Title: Via Ut Verum
Author AlexJ
Summery: Francie deserves a plot and Sydney finds out just how much the ancient past has repercussions in future.
Disclaimer: I own nothing connected to Alias (sadly)
Feedback: Like all authors I live for the stuff.
AN: This is the revised and expanded version of my previous story
With an angry sigh Francie Calfo opened the door to the apartment she shared with her roommate, Sydney Bristow. Fighting back the tears that threatened to fall, the aspiring restaurant owner collapsed onto the couch, tossing aside her carefully prepared portfolio as she did so.
Rejection was a tough pill to swallow, but Francie had a sinking feeling that she'd better get used to it. Her hopes had been unrealistic: she could see that now. After all, she couldn't expect the perfect site to just fall into her lap without complication.
The well-groomed investor who had glanced at her projections practically radiated arrogance. His condescending phrases had irked her, but she did her best to roll with the punches. After fifteen minutes, Francie had started to flounder, thrown by his rapid fire questions and jargon-laden speech. Arron Hough had eventually raised a hand to forestall her halting answers. His next words brought her perilously close to tears.
"Leave, Miss Calfo, and come back went you have something worth my time."
Francie swallowed hard against the sob that caught in her throat. The signs had been there; the way he had arched a manicured eyebrow when she listed her qualifications, or the way he coughed disdainfully at regular intervals. should have been a dead giveaway. Instead of following her instincts, she rattled on, most likely degrading herself with every sentence.
The hot tears slid uninhibited now, creating water stains on her freshly creased outfit. With a shuddering sigh, Sydney's roommate got up and went to the phone. From her pocket she produced a crumbled piece of paper. Mentally composing herself, she dialled the number of the university's administration building.
"My name is Francie Calfo. I'm calling to register for the seminar tomorrow." As her details were processed, Francie thought about what this lecture would involve. Supposedly this guy was a gifted guidance person or something. The campus notice board had given little information. Even if this guy only pointed her in the right direction, it would be more productive then sitting around moping.
Besides, she needed something to keep her mind off Charlie.
The betrayal of her now former fiancée was still painfully fresh, but she was determined not to let it control her. She had seen friends become completely obsessed by their bitterness and anger. Francie had cried for three solid days before resolving to start picking up the pieces.
It was a shame that all her stoic philosophical resolutions didn't make the pain lessen to any degree.
She was just pondering the next step in her productive frenzy when the door opened to admit Sydney Bristow, looking tired and jetlagged.
"What's wrong?" Sydney asked fearfully, dropping her bags in the doorway.
Francie felt the tears swell again "My proposal was rejected."
Sydney despised the surge of relief that swept through her. She hated the way she trivialized Francie's pain by automatically labelling it "normal."
"Oh, Francie," she said softy, pulling her friend into a hug.
Sydney slipped quickly from CIA agent to best friend. She erased the blueprints she had been systematically cataloguing from her mind. As she stroked Francie's hair and murmured softly, the agent within her was conscious of the meeting with the now facetiously professional Vaughn, which she was 10 minutes late for, but she shoved it aside.
That wasn't who she was at the moment.
CIA agent Michael Vaughn paced up and down the narrow confines of the abandoned warehouse. If theses had been normal circumstances, he would have been filled with eager anticipation, but all he felt now was detached annoyance.
At least that's what he kept telling himself.
His weary body was protesting against the movement, still not recovered from the rigorous training he now imposed upon it. Somehow Vaughn's sleep deprived mind had convinced him that if he pushed himself hard enough, he would eventually build defences strong enough to withstand the emotions that plagued every moment of the day and night.
He was in love with the daughter of his father's murderer.
That would be a great topic of conversation with his still grieving mother, who had never given up hope of finding the killer.
It was so unfair. Fate twists like the one they were currently caught in were only supposed to happen on "Days of Our Lives." Vaughn wanted so badly to tell Sydney that he didn't blame her, that his actions were borne out of helplessness rather then hatred.
He couldn't bring himself to say the words.
Besides, it wasn't like the agency was able to make allowances for their personal problems. The "Rambaldi Race" was heating up and the SD6 operation was top priority. All this was capped off by the introduction of a new player.
"Vaughn?"
Sydney's voice jolted him out of his thoughts but he didn't turn to look at her, to stare into those amazing eyes, knowing that he would lose all resolve. They had a job to do. Nothing else mattered.
The pain was inconsequential.
"Have you got the folder?" he asked briskly.
He was sure Sydney's voice broke as she said, "Yes."
Vaughn felt a stab of guilt. He couldn't begin to imagine the pain of her mother's betrayal; he also couldn't deal with it. He knew that Sydney understood his distance, at least on some level. They always understood each other; it was borderline telepathic.
Their demons were so inextricably linked that for once they could not be each other's "truth." Each time they met he couldn't help remembering memories of his idealized father, or how his mother had nearly self destructed in order to numb the pain, if only for a little while.
It wasn't until he heard the quiet click of the bolt that Vaughn let out the sob he'd been holding in. His vision became blurry as he saw the tickets stacked on top of the folders.
Box tickets to a Kings playoff game.
His clenched fists dug painful grooves into his palm as he fought the urge to run after her.
He had a report to write.
Author AlexJ
Summery: Francie deserves a plot and Sydney finds out just how much the ancient past has repercussions in future.
Disclaimer: I own nothing connected to Alias (sadly)
Feedback: Like all authors I live for the stuff.
AN: This is the revised and expanded version of my previous story
With an angry sigh Francie Calfo opened the door to the apartment she shared with her roommate, Sydney Bristow. Fighting back the tears that threatened to fall, the aspiring restaurant owner collapsed onto the couch, tossing aside her carefully prepared portfolio as she did so.
Rejection was a tough pill to swallow, but Francie had a sinking feeling that she'd better get used to it. Her hopes had been unrealistic: she could see that now. After all, she couldn't expect the perfect site to just fall into her lap without complication.
The well-groomed investor who had glanced at her projections practically radiated arrogance. His condescending phrases had irked her, but she did her best to roll with the punches. After fifteen minutes, Francie had started to flounder, thrown by his rapid fire questions and jargon-laden speech. Arron Hough had eventually raised a hand to forestall her halting answers. His next words brought her perilously close to tears.
"Leave, Miss Calfo, and come back went you have something worth my time."
Francie swallowed hard against the sob that caught in her throat. The signs had been there; the way he had arched a manicured eyebrow when she listed her qualifications, or the way he coughed disdainfully at regular intervals. should have been a dead giveaway. Instead of following her instincts, she rattled on, most likely degrading herself with every sentence.
The hot tears slid uninhibited now, creating water stains on her freshly creased outfit. With a shuddering sigh, Sydney's roommate got up and went to the phone. From her pocket she produced a crumbled piece of paper. Mentally composing herself, she dialled the number of the university's administration building.
"My name is Francie Calfo. I'm calling to register for the seminar tomorrow." As her details were processed, Francie thought about what this lecture would involve. Supposedly this guy was a gifted guidance person or something. The campus notice board had given little information. Even if this guy only pointed her in the right direction, it would be more productive then sitting around moping.
Besides, she needed something to keep her mind off Charlie.
The betrayal of her now former fiancée was still painfully fresh, but she was determined not to let it control her. She had seen friends become completely obsessed by their bitterness and anger. Francie had cried for three solid days before resolving to start picking up the pieces.
It was a shame that all her stoic philosophical resolutions didn't make the pain lessen to any degree.
She was just pondering the next step in her productive frenzy when the door opened to admit Sydney Bristow, looking tired and jetlagged.
"What's wrong?" Sydney asked fearfully, dropping her bags in the doorway.
Francie felt the tears swell again "My proposal was rejected."
Sydney despised the surge of relief that swept through her. She hated the way she trivialized Francie's pain by automatically labelling it "normal."
"Oh, Francie," she said softy, pulling her friend into a hug.
Sydney slipped quickly from CIA agent to best friend. She erased the blueprints she had been systematically cataloguing from her mind. As she stroked Francie's hair and murmured softly, the agent within her was conscious of the meeting with the now facetiously professional Vaughn, which she was 10 minutes late for, but she shoved it aside.
That wasn't who she was at the moment.
CIA agent Michael Vaughn paced up and down the narrow confines of the abandoned warehouse. If theses had been normal circumstances, he would have been filled with eager anticipation, but all he felt now was detached annoyance.
At least that's what he kept telling himself.
His weary body was protesting against the movement, still not recovered from the rigorous training he now imposed upon it. Somehow Vaughn's sleep deprived mind had convinced him that if he pushed himself hard enough, he would eventually build defences strong enough to withstand the emotions that plagued every moment of the day and night.
He was in love with the daughter of his father's murderer.
That would be a great topic of conversation with his still grieving mother, who had never given up hope of finding the killer.
It was so unfair. Fate twists like the one they were currently caught in were only supposed to happen on "Days of Our Lives." Vaughn wanted so badly to tell Sydney that he didn't blame her, that his actions were borne out of helplessness rather then hatred.
He couldn't bring himself to say the words.
Besides, it wasn't like the agency was able to make allowances for their personal problems. The "Rambaldi Race" was heating up and the SD6 operation was top priority. All this was capped off by the introduction of a new player.
"Vaughn?"
Sydney's voice jolted him out of his thoughts but he didn't turn to look at her, to stare into those amazing eyes, knowing that he would lose all resolve. They had a job to do. Nothing else mattered.
The pain was inconsequential.
"Have you got the folder?" he asked briskly.
He was sure Sydney's voice broke as she said, "Yes."
Vaughn felt a stab of guilt. He couldn't begin to imagine the pain of her mother's betrayal; he also couldn't deal with it. He knew that Sydney understood his distance, at least on some level. They always understood each other; it was borderline telepathic.
Their demons were so inextricably linked that for once they could not be each other's "truth." Each time they met he couldn't help remembering memories of his idealized father, or how his mother had nearly self destructed in order to numb the pain, if only for a little while.
It wasn't until he heard the quiet click of the bolt that Vaughn let out the sob he'd been holding in. His vision became blurry as he saw the tickets stacked on top of the folders.
Box tickets to a Kings playoff game.
His clenched fists dug painful grooves into his palm as he fought the urge to run after her.
He had a report to write.