An Angst-Filled Comedy
by penny
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: If I owned Alias, Lauren would be viewing the world from the bottom of my wastebasket.
Summary: Loosely based on Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (great movie, you should check it out). A total AU version of season three. Vaughn is a psychologist. Sydney is a crackpot. Lauren is an Evil Mad Scientist. Weiss is a b-tch. Marshall is a sweetheart. Jack is worm food. Max is my hero.
Chapter 1: Knock, Knock; Who's There?
She feels like a stranger in her own skin -- confused, unsure… scared. Five years have passed. The Covenant held her prisoner: they tortured her, they abused her, they stole her life from her; and when she was able she worked to destroy them. Once again she filled the shoes of double agent, once again she allowed the darkness to consume her. The only difference: this time around she didn't have him. She never asked about him or anyone she loved, in a way she didn't care: it was all about the job.
At least that's Kendall's side of the story. She has no memory of it. To her it's been two weeks since she killed Allison. It's still 2003. But, it's not. It's 2008. Five years have passed and the time jump destroyed all she loved. The lack of memories subdues her: she doesn't want to remember the years, how they destroyed all she loved. Because the sole blame for what occurred is hers, and hers alone. She chose to be a double agent; she could have ended it, but she didn't. Now she pays the repercussions.
The truth has been unfeasible to comprehend, but one factor pains her like a paper cut: his absence. It is as if he never existed. No one mentions his name; when Sydney inquires they avert their eyes or change the subject. She asks questions and they don't answer.
He disappeared off the face of the Earth. What happened? Where is he? Actor? Writer? Director? Loser? Drifter? Dating? Engaged? Married? Homosexual? Bisexual? Transsexual? Metrosexual? Female? Hermit? Monk? Misanthrope? Civilian? Undercover? Transferred? FBI? NSC? DIA? NIC? ORR? OSR? OTR? Freelancer? Prisoner? Captive? Terrorist? Philanthropist? Cultist? Buddhist? Fundamentalist? Nihilist?
Or worse: dead?
The monomaniacal fixation consumes her, until it becomes an eternal flame that is begging to be quenched: if they won't tell he, she'll find out herself. On the afternoon break, she takes her lunch into one of the research centers. Logging into the system, she starts running his name against every possible Search. Only one result comes up:
Michael C. Vaughn
S. S #: 987-65-4320
348 K Street, West Beach
Santa Barbara, California, 93101
No other information, not even his CIA file. Just an address in Santa Barbara. She abandons her half-eaten chicken salad and Coke at the computer station and hastens to the parking garage. He's in Santa Barbara. iSanta Barbara/i, she repeats while she piles out of the garage and North onto the highway. Questions overwhelm her -- why hasn't he made contact? Does he know that she is alive? Is he still CIA? Does he still care? Is he dating anyone? -- to the point she looks down at the speedometer and notices she is doing ninety-five.
Getting off of the exit, she speeds towards the beach (she also praises God for GPS). She turns right, then hooks an immediate left to find K Street. 348 is at the end. She takes a deep breath, tries to remain calm and pulls into his driveway.
The house is simple: sandstone, pebble driveway, stairs to the small patio above the ground floor garage; it's accented by a clean and linear landscape. Eying the silver S2000 and hearing the waves of the nearby beach, Sydney suddenly feels overdressed in her black suit and dark eyeliner.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Climbing the stairs, she reminds herself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. How will he react if he doesn't already know that she is alive? That she's back? Shock? Joy? Rage? Will he cry? (Will she not cry?) Will there be an embrace? Will there be more than an embrace? Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
The door is cracked open. Gingerly, Sydney knocks (she doesn't see a doorbell) and opens it, placing one foot inside. A voice echoes throughout the hall: it's his; the temptation to transform to mush grows stronger. She manages to say, "HELLO?"
She hears him ask, "Now, Sid, how long ago was that?"
Her heart skips, "Vaughn?"
"Hold on for just a second." Vaughn says before shouting, "The money's on the counter. If you could just leave the food, that would be great. Thank you." Vaughn stops and starts up again, "Okay, Sid, I'm back; now, you need to calm down."
What is going on? Who is he talking to? And what about the money? Sydney walks through the hallway and notices on the counter the money he mentioned. Sydney assumes he ordered Take-Out. He's still talking to "Sid."
"I'm not patronizing you." A beat. "I can't help you if you're screaming in my ear." A longer beat. "Sid, Dr. Kerr is out of town for the weekend." Another beat. "No, I don't have his number." Beat. "Sid, listen to me."
Sydney pauses at the entryway to the living room and listens. His smooth and pacifying voice is the same as it was all of those years ago. She watches him: he sits on his couch, tapping a pen against a legal pad, with the phone pressed to his ear. Time passed him by; for he looks as handsome as ever; the only difference is now he looks better -- almost as if he's happy and carefree; the constant state of worry he lived in seems to have vanished. "I guarantee you the snake is gone."
Snake? What the fuck? All of this is about a snake? Sydney watches him curiously; he still hasn't sensed her presence. Vaughn exasperatedly sighs and looks around the room. Then he notices her. He doesn't say a word. Sydney takes a step forward, but stops when he puts up his finger signaling her not to come any closer. "Yes, I'm still here."
He scribbles something on his legal pad and motions for Sydney to come over and read it. "Sid, snakes aren't like dogs; they are not going to chase you."
She walks over to stand beside him and reads the note: Can you come back later?
Come back later? Hurt, Sydney glares at him. That's not the homecoming she had imagined. What the hell is so important about the snake that he can't get off the phone? Is she a bad person if she hangs up for him?
She replies: No, I'll wait.
"That's rather harsh. I might not be your favorite person in the office, but still. I'm not obligated to continue this conversation." He tells Sid, as he responds to Sydney: This will take a while, possibly all day.
Sydney underlines her first response. "Sid, when is your husband coming home?" Vaughn nods and writes something else: How did you get this address? Dr. Wilkinson?
"I want you to call him and tell him to come home immediately." Who the hell is Dr. Wilkinson? Sydney scribbles a retort: Who's that? I found this address in the CIA databases -- no one would tell me where you were. She adds in hesitatively. I was worried.
Vaughn stares up at her (and wrinkles his forehead). "Because, Sid, something personal has come up which I must resolve immediately."
"I know." A beat. "I know." Another beat. "Sid, call John; he only works two blocks away. He'll come home and you'll be absolutely fine."
"Good." A beat. "Same to you." He hangs up, tosses the phone aside, and rubs his eyebrows. He mutters to himself, "That is the last time I cover for Kerr."
He stands up and finally gives Sydney his full attention. "I apologize about that. Now, you say you got this address from the CIA?" He airily inquires, and his clueless tone startles Sydney. Something is wrong. His vague expression and question throw her off guard. She isn't prepared for this; she is prepared for every other possible scenario, but not this one.
"I ran a search on your name after Dixon and Weiss refused to tell me your current location. Vaughn, I…" Not caring if something odd is taking place, her instincts take over: she bolts into his arms and sobs. Initially he doesn't react; after a moment he tentatively starts to rub her back; he continues a little longer before gently pulling away from her. He doesn't have a tissue, or he'd give it to her.
Words start spilling out of Sydney: "I'm alive. I mean, I was never dead. This organization similar to the Alliance called the Covenant kidnapped me. They tortured me and tried to brainwash me into thinking I was an assassin named Julia Thorne; but I can't be brainwashed because of Project Christmas, so I pretended to be Julia Thorne and was a double agent, until I escaped, and I have no memory of any of this and I woke up in Hong Kong like nothing happened, my last memory was of Will in the bath tub and you in the car and killing Allison, and now, five years have passed and Vaughn…" Sydney catches her breath, and starts to sob again. "Vaughn, they executed Dad… He… He…" Sydney takes a step closer, yearning for him to act, to hug her, to comfort her. "Why are you looking at me like that?" Sydney breathes, confused.
Vaughn stares at her, trying not to gape his mouth. He examines her. Sydney watches the shock take over his body. He doesn't know what to do, or what to say. He starts to slowly nod. "Miss…I'm truly sorry; however I believe you're mistaken."
Sydney repeats, bamboozled. "Mistaken?"
"What is your name, you never gave it…" He asks as he walks around her and goes to his desk; in search of what, she doesn't know.
"My name?" She slowly comes out of her shock and turns right into anger. "My name is Syd. Sydney Bristow. Vaughn, I don't know what you are playing at here, but…"
He writes her name down.
"Vaughn, why are you acting this way?" She doesn't believe he would ever be purposely malicious; and any hopes of this being a joke are quickly fading.
"Miss Bristow," He doesn't answer her question, "Here's a number of a colleague I want you to call on Monday…"
"Colleague?" The room creates a nasty echo.
"I'm a psychologist."
"No." Sydney's voice shakes. "No you're not. You are an operations officer at the CIA. You were my handler before the take down; after that you were my partner: I ran point, you ran comm."
"Miss Bristow, I've never worked for the CIA." He hands her the business card.
"You think I'm crazy?"
"I think you should call that number."
"If you think I'm crazy and you're a psychologist, why can't I talk to you?"
"I'm not taking on any new patients."
"Patient? I'm not your patient, I am -- I was your girlfriend until you thought I died; I was your asset at the CIA, I…"
"Miss Bristow," Vaughn stops her in a serious tone. "I've never met you before in my life."
Vaughn walks closer and starts to lead her down the hallway and out of his house. Sydney doesn't say another word; she gapes for a few seconds and emotionlessly floats down the hall. Vaughn ushers her out of the door, and before closing it once again suggests that she call his associate.
Somehow she makes it to her car. When she gets in, she cries.
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