~WONDERLAND~
"Late Night"
~
She was trying to concentrate on the paper in front of her. She never had this much trouble, but her eyes kept wandering off the page, drifting out the window, and when they returned she couldn't even remember what she was doing. She gritted her teeth and then let out a long sigh. Her head ached, her hand ached, and her eyes were dry and tired from lack of sleep.
Sleep. Yes, she should be in bed now. She looked over at the clock and almost laughed. The glowing display read 2:30 am. What had it been? 11:00, 11:30 when she had told Francie just twenty minutes more? And in all that time how much did she have done on the paper? Half a page more? She was crazy if she thought she'd be able to finish it by the due date. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. It just wasn't like her to ever have trouble writing. Words simply flowed off her fingers and onto the page, sometime so fast, so uncontrolled that she felt like she was going to explode trying to make her hand keep pace with her mind.
Sydney finally slapped her hands against the desk and stood up. It was a lost cause. Her mind was intent on wandering and with lack of sleep there was no way she was going to get it back on track. Her will power was completely expended. Instead she made her way groggily into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge.
An odd smell hit her as the air rushed out and she pulled back. It wasn't milk, not the Thai food. She pulled out a small container and grimaced: Francie's tofu. She handled it gingerly and tossed it into the garbage under the sink.
She sat up on the counter and looked around the dark house. Francie was asleep, but she could still feel all the hurt from the days before. All the hurt Charlie had caused her, all the pain Sydney had inflicted. She couldn't forgive herself for that. Francie had come back, they had cried, talked, laughed, forgiven, but some things were impossible to take back. At the time Sydney had taken it all in stride, had understood her roommate needed to vent, that the news about Charlie was crushing, heartbreaking, but then the words began to sink in.
Her accusations about her job had hit home. She had been naive to think she could simply quit what she was doing, but at what price should she keep going?. The fact was she knew deep down that she couldn't quit. There was no way Sydney could live with herself if made that kind of choice. What would she be able to tell the bloodied man who lay in the bathtub of her nightmares? What could she say to the pictures on her nightstand of the man she had loved? Still loved.
Nothing had changed there. Danny kept her going. Or was it revenge? Was she simply angry? Was that it, taking down SD-6 was just a way for her to vent? Did she trust her motives enough to believe that deep down she was just, that she was doing the right thing for the right reasons?
I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Sydney thought. My world is crashing down around me, even the people who don't understand can see that. What is this sacrifice if I've lost sight of my motives. Oh, Danny, why do I have to be so damn horrible? Why can't I ever get anything right.
Her body felt empty. She was just alone. In the dark house, in the big city, in the enormous world she was isolated, like a prized baseball card that no one could ever touch, that sat in a box gathering dust.
Sydney's heart ached. She wanted to run and wake Francie, she wanted to run to Will's, she wanted her Dad to just be there, to just be a pair of warm arms and a caring heart to ease the pains of her own. But of course Sydney couldn't help cringing when she thought of Francie, couldn't help hurting that Will was with Jenny, that he wasn't alone, and she gasped when she thought of her Dad's expressionless face.
What have I done, Sydney though. I've cut myself off entirely. In my quest to be some comic book hero I've lost any sort of life. If it hurts me, then Francie is right. Their pain must be worse, to deal with such a cold and closed person every day.
She slid off the counter and brushed her eyes where tears had inadvertently sprung. She grabbed the phone. It didn't matter what time it was. She needed to make sure of everything. She needed someone to affirm what she believed. But mostly she needed to feel that someone, something in her life was solid.
"Hello?" a voice answered the phone.
"It's me," Sydney said, her voice hoarse. She hadn't used it in hours.
There was a pause. Was it safe to talk?
"What do you need?" The voice was tired. Concered? Exhausted?
"I need to see you."
"When?"
"Now."
~
The phone rang.
Vaughn's eyes opened. Had he dreamed the noise? He closed his eyes and it came again, this time piercing to his sleepy ears. What kind of work emergency was this at 2:30 in the morning? But then his mind caught up. What if it were an emergency with Sydney? What if something had happened? No that was stupid. She was back from Russia. She had told him about the machine guns, about her precarious hang from the rope, but she wasn't on a mission now. Who the hell was it then?
He grabbed the receiver as it rang a third time.
"Hello?" His voice was tired. This better be good for a middle of the night wake up.
Then he heard Sydney's hoarse voice, heard her half pleading request to see him and his heart jumped to his throat. He had told her before that she had his number, that all she needed to was call, but to hear her voice actually on the line made him start. She wouldn't call unless it was something urgent, unless something was wrong.
But as he hung up he wondered. She sounded upset, tired and worn out, not as if it were an emergency. He scrambled out of bed and dressed, pulling on the first pants and t-shirt he could find and grabbing his car keys.
He was hurrying. That made him smile, made him feel stupid at the feelings that were making his muscles so tense and jumpy.
Look at you, Vaughn thought. You get jumpy at the thought of Sydney, even when she sounds hurt, when she sounds like she's in pain.
He grimaced at himself. The fact was he was hurrying because he couldn't help it. The thought of Sydney in pain, with swollen eyes and pink cheeks made him hurt as well.
I see you with bruises on your cheeks, your neck, your arms, he thought, and all I want to do is rub them away, make them better, make them stop hurting, but of course all of that would be inappropriate. All of that is why Weiss winks at me after I meet with Sydney, why that office fuck glares at me when I pass him in the halls, and why I've nearly lost my job twice. Because people think that I kind handle myself. Attached?! He wasn't attached. He was concerned, that's it, as well he should be when so much of her life rested in his hands, in his ability to look out for her. In his ability to do his job. Appropriately.
Vaughn ran a hand through his hair. He was a professional. You don't control what agents are put under your care, but you do control how you handle them. He wasn't going to let Sydney down. He locked his house behind him. Maybe he couldn't control what passed through his dreams, what his mind took from reality and twisted inside his head. That he couldn't control, but he could control himself around Sydney. His dreams had nothing to do with his feelings. Everything was fine. Everything was simply professional.
~ Slow start, I know. Zzzzzzz. ( Give it a chance. I'm wordy (I know that too) but when it comes to S/V meetings, who wants to rush them? Feedback always a delight.
"Late Night"
~
She was trying to concentrate on the paper in front of her. She never had this much trouble, but her eyes kept wandering off the page, drifting out the window, and when they returned she couldn't even remember what she was doing. She gritted her teeth and then let out a long sigh. Her head ached, her hand ached, and her eyes were dry and tired from lack of sleep.
Sleep. Yes, she should be in bed now. She looked over at the clock and almost laughed. The glowing display read 2:30 am. What had it been? 11:00, 11:30 when she had told Francie just twenty minutes more? And in all that time how much did she have done on the paper? Half a page more? She was crazy if she thought she'd be able to finish it by the due date. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. It just wasn't like her to ever have trouble writing. Words simply flowed off her fingers and onto the page, sometime so fast, so uncontrolled that she felt like she was going to explode trying to make her hand keep pace with her mind.
Sydney finally slapped her hands against the desk and stood up. It was a lost cause. Her mind was intent on wandering and with lack of sleep there was no way she was going to get it back on track. Her will power was completely expended. Instead she made her way groggily into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge.
An odd smell hit her as the air rushed out and she pulled back. It wasn't milk, not the Thai food. She pulled out a small container and grimaced: Francie's tofu. She handled it gingerly and tossed it into the garbage under the sink.
She sat up on the counter and looked around the dark house. Francie was asleep, but she could still feel all the hurt from the days before. All the hurt Charlie had caused her, all the pain Sydney had inflicted. She couldn't forgive herself for that. Francie had come back, they had cried, talked, laughed, forgiven, but some things were impossible to take back. At the time Sydney had taken it all in stride, had understood her roommate needed to vent, that the news about Charlie was crushing, heartbreaking, but then the words began to sink in.
Her accusations about her job had hit home. She had been naive to think she could simply quit what she was doing, but at what price should she keep going?. The fact was she knew deep down that she couldn't quit. There was no way Sydney could live with herself if made that kind of choice. What would she be able to tell the bloodied man who lay in the bathtub of her nightmares? What could she say to the pictures on her nightstand of the man she had loved? Still loved.
Nothing had changed there. Danny kept her going. Or was it revenge? Was she simply angry? Was that it, taking down SD-6 was just a way for her to vent? Did she trust her motives enough to believe that deep down she was just, that she was doing the right thing for the right reasons?
I don't know what I'm doing anymore, Sydney thought. My world is crashing down around me, even the people who don't understand can see that. What is this sacrifice if I've lost sight of my motives. Oh, Danny, why do I have to be so damn horrible? Why can't I ever get anything right.
Her body felt empty. She was just alone. In the dark house, in the big city, in the enormous world she was isolated, like a prized baseball card that no one could ever touch, that sat in a box gathering dust.
Sydney's heart ached. She wanted to run and wake Francie, she wanted to run to Will's, she wanted her Dad to just be there, to just be a pair of warm arms and a caring heart to ease the pains of her own. But of course Sydney couldn't help cringing when she thought of Francie, couldn't help hurting that Will was with Jenny, that he wasn't alone, and she gasped when she thought of her Dad's expressionless face.
What have I done, Sydney though. I've cut myself off entirely. In my quest to be some comic book hero I've lost any sort of life. If it hurts me, then Francie is right. Their pain must be worse, to deal with such a cold and closed person every day.
She slid off the counter and brushed her eyes where tears had inadvertently sprung. She grabbed the phone. It didn't matter what time it was. She needed to make sure of everything. She needed someone to affirm what she believed. But mostly she needed to feel that someone, something in her life was solid.
"Hello?" a voice answered the phone.
"It's me," Sydney said, her voice hoarse. She hadn't used it in hours.
There was a pause. Was it safe to talk?
"What do you need?" The voice was tired. Concered? Exhausted?
"I need to see you."
"When?"
"Now."
~
The phone rang.
Vaughn's eyes opened. Had he dreamed the noise? He closed his eyes and it came again, this time piercing to his sleepy ears. What kind of work emergency was this at 2:30 in the morning? But then his mind caught up. What if it were an emergency with Sydney? What if something had happened? No that was stupid. She was back from Russia. She had told him about the machine guns, about her precarious hang from the rope, but she wasn't on a mission now. Who the hell was it then?
He grabbed the receiver as it rang a third time.
"Hello?" His voice was tired. This better be good for a middle of the night wake up.
Then he heard Sydney's hoarse voice, heard her half pleading request to see him and his heart jumped to his throat. He had told her before that she had his number, that all she needed to was call, but to hear her voice actually on the line made him start. She wouldn't call unless it was something urgent, unless something was wrong.
But as he hung up he wondered. She sounded upset, tired and worn out, not as if it were an emergency. He scrambled out of bed and dressed, pulling on the first pants and t-shirt he could find and grabbing his car keys.
He was hurrying. That made him smile, made him feel stupid at the feelings that were making his muscles so tense and jumpy.
Look at you, Vaughn thought. You get jumpy at the thought of Sydney, even when she sounds hurt, when she sounds like she's in pain.
He grimaced at himself. The fact was he was hurrying because he couldn't help it. The thought of Sydney in pain, with swollen eyes and pink cheeks made him hurt as well.
I see you with bruises on your cheeks, your neck, your arms, he thought, and all I want to do is rub them away, make them better, make them stop hurting, but of course all of that would be inappropriate. All of that is why Weiss winks at me after I meet with Sydney, why that office fuck glares at me when I pass him in the halls, and why I've nearly lost my job twice. Because people think that I kind handle myself. Attached?! He wasn't attached. He was concerned, that's it, as well he should be when so much of her life rested in his hands, in his ability to look out for her. In his ability to do his job. Appropriately.
Vaughn ran a hand through his hair. He was a professional. You don't control what agents are put under your care, but you do control how you handle them. He wasn't going to let Sydney down. He locked his house behind him. Maybe he couldn't control what passed through his dreams, what his mind took from reality and twisted inside his head. That he couldn't control, but he could control himself around Sydney. His dreams had nothing to do with his feelings. Everything was fine. Everything was simply professional.
~ Slow start, I know. Zzzzzzz. ( Give it a chance. I'm wordy (I know that too) but when it comes to S/V meetings, who wants to rush them? Feedback always a delight.