Feedback: Positive or negative both welcome.
celli@fanfic101.com
Category: Angst. Vignette. Challengefic
(Elizabeth Smart Challenge).
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Pairing: S/V
Spoilers: Through "The Counteragent."
Summary: Vaughn has Sydney-colored glasses.
Archiving: Cover Me, and my site (www.fanfic101.com);
anyone else please just let me know.
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various
other people with lawyers. So Vaughn is not mine, even
if I would take really good care of him. I would!
Story Note: Takes place between the first and second scenes
in "The Counteragent."
***
Tint
by Celli Lane
***
You are buried in my pillow of fever
And burn heavily in my eyeballs.
--Elizabeth Smart, "Love Poem"
***
His sunglasses have a kind of blue, purple, something tint
to them.
Vaughn stares at them. He needs to call the HazMat team, or
whatever they call the medical version, to come pick him up.
Why does he have colored lenses? He doesn't remember buying
them; Alice must have liked them or thought they offered
more UV protection.
Just the smallest bit of his blood drips through the bandage
and onto the earpiece. He swears and goes to get a towel.
Donovan sniffs at his feet, and Vaughn nearly kicks the dog
away in his panic. Is this shit contagious? Can he hurt
Donovan? He puts the dog outside and tries to figure who to
call to take care of him, with Eric gone. Who did he use
when he was in Finland? He can't remember. Maybe memory
loss is another symptom.
He stops to breathe. Or maybe he's just having a panic
attack. Although he does seem to have forgotten how to
inhale...oh, there, good.
***
Things to do today:
Buy dog food.
Geneva assignment paperwork.
Send Eric his Joke of the Day. Try and find another yo-yo
joke, he liked the last one. ("What goes BUZZZZZ, ZZZZZUB,
BUZZZZZ, ZZZZZUB? A bee stuck to a yo-yo.")
Get poked, prodded, and quarantined.
Watch Sydney sleep.
Plot the downfall of SD-6. ("Gee, Agent Bristow, what do
you want to do tonight?" "The same thing we do every night,
Agent Bristow. Try to take over the Alliance!")
Buy strange women drinks in restaurants.
Things to do tomorrow:
Shower.
Shave.
Don't die.
***
If they're purple, they're not rose-colored glasses. What
are they? Grape-colored glasses make him think of getting
drunk, which is not a bad idea frankly. Forget-me-not
colored glasses? Ominous. Royal-colored glasses? Proof
that he's losing his mind.
Vaughn sighs. The fact is, they're Sydney-colored lenses,
and he knows it. And maybe tomorrow he'll be in a better
mood, but right now he's not all that happy about it. He
sets the glasses in a drawer, out of sight, and goes to look
for the number of the dogsitter.
***
Alice is going to kill him when she finds out he called
someone about Donovan and didn't try to contact her. But
the CIA will call her if...if...if they need to. And he
can't face her with this yet. With this disease he got from
another woman, to be accurate.
His hand hovers over the phone. He shouldn't have left a
message for Dr. Nicholas. One mention of the, you know,
blood, and they would have put him through. But dammit,
he's not ready. Talking to Nicholas is admitting that this
is real. And then how much time does he have left?
He could go find Sydney. It's an insidious refrain in the
back of his head. Look, Syd, I'm dying for you. No, he
tells the refrain. She'll suffer enough when someone else
tells her. He's willing to do just about anything for five
minutes with her, but not this.
He feels...hot. Especially his eyes. It's like something
behind them is burning. He rubs at them, and the feeling of
the bandages against his skin only makes it worse. Oh, he's
tired. It would be so easy to sit and wait for the doctors
to come take care of him. He could fall asleep where he is
and not wake up til someone saved him.
Assuming someone saved him. Right, bad idea. Do something,
Vaughn.
There is one person who might know something. One person he
feels comfortable torturing with his illness. One person,
he thinks evilly, who he could infect if they let him close
enough.
He'll blame that random impulse on the fever. But it's a
plan. It's something. He goes back to the drawer for his
car keys and his Sydney-colored lenses.
He has someone he needs to see.
--the end--
Notes: Special thanks to Jenai for a last-minute beta, and
Vlada and Rach for liking the first draft. Blame, as usual,
to Jayne for her Elizabeth Smart Challenge. *g* The yo-yo
joke is not mine; it's amazing what Google can find, isn't
it?
This fic is really, really just an ode to the sunglasses.
celli@fanfic101.com
Category: Angst. Vignette. Challengefic
(Elizabeth Smart Challenge).
Rating: PG-13 for swearing.
Pairing: S/V
Spoilers: Through "The Counteragent."
Summary: Vaughn has Sydney-colored glasses.
Archiving: Cover Me, and my site (www.fanfic101.com);
anyone else please just let me know.
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams, ABC, and various
other people with lawyers. So Vaughn is not mine, even
if I would take really good care of him. I would!
Story Note: Takes place between the first and second scenes
in "The Counteragent."
***
Tint
by Celli Lane
***
You are buried in my pillow of fever
And burn heavily in my eyeballs.
--Elizabeth Smart, "Love Poem"
***
His sunglasses have a kind of blue, purple, something tint
to them.
Vaughn stares at them. He needs to call the HazMat team, or
whatever they call the medical version, to come pick him up.
Why does he have colored lenses? He doesn't remember buying
them; Alice must have liked them or thought they offered
more UV protection.
Just the smallest bit of his blood drips through the bandage
and onto the earpiece. He swears and goes to get a towel.
Donovan sniffs at his feet, and Vaughn nearly kicks the dog
away in his panic. Is this shit contagious? Can he hurt
Donovan? He puts the dog outside and tries to figure who to
call to take care of him, with Eric gone. Who did he use
when he was in Finland? He can't remember. Maybe memory
loss is another symptom.
He stops to breathe. Or maybe he's just having a panic
attack. Although he does seem to have forgotten how to
inhale...oh, there, good.
***
Things to do today:
Buy dog food.
Geneva assignment paperwork.
Send Eric his Joke of the Day. Try and find another yo-yo
joke, he liked the last one. ("What goes BUZZZZZ, ZZZZZUB,
BUZZZZZ, ZZZZZUB? A bee stuck to a yo-yo.")
Get poked, prodded, and quarantined.
Watch Sydney sleep.
Plot the downfall of SD-6. ("Gee, Agent Bristow, what do
you want to do tonight?" "The same thing we do every night,
Agent Bristow. Try to take over the Alliance!")
Buy strange women drinks in restaurants.
Things to do tomorrow:
Shower.
Shave.
Don't die.
***
If they're purple, they're not rose-colored glasses. What
are they? Grape-colored glasses make him think of getting
drunk, which is not a bad idea frankly. Forget-me-not
colored glasses? Ominous. Royal-colored glasses? Proof
that he's losing his mind.
Vaughn sighs. The fact is, they're Sydney-colored lenses,
and he knows it. And maybe tomorrow he'll be in a better
mood, but right now he's not all that happy about it. He
sets the glasses in a drawer, out of sight, and goes to look
for the number of the dogsitter.
***
Alice is going to kill him when she finds out he called
someone about Donovan and didn't try to contact her. But
the CIA will call her if...if...if they need to. And he
can't face her with this yet. With this disease he got from
another woman, to be accurate.
His hand hovers over the phone. He shouldn't have left a
message for Dr. Nicholas. One mention of the, you know,
blood, and they would have put him through. But dammit,
he's not ready. Talking to Nicholas is admitting that this
is real. And then how much time does he have left?
He could go find Sydney. It's an insidious refrain in the
back of his head. Look, Syd, I'm dying for you. No, he
tells the refrain. She'll suffer enough when someone else
tells her. He's willing to do just about anything for five
minutes with her, but not this.
He feels...hot. Especially his eyes. It's like something
behind them is burning. He rubs at them, and the feeling of
the bandages against his skin only makes it worse. Oh, he's
tired. It would be so easy to sit and wait for the doctors
to come take care of him. He could fall asleep where he is
and not wake up til someone saved him.
Assuming someone saved him. Right, bad idea. Do something,
Vaughn.
There is one person who might know something. One person he
feels comfortable torturing with his illness. One person,
he thinks evilly, who he could infect if they let him close
enough.
He'll blame that random impulse on the fever. But it's a
plan. It's something. He goes back to the drawer for his
car keys and his Sydney-colored lenses.
He has someone he needs to see.
--the end--
Notes: Special thanks to Jenai for a last-minute beta, and
Vlada and Rach for liking the first draft. Blame, as usual,
to Jayne for her Elizabeth Smart Challenge. *g* The yo-yo
joke is not mine; it's amazing what Google can find, isn't
it?
This fic is really, really just an ode to the sunglasses.