Four and a Half Kisses, an alias fanfic

Title: s>Five /s> Four and a Half Kisses
Author: McKay
Pairing: Sydney/Rachel
Summary: Four and a half kisses that might have been. Or might not.
Rating: Let's call it T
Archive: Ask first, but I'll probably say yes.
Disclaimer: Not mine, not affiliated with the people who do own them. You can sue me, but you'll get nothing out of it. I have nothing of value.
Author's notes: My first fic in a little over a year in any fandom, and my first fic ever in this fandom. Apologies if it sucks. But it's been nagging me for ages and if I don't write it now, I fear I'll never get another good night's sleep. Besides, we need more Rachel/Sydney out there. Seriously.
Many Xs and Os to my faaaaahbulous beta, mistresskitty-chibi (who I originally intended to be the only person who would ever see this, so either thank her or blame her for making me improve it and post it), and wizened cynic, for tolerating me throughout the writing process. No easy task, believe me.

The first time Rachel kisses Sydney, it's because she doesn't know what else to do. Rachel's never been terribly well-versed in social interaction to begin with, and what does she say to a seven-months-pregnant woman, a woman who she's never seen fall apart, and it's kind of freaking her out, who's tearfully confessing that she has no idea how to be a mother? It's not the first time she's said it, but it is the first time she's cried, and Rachel's at a loss. So she puts her arms around her as best she can, a little awkwardly, and presses her lips to Sydney's hairline.

"You'll do great," she says, and she means it.

The second time Rachel kisses Sydney, it's New Year's, and having drunk half a bottle of champagne long before it's time for the ball to drop, she's feeling almost bold. At midnight, Syd catches her eye and they share a smile. Sydney offers a "Happy New Year," and Rachel leans over and kisses her. It's simpler than she thought it would be - she just does it. Sydney's mouth is warmer than she'd expected, and it takes a second or two to realize that Sydney isn't pushing her away. She isn't kissing her back either, and Rachel thinks she can feel a laugh vibrating in Sydney's chest, but somehow she doesn't feel hurt. When she pulls back, Sydney's still laughing a little.

"I think you may be just a little bit drunk."

"Me? No, no, I'm...yes. Maybe a little." Rachel's laughing along with her, she can't help it, it's so absurd, all of it, so not like her. She stumbles when she tries to stand, and Sydney catches her. Rachel honestly can't help but notice that she's warm all over, and as far gone as she is she recognizes her own lack of subtlety. But Syd's so warm, and she feels so nice pressed against her, and the room is slowly tilting and she shudders to think what would happen if she let go of her. Sydney helps her up the stairs and, after giving her some aspirin, puts her to bed - literally, helping her into the bed and tucking the covers around her. Rachel thinks she must be purring. It's nice, so warm, she can still smell Sydney around her. She can't imagine being more content.

She just hopes, as the room continues its steady rotation, that she doesn't throw up.

The third time Rachel kisses Sydney, she doesn't, really. She counts it anyway.

It's Valentine's Day, and for the first time in her life, she's painfully aware of being alone on that particular date. Mostly because she's completely alone year-round now. She will be for a long time. And she can't seem to adjust to that.

She stirs the remains of her drink - mostly melting ice now, but there may be enough gin still clinging to the glass to warrant drinking its contents - and mentally catalogues the people in the bar. It doesn't take very long, since as far as Rachel's concerned, coming to a dank hole in the wall on what's popularly considered the most romantic day of the year pretty much puts you in one of two categories: "sad, hopeless loser" or "sad, hopeless drunk."

Rachel generally puts herself into the first category, but right now she feels like she fits pretty well into both. So well, in fact, that she readily accepts the fresh glass the bartender pushes in front of her, and feels something akin to a little flutter in her chest when he points to the man who paid for it.

He's not terribly attractive; tall to the point of being gangly, with short, spiky bleached hair, squarish black plastic glasses and an awkward smile. But she's bored and a little lonely, so she sits down next to him and says hello.

It turns out he's not terribly interesting either, and she picks a song from the jukebox at random just to have something to focus on. He asks her to dance, and she accepts, even though there's no dance floor, and The Eagles don't make for good dance music. Rachel can't dance, but she's pretty sure he hasn't noticed. He's too occupied with staring into her eyes and grinning. He looks silly enough that it's a little embarrassing, and she redirects her gaze over his shoulder.

When the song ends, he offers her another drink, and she declines. He begs playfully, and she knows that she's blushing, and not because she's flattered.

"I have to work tomorrow. I shouldn't..."

"Can I call you, then? Maybe we can do this again tomorrow night. Or, you know, something else. If you want." He smiles, and really, he's kind of sweet, or he would be if he weren't so pitiful.

"You know..." Rachel thinks fast. "I'm going away on business. For a few weeks." She smiles in a way she hopes is suitably flirtatious. "I can...why don't you give me your number? I'll call you when I get back." She thinks he must know she's lying, but he doesn't seem to, because he just smiles more brightly, and scribbles a number down on the back of a business card. She turns it over and starts to laugh.

"Is -" she tries to stifle a snort and isn't successful. "Is that really your name?"

"Yeah, why?" He's turning slightly red, she thinks, but it's hard to tell in this light. "I know, it's a girl's name. Most people, uh, you can call me Sid." She just laughs harder, gripping the edge of the bar to keep from doubling over. When she regains control, she breathes deeply, wipes her eyes, and kisses him. Hard. He tastes faintly of cocktail onions. She pulls away and giggles some more.

"I...I'll call you." She manages to keep from laughing again until she's out the door. When she gets home, she's calm, until she sees Sydney, and starts laughing all over again.

"What?" Sydney walks toward her, sniffing the air. "Oh, Rachel," she sighs, feigning exasperation, but she's laughing. Rachel smiles, because she can smell the gin and cigarette smoke on herself, and she loves it. She kicks off her shoes and tries not to stumble in her bare feet.

She debates tossing the card in the trash, but tosses it into a drawer instead. Sad, hopeless man though he was, he'd wanted her more than she's been wanted in a long time. It's not much, but it's something.

The fourth time Rachel kisses Sydney, it's the day Emily is born. All seven pounds, thirteen ounces of Emily Jean Vaughn Bristow came into the world squirming, kicking and squalling furiously. Rachel never met Vaughn, but even so, she imagines his daughter takes after him. For Sydney's sake, she wants her to. Emily's still screaming and looking pretty pissed at the world she's been thrust into without her consent when Rachel goes to take a peek at her in the nursery. She doesn't look much like Sydney, or like Vaughn, from the pictures Rachel's seen. She looks a little like Jack, she supposes, mainly because she's bald. And the shape of the head is kind of similar, the crabby expressions matching.

She's absolutely gorgeous.

She visits Sydney just a few hours after Emily arrives, and she's looking exhausted, but happier and more beautiful than Rachel's ever seen her. She smiles when Rachel walks through the door.

"Did you see her?" Rachel smiles and nods. "I think she looks like him."

"I think she looks like your dad." Sydney laughs a little.

"I'm surprised that you didn't run into him down there. He's smitten already." Sydney pats the chair beside her bed. "Sit." Rachel obeys, and Sydney reaches over and squeezes her hand. Sydney whispers, like she's revealing a great secret, "I love her already." Rachel smiles. She doesn't know what to say, but as always, Sydney doesn't seem to care. "I think you were right. I think we're going to be okay." Rachel keeps smiling, not daring to ask if she maybe, just maybe, is a part of that "we."

She doesn't dare, but she's thinking it so hard she imagines it's plainly visible. Of course, Rachel wouldn't be horribly surprised if it turned out that Sydney could read her mind anyway. She had a knack for that, and it tended to get tiresome very fast. You couldn't keep secrets around Sydney Bristow. She was just kind enough not to confront you with them.

Rachel smiles as she thinks this, and Sydney smiles back.

And then Rachel jumps about a foot when the door swings open.

"Have you met my granddaughter?" Rachel can't remember having seen Jack smile before, but he's positively beaming now. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Rachel thinks she looks like you," Sydney says with a smirk, and he laughs. Rachel's definitely never heard him laugh. She awkwardly returns his smile, and then stands, nervously smoothing the hem of her shirt.

"I should go, leave you to get some rest," she mutters, trying to remember where she put her purse, dammit, how the hell did she manage to lose it in a hundred-square-foot room, anyway?

"Are you sure?" Sydney looks concerned, and Rachel nods, smiling determinedly, feeling her cheeks grow hot, wondering what Jack's seeing right now, if he knows, he probably knows, the man knows everything, face it, and now that he knows, he - Rachel cuts her thoughts off before she can work herself up into a visible state, but she can't keep from flushing when Sydney tugs her down to her level and embraces her, kissing her cheek, a gesture Rachel returns. Jack claps her on the shoulder as she walks past, and she feels pretty confident that no, this is something, finally something, he doesn't know. Right now, she's sure he doesn't even see Rachel there. It's just Sydney, and as she passes a nurse wheeling a plastic bassinet containing a tiny little human with a very familiar wail, it's just Emily, too, their little family, so broken, so full of love.

The last time Rachel kisses Sydney, it's born of pure desperation.

"You can't leave!" She chokes, knowing how shrill her voice sounds when she yelps that last word.

"It's just for a little while." Sydney offers a smile, but it wavers and disappears quickly when Rachel looks into her eyes.

"How long?" Rachel demands, trying to keep from sounding as panicked as she feels.

"I don't know." Sydney's folding clothes, tossing them into a dark leather suitcase that's seen better days. Two-and-a-half-week-old Emily sleeps soundly nearby, oblivious.

"How can you say it's just for a little while if you don't know how long? Why didn't you tell me?" She knows she sounds hysterical, but she can't seem to stop herself. She paces at the foot of the bed, fingers grasping and twisting around each other. Sydney doesn't answer, and Rachel wants to slap her. "What about your father? What about your job?" She can't and won't say what she really wants to ask. Besides, she already knows what would keep Sydney here. She knows she's not it. She pulls away from Sydney's hand on her shoulder, biting her lip hard.

"Rachel." Sydney puts down the shirt she's holding and grabs her in a tight hug. "I just need some time. My life, for so long, has been so centered on..." She trails off when a sob escapes Rachel before she can stifle it, and she pulls back and glares at Sydney.

"Four months ago, I lost everything. My family, my home, I found out that what I'd been doing, who I am, was, was all a lie. I've been shot at, nearly blown up twice, the person I once thought of as my best friend -"

"I know." Sydney's calm is maddening.

"You're all I have left." She sits down on the edge of Sydney's bed, head in her hands, not believing that she just said that. Crap. Sydney sits beside her, almost close enough as to be touching her.

"You're stronger than you think," is what she says, and it's not what Rachel's expecting.

"I don't think I can do this alone." She looks at Sydney without moving her head. Sydney's not looking at her. Rachel can feel her exhale.

"I promise you, you're not going to be thrown out on your own while I'm not there. They're already looking for a temporary replacement."

Who could replace you?

"You don't need me. You've come so far in such a short time." Rachel snorts but Sydney shakes her head before she can point out her more disastrous moments, or ask who she's trying to convince. "You're only going to get better." She smiles, pats Rachel's shoulder. "You're going to be okay."

And Rachel kisses her.

It's kind of a mess, because she's kind of a mess, choking back tears, bumping teeth, noses, foreheads, biting Sydney's lip, tasting her as deeply as she dares. She tells herself she'd rather regret what she's done than what she hasn't. And Sydney's mouth is open, if only from surprise, and she's not recoiling, and Rachel thinks maybe, just maybe, just before she lets her go, Sydney's lightly kissing her back.

"Rachel," Sydney sighs, and for just a moment, Rachel feels a tinge of regret - ah, there it is - when she sees the sadness in Sydney's eyes. But she doesn't apologize. Instead, she lets Sydney put her arm around her, and this time she can't even pretend to not be crying. "I'll write," she says, and Rachel can tell from her tone of voice that this is supposed to comfort her. "I'll send pictures of Emily. You won't miss seeing her grow up. Dad would never forgive me if..." She sighs and is silent for a moment, moves a hand to rub distractedly at her eye. "I need to do this for her. I need time to learn how to be a mother. Without anything else to..." She sighs, trails off. "I can't mess this up."
Rachel understands, she thinks, and she says as much. She stands, wipes her eyes, and walks to where Emily lies, awake now, but unworried. She seems to notice Rachel, and Rachel hopes that Emily can see her face. She hopes that Emily knows who she is. She hopes that she will always know.

Now is not the time to be selfish. Rachel knows this. She's an adult. She can manage. She'll manage just fine.

But what about me?

Damn it.