Title: With Good Reason
Author: wren
Rating: PG, there's only one little bad word thrown in
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, but you already know that, don't you?
Summary: Sydney's stuck in the hospital for a little while and she gets a few visitors who make her think about the whole spy thing...
A/N: I really hope this thing's not too out of character. The prologue's just setting up the story so hang in there with me...
Prologue-Never Simple
A brush pass, they were just supposed to make a simple pass, exchange a disc and then walk the other way. He had been called in as a last minute replacement, someone Sydney would recognize on short notice. So he had climbed into his car and driven to the airport, all the while trying to have the same sense of humor Weiss had about the terminology. Make a pass at her, ha ha. It only succeeded in making him sick to his stomach the way anything that scraped a bit too close to the truth did. Sometimes the lies are a bit easier to swallow, no matter what people say about the Glorious Truth.
He should have remembered nothing's ever simple when you're dealing with Sydney Bristow.
He had waited for her long past the appointed time, hoping he looked inconspicuous enough as he paced the terminal in his travel-stained suit with his standard-issue briefcase. He had not panicked, a fact he was irrationally proud of. He had only picked himself up and preformed a meticulous search of the whole airport. He found her tucked away in one of the convenient blind spots that seem to be built into every public place, her head thrown back, her hair spilling like a stain across the dirty black material of the seat, the rest of her curled in a impossibly small ball, she could have almost been sleeping.
She must not have been expecting it, there must have been a lot of them to do that to the Sydney he knew. She looked terrible, bruised and bleeding, her breath coming in shallow gasps that rattled her frame and her skin the exact color and texture of fresh paper. He believed, though, with a grim sort of certainty that she had given as good as she got. Without thinking, he had bundled her in his coat, smoothing the fabric out to cover every abused inch, and walked out with her cradled against his chest like a sleeping infant, or maybe more like a lover.
Michael Vaughn's hands tightened on the leather of the steering wheel slick with his sweat. His eyes danced between the woman slumped in his passenger seat and the windshield. He wondered even now if he was crossing some unspoken boundary on him by doing this. But who else was going to? It wasn't like she was any condition to help herself, and Sydney's unaccustomed vulnerability brought out a protective side of him that would have been impossible to squelch. He turned the wheel slightly, his fingers slipping on the oily material, aiming for the rest stop. He winced as the car bounced over a rut, but she didn't make a sound as her head banged with a hollow thud against the window.
Pulling into a vacant spot, he quickly snapped off both their seatbelts. He checked her over thoroughly, keeping an ear on her breathing and re-bandaging all of her cuts. He had used one of his shirts that he found in his trunk, shredding it and tying the pieces tightly to stop the bleeding. There were so many holes in her flesh he knew at least one of the bastards must have had a knife. The thought sent a jolt of cold fury through him, frightening in its intensity. He had never been the violent type, much less ever wanted to tear someone apart limb from limb. Now, he supposed, was as good a time as any to learn to be.
His fingers hit something hard and solid in his search for missed gashes, and he wrestled it from the wreck of her business clothes. It was encrusted with blood, but the disc was still usable. Memory grounded him, duty drew off his anger; there was still a job to be finished, Sydney would understand.
He gently took her face in his hands, speaking softly but firmly. "Sydney, Syd. Sweetheart, you've got to wake up for me." The endearments slipped of his tongue thoughtlessly, effortlessly. "Just for a minute, that's it baby." Her eyes fluttered, opened, blinked hazily at him. "Hey there, Syd. There you go...How are you feeling?"
Her lips parted, and he watched as they cracked, bleeding sluggishly; her battered throat worked to make the words come. "Hurts..."
"Aww, sweetheart, I know, I know. I'm going to get you home as soon as I can, and then we'll get you all fixed up...But I want you to remember something for me, okay?" He dug in his pants pocket for his own fake disc and held them both up for her inspection. "Now I'm going to take the disc you brought back for us-did I say thank you, by the way?-and I'm going to tuck this disc right...here...for the next time you see Sloane. Got that, good job! Now close your eyes, and we'll be home before you know it..."
And he kept his promise as best he could, though the whole drive seemed to be the longest ordeal of his life. He parked down the street from her home, and went to the revolting work of removing his shirt from her wounds, his training urging him to leave no evidence that he had ever touched her. Making sure his coat remained behind, he bundled her up again for the long walk to her doorstep. Francie's car was outside and the lights were on, so he knew Sydney's friend would find her. He arranged her in the position he hoped would cause the least amount of pain, head pillowed on the welcome mat, for Francie to discover. There wasn't anything else he could do for her without risking too much, and he left her there.
But just in case, he hid in the bushes.
Author: wren
Rating: PG, there's only one little bad word thrown in
Disclaimer: I don't own any of it, but you already know that, don't you?
Summary: Sydney's stuck in the hospital for a little while and she gets a few visitors who make her think about the whole spy thing...
A/N: I really hope this thing's not too out of character. The prologue's just setting up the story so hang in there with me...
Prologue-Never Simple
A brush pass, they were just supposed to make a simple pass, exchange a disc and then walk the other way. He had been called in as a last minute replacement, someone Sydney would recognize on short notice. So he had climbed into his car and driven to the airport, all the while trying to have the same sense of humor Weiss had about the terminology. Make a pass at her, ha ha. It only succeeded in making him sick to his stomach the way anything that scraped a bit too close to the truth did. Sometimes the lies are a bit easier to swallow, no matter what people say about the Glorious Truth.
He should have remembered nothing's ever simple when you're dealing with Sydney Bristow.
He had waited for her long past the appointed time, hoping he looked inconspicuous enough as he paced the terminal in his travel-stained suit with his standard-issue briefcase. He had not panicked, a fact he was irrationally proud of. He had only picked himself up and preformed a meticulous search of the whole airport. He found her tucked away in one of the convenient blind spots that seem to be built into every public place, her head thrown back, her hair spilling like a stain across the dirty black material of the seat, the rest of her curled in a impossibly small ball, she could have almost been sleeping.
She must not have been expecting it, there must have been a lot of them to do that to the Sydney he knew. She looked terrible, bruised and bleeding, her breath coming in shallow gasps that rattled her frame and her skin the exact color and texture of fresh paper. He believed, though, with a grim sort of certainty that she had given as good as she got. Without thinking, he had bundled her in his coat, smoothing the fabric out to cover every abused inch, and walked out with her cradled against his chest like a sleeping infant, or maybe more like a lover.
Michael Vaughn's hands tightened on the leather of the steering wheel slick with his sweat. His eyes danced between the woman slumped in his passenger seat and the windshield. He wondered even now if he was crossing some unspoken boundary on him by doing this. But who else was going to? It wasn't like she was any condition to help herself, and Sydney's unaccustomed vulnerability brought out a protective side of him that would have been impossible to squelch. He turned the wheel slightly, his fingers slipping on the oily material, aiming for the rest stop. He winced as the car bounced over a rut, but she didn't make a sound as her head banged with a hollow thud against the window.
Pulling into a vacant spot, he quickly snapped off both their seatbelts. He checked her over thoroughly, keeping an ear on her breathing and re-bandaging all of her cuts. He had used one of his shirts that he found in his trunk, shredding it and tying the pieces tightly to stop the bleeding. There were so many holes in her flesh he knew at least one of the bastards must have had a knife. The thought sent a jolt of cold fury through him, frightening in its intensity. He had never been the violent type, much less ever wanted to tear someone apart limb from limb. Now, he supposed, was as good a time as any to learn to be.
His fingers hit something hard and solid in his search for missed gashes, and he wrestled it from the wreck of her business clothes. It was encrusted with blood, but the disc was still usable. Memory grounded him, duty drew off his anger; there was still a job to be finished, Sydney would understand.
He gently took her face in his hands, speaking softly but firmly. "Sydney, Syd. Sweetheart, you've got to wake up for me." The endearments slipped of his tongue thoughtlessly, effortlessly. "Just for a minute, that's it baby." Her eyes fluttered, opened, blinked hazily at him. "Hey there, Syd. There you go...How are you feeling?"
Her lips parted, and he watched as they cracked, bleeding sluggishly; her battered throat worked to make the words come. "Hurts..."
"Aww, sweetheart, I know, I know. I'm going to get you home as soon as I can, and then we'll get you all fixed up...But I want you to remember something for me, okay?" He dug in his pants pocket for his own fake disc and held them both up for her inspection. "Now I'm going to take the disc you brought back for us-did I say thank you, by the way?-and I'm going to tuck this disc right...here...for the next time you see Sloane. Got that, good job! Now close your eyes, and we'll be home before you know it..."
And he kept his promise as best he could, though the whole drive seemed to be the longest ordeal of his life. He parked down the street from her home, and went to the revolting work of removing his shirt from her wounds, his training urging him to leave no evidence that he had ever touched her. Making sure his coat remained behind, he bundled her up again for the long walk to her doorstep. Francie's car was outside and the lights were on, so he knew Sydney's friend would find her. He arranged her in the position he hoped would cause the least amount of pain, head pillowed on the welcome mat, for Francie to discover. There wasn't anything else he could do for her without risking too much, and he left her there.
But just in case, he hid in the bushes.