Title: Eternal Things
Author: Blue Daze
Genre: Drama, Angst
Spoilers: Small reference to ATY
Rating: R very very R.
Distribution: Just ask first
Reviews: Yeah sure go ahead.
Disclaimer: Oh come on. If I owned Alias I would not be writing a friggin fanfic. I would be on top of Agent Vaughn like a … I'm gonna stop talking now.
A note: This story has some very adult themes. Such as non-consensual sex (that's right people no fairy tales here. Maybe later but not now.) Also character death. Some parts were inspired by Buffy and a scene in Spiderman. Oh, don't get a heart attack it's not like I'm getting paid for this.
Pain. It's part of life. The pain of love, of sorrow, of hatred. Pains in its sharpest moments shape us into the person we must ultimately become, granting a healing ecstasy in our grief. We can't control it; those moments of agony when we feel as though we might implode. We feel it and we are never truly the same. Pain. It wraps itself around you, engulfing you, until it is all you know…
It's too cold, Sydney thought, as she stared fixedly at the grave. It was grey and hard, lacking in love and grace despite the affectionate inscription:
Francine Calfo
Loving Daughter and Friend
May the Angels Smile Upon Her for All Eternity
She wasn't sure how long she had been standing there…possibly since sunrise. The seconds seemed to bleed into days without her being truly aware of it. Ever since that night…
No, you said you wouldn't think about it anymore.
Sydney began to pick the petals off one of the roses in the bouquet she brought. It consisted of yellow roses (for friendship) and white roses (for grace, purity, Heaven, whatever…) She sprinkled the petals, letting them fall like snow on the grave.
It was a chilly morning; even the sunlight felt cold on her back. Or maybe it was just her. She was the one who was frozen and numb to the bone. Perhaps Francie was not the only one who had died that night. Unlike Francie, however, Sydney would have to live with her death along with so many other things in her sad, dark life.
She felt a tear slide down her and shuddered at it's warmth on her skin. Ok, so maybe she wasn't as dead she perceived herself to be. She had not turned into one of those marble angels that stood guard at the cemetery gates. She could still feel the sorrow…bewilderment…
…pain.
Oh God, why couldn't she be dead to the pain? It should be warning with regard to her: Where Sydney Bristow walks painful things follow. Please tread carefully.
I guess Francie forgot to read the warning label.
"I don't know who to grieve more for," she whispered. She dropped the yellow and white bouquet on the freshly dug soil.
Would the truth have saved you, Fran? Why did you have to die? What on Earth did you have to die for?
She let a few more tears slide down her cheek, rain on glass. She choked back a sob, all the while wondering who she was crying for. One tear for you, two for me…
She had gotten there too late, seconds too late. As always. I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry. I just know it'll never be enough.
It can be as trivial as pinprick or as shattering as the knife itself. It's a fact of life. It's not pretty but hey- sometimes it's all we have.
A breeze brushed past her and she hugged herself tightly, shutting her eyes against the memory. No, too late. There it was as stark as black on white.
Flashback
"Francie?" Sydney called, opening the door to her apartment. "Hey Fran, I'm home."
She stopped suddenly. A small smile curled her lips. The lights were turned down low and the living room was set up in a devastatingly romantic fashion. Candles were lit, rose petals littered the place, champagne glasses were half-drunk, and romantic music was playing softly in the background.
"Nice," Sydney murmured. She walked over to the coffee table and saw a small note on it. Unable to resist, she picked up the note and read it curiously, feeling a tingle of vicarious pleasure at its words.
"My Dearest Francie,
Let it not your wonder move,
Less your laughter that I love…
Sydney recognized it as a poem by some author whose name she could not recall. At the bottom of the note was an inscription:
These words describe my feelings for you better than any love song.
Your David
David. Francie's new man that Sydney had only heard of once before.
"Oh Syd, I met the cutest guy today. He's smart, charming, and he travels the world doing charity work in Third World Nations. He's almost too good to be true!"
"He probably is!" Sydney told her, laughingly.
Sydney finished reading the rest of the poem. "'til she be the reason why / all the world for love may die."
It's nice to know that there are still some decent guys out there for the rest of us, Sydney thought, wryly. Her thoughts turned abruptly to a pair of smiling green eyes and she felt a shudder of pleasure. And one incredible guy out there for me.
Sydney put down the poem and that was when she noticed a third glass of champagne on the table. Another small note was attached to it.
"Hey Syd!! You've been working too hard! Have some bubbly and I'll see you in the morning. Love Francie.
Sydney smiled and took a game sip of champagne. She considered taking a luxurious bubble bath but decided against it. It would be too awkward if Francie's David walked in to take a whiz and saw her naked except for a few bubbles. Instead, she would light a few candles of her own and curl up with a good first edition.
She downed the rest of her champagne and went to her room, peeling off her jacket and throwing it on a chair.
As soon as she was dressed down in her night dress she made her way back to the living room to retrieve her copy of Camille on the table. She felt like something tragic that night.
She passed her roommate's bedroom and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Francie was probably in there, pleasantly slumbering in her David's arms. Maybe now would be a good chance to see what this guy looks like. Francie had been smugly mysterious about him and when questioned about his features would only make an exaggerated drooling sound.
Sydney quietly pushed open the door, careful to not let it creak. A shaft of light revealed Francie's form, sound asleep and alone in bed.
Huh. No David. Well that probably means that she won't mind if I wake her for a moment to ask how her date went.
She crept into the room and stood over her sleeping friend. "Francie?" she whispered. " Francie are you awake?" Her friend did not stir.
Sydney figured it was the champagne. She turned to leave when something about when something about the scene struck her as chillingly odd. Francie was not a heavy sleeper, even when she was drunk. Even if she was hung-over into absolute hell, Francie still managed to get up in the morning when she heard the paper being thrown into the driveway. Why didn't she awake now? Why did it appear as though she were not breathing? She couldn't possibly be…
"Francie?" Sydney whispered the chill beginning to take hold of her heart. She leaned forward to look at Francie's face more closely, trying to get her eyes to adjust in the dark. Her heartbeat seemed to slow and quicken as the room began to blur into dots.
Francie's eyes were wide open. They were dead and searing themselves into Sydney's nightmares to come.
Sydney straightened, choked with horror, and clapped a hand over her scream.
Suddenly the lights flickered on. Sydney whirled around, terrified and disoriented.
Sark stood over the threshold, lighting up a cigarette. He smiled arrogantly at her while he took a drag off his cig. The stench of nicotine made her dizzy and she leaned unsteadily on the nightstand.
"I had a wonderful night with your friend," he purred. Friend. Not lover. An innocent that's all she was. And the look on your lovely face-"He took a step toward her. "-was worth all the preparation I made for tonight. After all it's a special occasion."
Sydney stared at him, feeling the bile rise in her throat. She looked back at Francie's body, finally registering that she was nude beneath the covers. He slept with her. He slept with her before he killed her. She let out a choked sob of anguish.
"Do you like it sweetness?" he went on. "I wanted it to be perfect for you." He sneered, his face a pale mask of everything dark and senseless. "For us."
"Us?" Sydney's head was spinning like a top.
"Why yes. You and I and our first beautiful night together."
And then she knew. His intentions for her were carved over his features, cold and quietly insane. This was the face that was too handsome for words?
He wanted her. Not in the adoring, honorable way Vaughn desired her. Sark wanted her the way a wolf wanted meat. He wanted to tear her to pieces until there was nothing left but blood and bone. Shame and emptiness. He meant to pin her down and damage her to the world, grinding her into ruin. He wanted to destroy every last trace of innocence and dignity and humanity in her. And then discard her like trash when he was done because that was all he considered her to be.
"You goddamn psycho." Sydney whispered, backing away. She tried to resist trembling. That would probably just turn him on more. "You're fucking insane."
"Maybe. Doesn't mean you're not afraid." He clapped his hands together. "Now let's get started." He lunged at her and she yelped and dodged his advances.
They fought. Sydney did not have much thought in her mind except to tear Sark and his attentions to shreds. Francie's corpse hung treacherously over her mind as she roundhouse kicked Sark in the face, shrieking primitively as she did so. He tumbled to the floor.
As she aimed a kick at the blur she knew to be Sark's body she felt the room wobble dangerously beneath her. She staggered backwards as the room shifted in and out of focus. Her breath came in painful stabs as she struggled for more air.
The champagne…there was something in the champagne…
Okey doke . This is my first fanfic. If you don't like it so far then you are totally free to leave. I'll be sad but I'll live.