Title: A Dance In The Attic
Pairing: It's all about the S and V.
Summary: Syd. Vaughn. Dance. Attic. Future.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them! If I owned Vaughn, I'd be doing evil things with him right about now.
Feedback: Sure, as long as it's constructive. No flames please. I'm allergic. Contact me at: littlexiaolaong@yahoo.com
Author's note: I wrote this after hearing spoilers. Pick-me-up.
"You're smiling."
She stops moving the dusty boxes around, and pauses in front of the mirror to confirm his words. Yes, a smile is indeed gracing her face.
"It's a good look on you. I haven't seen it in awhile. I've missed it." He smiles, as he stands up from the box he had been kneeling over. "So why the sudden grin?" he asks, brushing his dirty hands on his jeans.
She gingerly takes a seat on the ground, sneezing as she displaces a fine layer of dust, which rises up into the musty attic air.
"I found something, and it made me think of Dad." She shrugs slightly.
He takes a seat next to her, smiling slightly as she instinctively moves closer. He puts an arm around her, and leans in to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Want to tell me about it?"
She leans back, and reaches for the box behind her. After riffling around for a few minutes, she finds the item she's looking for, and pulls it out.
It's a worn record sleeve, one with faded lettering and a washed-out picture. She carefully blows the dust off of it, and wordlessly hands it to him, watching as he examines it.
"Sinatra?" He finally says, forehead wrinkles appearing, as he holds the sleeve gingerly in his hands.
She chuckles as her right hand finds its way up to his forehead, gingerly and lovingly smoothing out the confused ripples embedded in his forehead.
"Yeah. He was a favorite of my father's. Dad had all of his records." She trails off, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion. He notices, and strokes her arm comfortingly, green eyes looking at her with love, and understanding, wordlessly waiting for her to continue.
"One of my best memories involves the two of us, listening to all of his records. It was right after mom had disappeared, and we were cleaning the attic..." She breaks off again, as she suddenly leans towards him, and wraps her arms around his middle.
Tears have pooled in her eyes, and she rubs her face slightly against his sweater, embarrassed at drying her eyes on his clothes, yet wanting to be comforted all the same.
He soothingly strokes her hair, murmuring words of comfort. Finally, as her eyes dry, and she looks up at him, he touches her cheek lovingly, and tells her, "Tell me about it."
~*~
FlashbackIt had been a hot summer day, one filled with humidity and clinging heat. Jack Bristow had made one of his rare appearances at home, and had coaxed a restless Sydney to forego her typical staple of Saturday morning cartoons, to help him clean the attic.
Sydney had sulked at first, upset at missing her weekly dose of Alvin and the Chipmunks. She had whined, she had pleaded, but her father had been relentless at his quest of getting away from the TV.
She had finally joined him in the attic, intent on sitting in a corner, and ignoring her father. However, her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she soon found herself pawing through boxes and trunks full of items she had never seen before.
~*~
"Daddy, what are these?"
Jack Bristow turns at the sound of his six-year-old daughter's voice, and smiles a rare smile, when he notices the box Sydney is sitting next to.
"It's my records, honey."
"Who's Frank Si..Sin-atra?" Sydney sounds out the weird sounding name emblazoned on the record sleeve in her lap, and looks up expectantly at her father.
Jack crosses across the cramped attic to his daughter, and crouches next to her. Taking the record from her small, outstretched hand, he fingers the sleeve lovingly, while giving his supried daughter a kiss on the forehead.
"He's only one of the best singers who's ever lived. Would you like to hear some of his music, sweetie?"
Sydney nods, brown eyes wide with curiosity, as she watches Jack fish around in another box, pulling out a record player.
Her curiosity grows, as Jack pulls the record out of the sleeve and places it gently on the record player.
Jack fiddles around with the player for a while, and to Sydney's amazement, music slowly begins to play.
Come fly with me
Let's fly, let's fly away
If you can use some exotic booze
There's a bar in far Bombay
Come fly with me
Let's fly, let's fly away
Come fly with me
Let's float down to Peru
In llama land
There's a one-man band
And he'll toot his flute for you
"May I have this dance?"
"But Daddy, I don't know how to dance!"
"Well, I'll just have to teach you then." Jack smiles, as Sydney takes his offered hand and stands, looking at him trustingly.
Once I get you up there
Where the air is rarified
We'll just fly
Starry-eyed
Once I get you up there
I'll be holding you
So near
You may hear
The angels cheer because
We're together
He gently guides her small, sock-covered feet on top of his, and takes her other hand.
"Now, just follow my lead. Step one, step two, and turn."
Sydney giggles, but soon, with Jack's gentle coaxing, she gets the hang of it. They spend the rest of the afternoon like dancing, laughing, as Frank Sinatra slowly plays in the background.
End of Flashback"That was one of the few happy moments we had together, during my childhood." Sydney finishes her story, still wrapped securely in Vaughn's arms, tears now a distant memory.
Vaughn rubs her arms sympathetically, pausing to kiss her on the side of her face.
"Vaughn?"
"Yes, sweetie?"
"Just promise me one thing."
"Anything, baby."
Sydney takes one of Vaughn's hands and entwines it with her own. She gingerly places their intertwined hands on her stomach, and turns to look at him.
"Promise me, that no matter what, she'll have plenty of happy memories like that to choose from."
Several Years Later"Daddy, you're doing it all wrong!"
Sydney's eyes open, as she hears a happy giggle coming from upstairs. She gets off from the couch, where she had been taking a nap, and heads up stairs, towards the sound of the laugh.
What greets her is possibly one of the most heart-warming sights she has ever seen.
In a bright patch of sunlight in her daughter's room, five-year-old Emilee Vaughn and her father are currently holding hands, dancing slowly. Vaughn is on his knees, in an attempt to balance out the height difference, and Emilee giggles, when he suddenly twirls her around.
"Daddy! Stop! I'm dizzy!" She squeals, as Vaughn catches her in his arms.
"Who's my girl now?" He asks Emilee, tickling her with one hand, grinning as she laughs.
"I am!" Emilee squeals back, wrapping her arms around his neck, and giving him a big kiss on the cheek.
Out of the corner of his eye, Vaughn spots Sydney watching them, and reaches a hand out to her.
Sydney walks into the room and sits Indian-style next to the laughing duo.
"Mommy!" Emilee untangles herself from her father, and launches herself into her mother's arms.
"Hey sweetie." She ruffles her daughter's hair affectionately, smiling when she notices the similarities between Vaughn and their daughter.
"Mommy, daddy taught me to dance! And he played me some of your favorite music! I think his name was Frank. And daddy did it wrong. He didn't do it the way you taught me."
Sydney continues to listen to her daughter affectionately, content to know that happy moments like these, were just part of her ordinary life.