Title: Knowing You
Author: Ambrose Chavez
Email: agent47achavez@hotmail.com
Category: drama, general
'Ship: Sydney/Vaughn
Spoilers: go read In Remembrance of You
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters are not mine.
Notes: Sequel to In Remembrance of You (a must read to understand this fic).
Summary: Sydney visits Vaughn after deserting him.
_________________________
She left me there. In the three years that came and went, all I remember was that she left me there.
I was fed the facts: betrayal, death, murder. Jack Bristow, brilliant strategist, dead via torture inflicted upon him by his own wife and enemy, Irina Derevko. Consequently, Irina Derevko, also dead, via bullet wound to the chest resulting in irreparable damage to her lungs and heart. The assailant and suspect murder was her own daughter, double agent Sydney Bristow.
Ultimately, this led to the eventual destruction of SD-6 and dispersing of Derevko's operations, but at great cost.
I don't remember many details of that day… but I remember that she left me.
Three years later, I sit as in my office as a department head of operations – the very title formerly attributed to the late Jonathan Donahue Bristow – and gawk at the file laid before me.
Marked with blood red ink were the words: TOP SECRET. Beyond this, in bold capital letters were the words: SYDNEY BRISTOW: ENEMY OF THE UNITED STATES.
Since when did her stats change from heroine to most sought after enemy?
A few lines down, more bold letters: DAVID A. SARK: CO-OPERATOR/LOVER(?). ENEMY OF THE UNITED STATES. LOYALTIES: SYDNEY BRISTOW.
It wasn't the "enemy of the United States" part that disturbed me. It was the title of "lover" in question and his only known loyalty being recorded to the woman I once loved that captured my attention.
Nowadays, emotions were hardly a problem for me. After she left, I learned long ago to let go. I perfected the art of being cold, calculating, and essentially indifferent. Some women have a problem with it… something about my fucking being almost disturbing or thrilling. I don't care anymore.
All I cared about was bringing down the woman who deserted me for a life of underground espionage against the United States, arms dealing, drug transfers, and blackmailing. She was superb and genius with every act completed, perfect in meticulous planning and expert execution. That genius that worked against her, because I know the Sydney behind the façade.
Glancing at the aerial snapshot, I recognize almost nothing about her. Her features haven't really changed… it's just that her eyes gleam hard and empty. They're listed as 'green' though I know they're really brown. Her hair has been haphazardly cut and spiked in various directions and stained a honey color. Her lips are in a firm line, no sympathy or trace of the woman that was.
Eventually, I would figure out what to say to her when I caught her… it was all a matter of time, methodical and strategic planning.
Because I know you, Sydney Bristow, I know you.
_________________________
After I hung my coat in the closet, I started for the stairs, already yanking my tie off. I may have worked for the CIA for over ten years, but I still cannot stand the dress code.
Trooping up the steps, I note that there are rose petals scattered over them. What the hell? Instantaneously, my anger started to rise. The only other time I've discovered rose petals on my floor was when Alice wanted to celebrate my promotion. There was no cause for celebration tonight, I had a lot on my mind. Besides, hadn't I told Alice that we were long over?
With a scowl on my face, I threw open the door to my bedroom and though the window was open, I could smell the distinct scent of smoke. Since when did Alice smoke? She was sitting in my swivel chair with her back to me, but before I could say anything, I noticed my personal files were spread over my desk, each one open and exposed. Those files were located in a securely locked safe… how did she…?
Another cloud of smoke rose from in front of the chair, and a long-boned and elegant hand dropped to the left side, cigar in hand. A fairly sized burn scar was centered on the top of her wrist, and I stared at it for a moment in wonder and disgust. The chair spun and the woman who's file I carried with me stared back at me, frosty green eyes, spiky hair – blonde this time – and all.
So that explained it.
"Vaughn."
I snorted. It wasn't the most coherent or intelligent response, but it was the only one that escaped me. Here was the woman I once loved, and now set out to destroy, but she brings herself to me. Irony has no limits.
I lowered my head, tossed her file onto my bed and then place both hands on my hips. Maybe when I looked up again, I'd see that she was just an apparition and I had simply left my files on my desk. Instead, I looked up and met her gaze.
"Sydney."
I thought maybe when I saw her again, I'd be capable of separating the past emotions I felt towards her and the current bitter grudge I held. But I was wrong. Somehow the two blended and produced a sense of pain within me. The words flashed in my mind again: SYDNEY BRISTOW: ENEMY OF THE UNITED STATES.
So much for playing catch up.
I didn't even want to look at her… she wasn't the same Sydney I knew three years ago. She had changed, or perhaps she never was. I pushed the thought out of mind and tried to focus on the task at hand.
"I've been looking for you." It wasn't a complete lie. I had. The first year, I searched in desperation, worried sick that she'd be captured, held, tortured… maybe dead. Then I learned the truth. Sydney filled in for her mother's operation, raising a new and even more dangerous league of criminals. After that, Sydney Bristow ceased to be the woman I loved and became the woman I hunted.
Weiss had a saying. Something about there being two kinds of people in this world: those who chase and those who hunt. I was a hunter.
She stood and put out the cigar on her wrist – a disgusting little practice. I grimaced for her and whatever pain she might have felt.
"It doesn't hurt," she stated flatly.
I just stared at her as she walked and stopped just two feet away from me. Years ago, we stood this close and felt a strong union, a companionship and degree of trust. Now, that's all been obliterated, and we're left with feeling like shards of what had been.
"Yes, it does," I answered, not referring to the cigar burns.
For some reason, this reply caused the hollowness in her eyes to dissipate a little. She raised a hand and traced the small scar above my right eyebrow. I snatched her hand and released it to her side.
"The scar's still there." I mumbled, unreasonably angry with her.
"I can see that."
"I wasn't talking about this one." I pointed to my brow. "I was talking about this one."
She watched my hand as I rubbed it hard against my heart. Didn't she know? Didn't she understand? Didn't she feel? Or has she forgotten it all?
"I know."
She tossed the remainder of her cigar into the small wastebasket by my desk and sat down on the edge of my bed. At one time, this would have inspired lustful thoughts and blood tightening in a specific place, but not now. Not anymore. Perhaps, not ever again.
"Vaughn, I wanted to come tell you that I'm sorry."
"Oh, that old excuse? No, not buying it." I bit out harshly, walking to my closet and removing my shirt. I heard a small gasp behind me, but I didn't care. So I had a laceration on my back, dealt to me by her mother. The wound inside hurt more than the physical punishment ever had. Tossing the shirt into my hamper, I pulled out an old Kings tee. Sometimes the past was a comfort, and sometimes it was a pain.
"I left you there because I was led to believe I had a destiny."
"With Sark?"
"I had to fulfill it."
"What did that asshole do to you? Brainwash you?" I began undoing my pants. She averted her gaze – ahh, so some part of the old Sydney does exist. "The Sydney I knew would never have trusted Sark, would never have left her comrades and those she cared for behind, and would definitely never have fallen for some crap about destiny intertwined with a man who has no loyalties."
"So I changed. He's not all that bad."
"What, in bed?"
She cringed.
I stepped out of the closet, Kings tee and gym shorts on. I suddenly felt the need to go for a run. Anything to get away from this. To escape her and the inevitable capture that must take place. Regrettably, I find that I'm really too much of a coward to show disrespect in any manner towards her. I suppose I still cared for, remembered, and knew the old Syd so much that I was incapable of harming this woman who looked, spoke, and moved like her.
I sighed loudly. "Maybe now's not the time to come back with apologies, Syd. I think that time passed about two and a half years ago when I thought Sark had kidnapped you, raped you, maybe even killed you. That was back when I really believed in you."
"So you've lost faith in me?" Something in her voice forced me to look at her. For some reason, she sounded like a little girl lost, searching and hoping for a lifeline to get her out. I studied her hunched shoulders and the burn on her wrist.
By all appearances, she was a little girl lost. Sydney Bristow, once so strong and independent, had resorted to her polar opposite – weak, co-dependent, and selfish.
"I believed in the Sydney that fought for the right cause. I believed in the Sydney that was passionate about her family, her loved ones, and her friends. I believed in the Sydney who lived and breathed independency and inner strength. I believed in the Sydney I fell in love with."
Her head bobbed up and she stared at me, eyes open wide.
"But that was years ago." I added.
Her eyes filled with watery tears and I began to feel sympathy for her. This woman who left me in the cold so long ago could still bring about the softest part in me, the most sensitive side that could render me weak.
Fool, fool, I thought, angry with myself for allowing her to sneak past my defenses and feel make me vulnerable again. A part of me – the logical, CIA agent part – screamed, She's dangerous. Turn her in. Get her now. But the other part… that part she touched and changed forever whispered, Save her. You can get the old Sydney back. Now's your chance.
My heart broke for her, so I leaned down and wrapped my arms around her, sitting beside her. It wasn't the wisest decision, but I had nothing left to lose. She had carved my heart out that day she left, and she was the only one who could put it back.
"I never loved him, you know?" she sobbed into my shirt. "I never loved him. I always loved you. It was always you. I don't know why I did what I did. I don't know how I left you alone. I wanted to stay with you. I wanted to go to Rome and eat at that little restaurant you liked. I wanted to go to France and meet your parents and see your town. I wanted to run in the Louvre and study the Mona Lisa. That's what I said to you when you were unconscious. I told you that I wanted… oh God, Vaughn, all I ever wanted was you."
I was splattering noisy, messy kisses all over her face and didn't know it until she grew silent and watched me. Her tears dried and somehow my lips found hers. I'm not sure how or why, but I quit asking questions and ran with the moment.
At first, the kiss was slow and sensuous. We were testing one another, finding the feeling of it absurdly new and vastly different from any other kiss. The places where her tears dried were salty when I tasted them, and her lips were soft and welcoming beneath mine. Somewhere in the background I heard her file spill to the floor, but I didn't care. All that mattered was the here and now – Sydney and me.
I knew Sydney of the past, but I didn't know all the dimensions that made the woman. But this time around, I learned so much more. I never knew until tonight that she liked to be kissed just behind her ear, and if you traced your finger down her abdomen ever so slightly, she dug her fingers into your back. I didn't know that when she kissed my pulse, that my heart would skip a beat. I didn't know that she was most ticklish just behind her knee… I didn't know a lot of things, but I finally learned to know Sydney.
_________________________
The morning brought an intense sense of fear with it. I was afraid that it was a dream, and I was afraid that it had been real. Unsure of which way I preferred it, I was afraid when I found that she was no longer sleeping beside me.
But then she emerged from my bathroom in my Kings tee, smiling shyly and holding out my toothbrush.
"Can I borrow this?"
Part of me wanted to laugh, and the other part wanted to groan. What the hell had I done?
I nodded and hopped out of bed to go to the bathroom down the hall. I had to piss, and damn it all if I was going to do that in front of her while she used my toothbrush in my bathroom. When I returned, I noticed that she left the toothpaste uncapped and that she had a habit of wiping the sink dry after she used it.
So maybe the Sydney I once knew was locked up inside this woman I'm not sure I know. I guess maybe she's like me – confused, different, but the same.
Her human essence was exuded in every move she made, in each vowel she spoke, and even in the way she shyly asked me if she could use my toothbrush. When I had finished brushing my teeth, I joined her on my bed and started to question her.
"Why the green contacts?" I noted she had popped them back in. "You—" I stopped myself before I could tell her that she had beautiful eyes as is. "You don't need them."
She shrugged. "Truth? I wanted it to be tribute to you. Of course, they're not as great as your eyes, but… what can I say?"
I frowned a little at this. A tribute? "And the burn? Some kind of fetish?"
"Uh, no… actually, that's a tribute too." Sheepishly she rubbed at the scarred flesh and looked up at me. "Remember when you told me about your dad's watch?"
I nodded.
"Well, I know you wear your watch on your left wrist, so I burned the spot where the clock face would have been on my wrist. I don't know… a sadistic type of tribute I suppose, but I was going to remember you always. It was the only permanent way to do it."
"You couldn't just get a tattoo or something?" I asked, half-joking.
She smiled a little. "Sark would have questioned me about that one."
I instantly grew weary. "Sark…"
She sighed. "Listen, Vaughn. I… thank you for… everything. I'm not really sure what to say right now. I realize I've done so much against this country and to you especially. I don't really know what I can do now to amend or atone for whatever sins I've committed."
Firmly pressing my lips together, I glanced at the file on the floor. "The CIA has a file on you – as a criminal now. But if you turn… you know, this story is a little too familiar."
Briefly closing her eyes, Sydney nodded. "Yeah, I know. I'm just like my mother."
"No," I interjected. "You're not. You're so much better than she ever was. You actually se—"
"I followed her steps, I perfected her plan. I did everything she planned on except for destroying the CIA. I couldn't bring myself to finish that one."
"You made it damn hard to do our job though."
She didn't respond to that. "What's the best course of action for me to take?"
Me. She hadn't said "us". She had said "me". Maybe she was planning on leaving again.
"Syd, we can work this out."
Dubiously, she raised a brow.
"I'm no longer under Kendall's division, I'm actually directly under Devlin. Weiss is just below me. I'm sure something can be worked out… eventually, things can be okay again. You were once a national heroine. You can be her again."
She sadly shook her head no. "I can never go back; they'd never accept me. If I turned myself in, all the intel and gadgets and everything else… what difference would it make? I would still be imprisoned for treason and treachery."
She was right, of course.
"But you wouldn't be considered an enemy of the US anymore."
"Oh, some would." She fingered the linen sheets with one hand. "And I've developed quite a list of enemies who would like very much to kill me."
"Let me ask you something."
She looked up at me expectantly and I asked her to remove her contacts. Doing so, she met my eyes, and I felt all the reservations subside. This was Sydney Bristow, the woman I fell in love with years ago. She could restore her life, maybe not to where it had been, but definitely to something more fulfilling. She could fall in love with me again, and maybe I could learn to trust her again… hope, trust, faith. These things that we once had… we could find them again, together.
"Who are you?"
"I am Sydney Bristow."
"Why do are you willing to cooperate with the CIA?"
"Because I …" she trailed off. There was no clear answer to that question, but ultimately, she realized… "I should give account of all acts of treason, attempting to absolve myself from my past by helping the United States in any way I can."
"One more." I leaned in closer, smiling. "Are you romantically interested in anyone?"