contest. For hours at a time, she is able to forget how he gave up on her once, how she has lied to him every day since she took him back. A kiss every time they separate, holding his hand in the parking lot, waking up with him in a tangle of sheets and skin and realizing they forgot to get dressed after they tore each others' clothes off last night. No gnawing conscience can disturb that bliss.
So when he briefly recalls hints of his nights spent in the arms of another woman, he will assume it was his shame, an accident because he didn't know who he was or what he was doing. She will keep the secret that, in reality, he did no wrong. He was married to that other woman, shared a life with her. Unlike Sydney, the other woman had a ring and no lies behind her eyes to remind her of who she really was.
Vaughn doesn't deserve his shame and Sydney doesn't deserve any of the precious new life.
. . . Because she, when she is being straight with herself, lied to him. She doesn't deserve his trust and happiness.
. . . Because not suffering the pain of being apart means more to her than suffering the pain of forcing him to live this life, and forcing him to look over his shoulder wherever he goes.
. . . Because she didn't try hard enough by herself to earn any part of this life. And it would haunt her forever. It really would, if those lonely, isolated weeks hadn't melted her conscience away. Maybe if she hadn't modeled herself after her father's disregard for morality wherever his daughter was concerned.
But sometimes lies are worth telling. Definitely, the lies that led to this life were worth telling. She realizes this when he lightly strokes her wrist where it feels best, when he bakes her a cake, when he apologizes in words and flowers for not leaving a note and making her worry. And she knows that he may not be telling her everything, even now, but being with him is enough this time. Selfish? Probably. But she never claimed to be a hero. She ignores the warnings that he may have discovered what she did to him. She revels in her ignorance and thinks that if he has found her out, she could just erase it again. The principles by which she once lived dissipated along with her trust in the United States government and her belief in an ultimate right and wrong. She doesn't mind playing God, as long as he is her angel.