TITLE: Rain
AUTHOR: Valerina
FEEDBACK: Yes please! Loved it, hated it, let me know. Valerina719@hotmail.com
CLASSIFICATION: Vaughn POV, angst, V
SUMMARY: Vaughn comes to terms with the truth.
SPOILERS: Post-Ep for "Snowman"/ "The Solution"
DISCLAIMER: JJ, sweet JJ...I'm sad to say that "Alias" is not mine. If I had to say whose it was I would go with JJ Abrams, "Bad Robot," and ABC. But that's just a guess :)
DISTRIBUTION: Credit Dauphine, Alias Fan Fiction Archive. Anyone else, please feel free but let me know so I can come visit it!
RATED: PG-13 (for a tiny bit of potty mouth)
Rain.
Rain. Why did it always seem to rain on the worst days in LA? You got smog and stifling heat year-round but on the worst days, the darkest days, you got Hell-A rain.
Michael Vaughn sat in his dark apartment, staring at the raindrops slide down the windowpane, one merging into the other. The noise on the roof was soothing; the pitter patter would have lulled him to sleep had his mind not been preoccupied with thoughts.
One thought, he corrected himself bitterly as the raindrops continued to travel in rivulets down his window. His eyes followed the drops until he couldn't make out where one ended and another began.
She slept with him.
It pounded in his mind in time to the raindrops on his roof. Before long both the rain and his thoughts were reverberating loudly in the apartment. He raised the crystal tumbler filled with Jack Daniels to his lips.
Vaughn continued to stare out at the rain, his eyes unblinking. Pictures of Sydney Bristow came unbidden to his mind's eye and his imagination coupled her with the file photo he had seen of Noah Hicks.
She slept with him.
Vaughn continued to stare out at the rain and took another sip. He had seen it in her eyes when she told him that she had cared for him; when she told him that he was dead. He knew it deep inside, knew that she had given herself to that man…that monster.
Another deep swallow followed quickly by a refill from the bottle sitting next to him.
He had seen it in her, felt his heart contract in pain and asked for more. He listened to her, comforted her, and loved her. All he asked in return was that she respect him. Instead she took a knife to his heart and began twisting, drawing blood with her explanation of her feelings for Noah. Two different knives for two different men; men who both loved her.
Who knew if she was even aware of the damage she had done, the pain she had inflicted almost casually. So casually, like she didn't even realize the effect her words had on him.
"Fuck!" he exploded in the silence, the crystal glass flying across the room and crashing into the wall. He had seen it when she came back from that mission, when she fucking glowed as he asked her [stupid!] how things went with Noah. He had known her answer and yet asked her anyway. Because he refused to believe, refused to accept, that she would give herself to someone so unworthy [unlike him].
He was such a fool, such a glutton for punishment. He stared out again into the rain, searching for answers in the patters the raindrops left behind.
There was nothing there. Nothing but the bittersweet realization that he was still here, still in her life, and Noah was not. Realization that the next time she needed someone his phone would ring. Realization that if he won now, it would be by default.
The noise of water hitting the roof was almost deafening now. Vaughn welcomed the distraction, grabbing the bottle beside him in lieu of another glass. Too many things had broken tonight: that glass, her stone-face when she told him she had killed a man she cared for, his heart.
How many of those things could be mended, Vaughn contemplated dubiously. There was wetness on his cheek. He looked up, expecting a leak from the driving rain. He found only smooth, cool ceiling, mocking a different kind of leak.
The phone rang. He let the machine pick it up, again entranced by the trails of water. He had a feeling that the hypnotic quality of the raindrops owed more to the alcohol swimming through his system than to any intrinsic value.
Whatever works, thought Vaughn morosely, raising the bottle once more to his lips.
A voice came across the machine, the only sound besides the redundant drip of the rain.
Sydney's voice echoed off the walls.
"Can you come meet me? Our usual place? I need to talk. If you get this message call my cell. You know the number." A click. No names, no specifics—the way it was supposed to go. Her voice sounded sad but hopeful…or maybe that's just what he wanted to hear.
Vaughn sat in the silence, listening to the rhythm on the roof as he contemplated what to do. The shards of broken glass on the floor across the room glinted in the moonlight that came through the water-spotted glass.
He wondered briefly if his heart were as irreparable.
Sighing he put the bottle down and picked up the phone.
There was only one way to find out.
end.
AUTHOR: Valerina
FEEDBACK: Yes please! Loved it, hated it, let me know. Valerina719@hotmail.com
CLASSIFICATION: Vaughn POV, angst, V
SUMMARY: Vaughn comes to terms with the truth.
SPOILERS: Post-Ep for "Snowman"/ "The Solution"
DISCLAIMER: JJ, sweet JJ...I'm sad to say that "Alias" is not mine. If I had to say whose it was I would go with JJ Abrams, "Bad Robot," and ABC. But that's just a guess :)
DISTRIBUTION: Credit Dauphine, Alias Fan Fiction Archive. Anyone else, please feel free but let me know so I can come visit it!
RATED: PG-13 (for a tiny bit of potty mouth)
Rain.
Rain. Why did it always seem to rain on the worst days in LA? You got smog and stifling heat year-round but on the worst days, the darkest days, you got Hell-A rain.
Michael Vaughn sat in his dark apartment, staring at the raindrops slide down the windowpane, one merging into the other. The noise on the roof was soothing; the pitter patter would have lulled him to sleep had his mind not been preoccupied with thoughts.
One thought, he corrected himself bitterly as the raindrops continued to travel in rivulets down his window. His eyes followed the drops until he couldn't make out where one ended and another began.
She slept with him.
It pounded in his mind in time to the raindrops on his roof. Before long both the rain and his thoughts were reverberating loudly in the apartment. He raised the crystal tumbler filled with Jack Daniels to his lips.
Vaughn continued to stare out at the rain, his eyes unblinking. Pictures of Sydney Bristow came unbidden to his mind's eye and his imagination coupled her with the file photo he had seen of Noah Hicks.
She slept with him.
Vaughn continued to stare out at the rain and took another sip. He had seen it in her eyes when she told him that she had cared for him; when she told him that he was dead. He knew it deep inside, knew that she had given herself to that man…that monster.
Another deep swallow followed quickly by a refill from the bottle sitting next to him.
He had seen it in her, felt his heart contract in pain and asked for more. He listened to her, comforted her, and loved her. All he asked in return was that she respect him. Instead she took a knife to his heart and began twisting, drawing blood with her explanation of her feelings for Noah. Two different knives for two different men; men who both loved her.
Who knew if she was even aware of the damage she had done, the pain she had inflicted almost casually. So casually, like she didn't even realize the effect her words had on him.
"Fuck!" he exploded in the silence, the crystal glass flying across the room and crashing into the wall. He had seen it when she came back from that mission, when she fucking glowed as he asked her [stupid!] how things went with Noah. He had known her answer and yet asked her anyway. Because he refused to believe, refused to accept, that she would give herself to someone so unworthy [unlike him].
He was such a fool, such a glutton for punishment. He stared out again into the rain, searching for answers in the patters the raindrops left behind.
There was nothing there. Nothing but the bittersweet realization that he was still here, still in her life, and Noah was not. Realization that the next time she needed someone his phone would ring. Realization that if he won now, it would be by default.
The noise of water hitting the roof was almost deafening now. Vaughn welcomed the distraction, grabbing the bottle beside him in lieu of another glass. Too many things had broken tonight: that glass, her stone-face when she told him she had killed a man she cared for, his heart.
How many of those things could be mended, Vaughn contemplated dubiously. There was wetness on his cheek. He looked up, expecting a leak from the driving rain. He found only smooth, cool ceiling, mocking a different kind of leak.
The phone rang. He let the machine pick it up, again entranced by the trails of water. He had a feeling that the hypnotic quality of the raindrops owed more to the alcohol swimming through his system than to any intrinsic value.
Whatever works, thought Vaughn morosely, raising the bottle once more to his lips.
A voice came across the machine, the only sound besides the redundant drip of the rain.
Sydney's voice echoed off the walls.
"Can you come meet me? Our usual place? I need to talk. If you get this message call my cell. You know the number." A click. No names, no specifics—the way it was supposed to go. Her voice sounded sad but hopeful…or maybe that's just what he wanted to hear.
Vaughn sat in the silence, listening to the rhythm on the roof as he contemplated what to do. The shards of broken glass on the floor across the room glinted in the moonlight that came through the water-spotted glass.
He wondered briefly if his heart were as irreparable.
Sighing he put the bottle down and picked up the phone.
There was only one way to find out.
end.