Title: Fundamental Frequency
Author: daera23
Rating: PG-13
Summary: S/V UST, The Intimacy of the Comm Link
Spoilers: Succession
Disclaimer: The Wind Done Gone Defense
Special Thanks: Siryn and Luna for the great early look feedback and Jude for keeping on my case until I wrote something.
Author's Note: I usually don't post on ff.net due to ratings issues. If you would like to read more of my fic, it is available at sd-1.com.
* * * * * *
FUNDAMENTAL FREQUENCY
He came back to the agency for himself. He missed the lightening-fast pace and wanted to put his expertise back to work, to know that he was doing something to make the world a better place. At least that's what he tells himself. And now that she's back, he can face the others again without the shame of losing her.
He told his wife that it wasn't a big deal. That it was time for him to go back to the agency. Lauren had been his sanctuary. She had allowed him to take a step back, when he desperately need one. But he can't hide out forever, and teaching, however noble, wasn't really his calling. He tells himself that the period of his life which he ran from is over. He let her go; as hard as it was, he has really let her go. And now he has a beautiful wife that he loves and he is happy. He tells himself he is ready.
It is deceptively simple to walk back into the operations center and act like nothing has changed. He lulls himself into a false security, but he must admit, her presence there is undeniable. In the short time that Sydney Bristow worked for the real CIA, she became an integral part of his existence. Sure, he had worked at the agency longer than she, but ever since she had walked in wearing that hideous wig and a mouth full of pain, she had irrevocably changed its makeup. Like a sun, she had imposed her light, her maxims on his agency, and everyone she met had been pulled into her orbit. With her there, he had all but forgotten that his father was the original reason he had joined the CIA. And it didn't even bother him.
The mission set up is both strangely foreign and hauntingly familiar. This time he will play the role of casual observer as he slowly eases back into the fray. He is not field rated yet, and for that he is selfishly thankful. It will keep him from becoming too involved. It will spare him from dealing with being her partner again when they will never fully be partners on all the levels they had been before. And most of all, he won't have to face the disappointment in her eyes.
Familiar players and some new ones gather at tech station for the pre- mission systems check. The assistant is sent to get coffee, and the air is casual as they wait for things to get under way. It's just a bunch of guys shooting the bull and discussing last night's game.
He hangs back, content to observe, and finds himself looking for Weiss even though he knows Weiss is in the field. Two tech guys who were around from before are instructing a new recruit on mission protocol. They tell the new guy he is in for a real treat. The agent in the field is a real pro, a legend even. And in the breath following their homage, they make a wager as to how quickly she will incapacitate her mark. He wonders if they always did this, and if he was just too caught up in the world of Sydney Bristow to pay attention to anything else. He wryly realizes that Weiss probably ran the pool.
The sound of her voice over the speakers startles him when she signs on. It's just the equipment check, but he watches as each man stops what he is doing and gives her his undivided attention. She reports that they are going live and their ears are assaulted by the pulsating beat of yet another Eurotrash club. He doesn't know it yet, and won't for some time to come, but he has just taken the first step down a very slippery slope.
It all starts with her breath. It evens out as she enters the club. The rest of her world may be insane, but in this moment, she becomes cool, calm, collected. The act is on. She is in the thick of it and he knows she has always enjoyed this part. She would have made a great actress. When she is on a mission, in character, her presence is undeniable, and he doesn't have to be there to know how quickly she will catch her mark's interest, dangling just the right piece of intel in front of him.
He listens as the bodyguard pats her down and though the men standing around him miss it, he notes a slight catch in her breath as unwanted hands fondle her form. He glances around at Marshall and Dixon. They are alert, but not on edge, objectively waiting for the drama to unfold.
Her mark studies her, and reacts as any man graced by the good fortune of her presence would. He's watched this scenario a thousand times. Still, he marvels at her patience, her timing, that innate sense learned long ago, of how to ride the edge of the situation, biding her time until it is just right to make her move. In fact she doesn't even make the move, she leads him to make the move for her.
It's like he's at the farm and watching a training video of how to be a field agent. She's textbook perfect at her job, and even though he always knew this, he still finds it hard to believe that he was ever good enough to work with her.
She gives a shallow giggle to the prideful ramblings and lecherous breath in her ear. Their clothing rustles together as they dance to the mesmerizing beat. He has to remind himself that she is a professional and knows exactly how to handle these men. Still, it makes his skin crawl. He can just see the man leering over Sydney, and it turns his stomach what she has to do for her job. Even worse, they are willing voyeurs on this situation, listening to her every sigh, her every breath.
He hears her shrug out of her jacket, and it's hard not to wonder what she is wearing. German missions usually provided better disguises - not as much skin exposed, more conservative and restrained. His memory flashes to a red vinyl corset, but he quickly pushes it aside, refusing to remember how said corset turned him into a fumbling fool after the mission when he tried to coax it to release her secrets.
The mark fishing for "collateral" brings him back to the situation at hand. With a sudden burst of action he has recently experienced first hand, she has had enough of the leech. She knocks him out without even breaking a sweat. This he knows as surely as he knows her.
As much as her earlier actions were bound in restraint, her current actions are driven by motion. She moves quickly to the vault level to deactivate the alarm. It's an easy run, but now her heart is pumping and her breathing grows louder.
That's when it hits him. She is really back out there. She is really on a mission. She is putting her life on the line and could very well fail. He tries to continue listening passively, but it gets increasingly harder as the stakes of the mission escalate.
The urgent need to reanalyze the mission strikes him hard. While he knows Marshall and Dixon are more than competent, and have backed her up more often than he has; he realizes he will only be satisfied by double-checking every last detail. It's like riding a bike; he has not missed a beat. The building schematics flash by, and that sixth sense of all things Sydney causes the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Something is just not right. This is Sydney's life and he cannot sit passively by. He starts to grill Marshall on the building systems, searching for source of the alarm in his mind.
And just like that he is back in the game. He grabs the extra headset without thinking, and immediately instructs Sydney. He has no time to marvel at his actions, though he will run them through his mind a million times after the mission is over. They are so on. They are right there, back in the game like not a moment has passed, and she immediately accepts his orders without question.
He had worked so hard to earn her trust. Sydney had come to him so damaged, and trust did not come easy for her especially after Danny. They had played a game of two steps forward and three steps back, and there were times he thought they would never work out. But somewhere in all their hard fought battles, they forged an almost unbreakable bond.
The current situation reminds him of another alarm where last minute intel revealed a failsafe. In that mission, they were still butting heads over operational control. He had given her Irina's intel, but as much she distrusted her mother, she had trusted in him. He almost had her compliance until Kendall decided to play alpha male and make it an official order. Every time they were around Kendall, she had to remind him that she was an alpha too and had the right of refusal.
Later their interchange will baffle him because now she has so much to question of him. But their bond, their trust, still exists on the most fundamental level. Her reactions to him are not based on a conditioned response. Her missing time has only strengthened her defiance of authority, and he has already heard the rumors of her confrontation of Lindsey.
His quick thinking works, and they all breathe sighs of relief. He hadn't even realized how rapidly he had gotten caught up in the whole situation until he notices how his pulse is racing and his palms are sweaty. She pushes on and Dixon's voice waivers as he sends the team in. He's glad he's not the only one who is reacting emotionally.
She's breathing hard now, moving with urgency. She meets up with Weiss and arms herself. Her gun clicks off safety, and he hears the team trailing her. Another beep and she's accessing the vault.
He thought that the sound quality was good on the speakers, but it is nothing compared to the intimacy of sounds he hears through the headset. He is right there with her listening to the exact pitch of her exertions - every breath, every sigh, every grunt, and every groan. He tries to remain objective and evaluate how this constant intimacy could have manufactured his attraction to her. But later he will admit to himself that those were the moments he cherished most. The link was the genesis of their connection. The link was how he knew her so well that she could answer him from the grave during those dark drunken nights.
He had known her so intimately. Long before they ever became lovers he knew her reactions right down to a biological level. It was his job, and he took pride in being good at his job. He knew her every reaction time. She could run a mile in five and a half minutes. He knew her resting heart rate, her active heart rate and exactly how adrenaline and stress affected each. He knew the arguments her mind would make and prepared responses a hundred times over before he would ever set foot in that warehouse to meet her. And he knew which sighs and moans were the same ones he heard calling his name over and over again as he gave her pleasure. And though he would not consciously admit it to himself, he knows he will dream of those moans and not be able to get them out of his head even when he is in bed with his wife. It scares him because he knows the intimacies of this woman far better than he will ever know the one he has pledged his life to.
Another commotion erupts as she throws open the door and confronts the man holding their agent captive. He hears a gun cock, but she is so much faster, and she shoots to kill. Her breathing is erratic from the adrenaline, but she still hits her mark and quickly moves to free the agent. With kind words of reassurance, she fulfills her role as rescuing angel.
He thinks they have achieved their objective, and he foolishly lets his guard down. That, of course, is when they hear it. The voice is in the background and would be easy to miss, except for the way Sydney freezes up in response.
"You kept your promise, that you would kill me. You were my favorite. You never broke."
Those words chill him to the bone. He knows she has new scars. And they would all like to think that she obtained them in battle where she could actively defend herself, but now they have the frightful confirmation that this is not the case. It chills them to the bone to think that she not only was tortured, but that her torturer took sadistic pride in it. He finds himself gasping for air at the thought. He want to scream and hit and hurt something.
But it is the quiver in her voice that truly rips him apart. She's frantic as she desperately tries to question the rheumy voice. Her torturer is going to slip through her hands because she is such a damn good shot.
She screams for her missing time, for her missing knowledge, and it breaks his heart. He tries not to let Marshall or Dixon see how it affects him, but he knows that they too are barely holding back the tears. They're all voyeurs on this woman's life and her anguish is displayed for all to see.
She's whimpering, about to totally lose it, and he doesn't notice as Dixon directs the guys to leave Sydney to her private moment and attend to other parts of the mission clean up. He almost wishes she would turn off her comm link, but he just as desperately wants her leave it on. He can't be a part of this now. His heart is breaking for her in this moment, but he can't be there. She is broken and he is no longer able to fix her.
It's Weiss who goes to her and wraps his arms around her and holds her crumpled form. Weiss stands in as his proxy. He hears his friend murmuring reassurances in her ear and her muffled tears against his shoulder. He is so absorbed in the new dynamic they share that he doesn't realize how long he has been sitting there. The post mission debrief is about to start. He's not sure how he will make it through the wrap up, but he forces himself to clear his head and move on.
At the end of the day, all he wants to do is go get a beer with Weiss, get drunk, and honestly talk about the situation. To reaffirm how much he loves Lauren, and how she makes him happy. But also to confess how scary it is that nothing that has happened it the last two years has done a thing to sever that fundamental connection he shares with Sydney. He realizes that while Sydney may feel alone, bereft of her old friends; she doesn't yet see how all their colleagues are rallying around her. He is the one who is truly isolated with no one to confide in. No one, except his wife.
Author: daera23
Rating: PG-13
Summary: S/V UST, The Intimacy of the Comm Link
Spoilers: Succession
Disclaimer: The Wind Done Gone Defense
Special Thanks: Siryn and Luna for the great early look feedback and Jude for keeping on my case until I wrote something.
Author's Note: I usually don't post on ff.net due to ratings issues. If you would like to read more of my fic, it is available at sd-1.com.
* * * * * *
FUNDAMENTAL FREQUENCY
He came back to the agency for himself. He missed the lightening-fast pace and wanted to put his expertise back to work, to know that he was doing something to make the world a better place. At least that's what he tells himself. And now that she's back, he can face the others again without the shame of losing her.
He told his wife that it wasn't a big deal. That it was time for him to go back to the agency. Lauren had been his sanctuary. She had allowed him to take a step back, when he desperately need one. But he can't hide out forever, and teaching, however noble, wasn't really his calling. He tells himself that the period of his life which he ran from is over. He let her go; as hard as it was, he has really let her go. And now he has a beautiful wife that he loves and he is happy. He tells himself he is ready.
It is deceptively simple to walk back into the operations center and act like nothing has changed. He lulls himself into a false security, but he must admit, her presence there is undeniable. In the short time that Sydney Bristow worked for the real CIA, she became an integral part of his existence. Sure, he had worked at the agency longer than she, but ever since she had walked in wearing that hideous wig and a mouth full of pain, she had irrevocably changed its makeup. Like a sun, she had imposed her light, her maxims on his agency, and everyone she met had been pulled into her orbit. With her there, he had all but forgotten that his father was the original reason he had joined the CIA. And it didn't even bother him.
The mission set up is both strangely foreign and hauntingly familiar. This time he will play the role of casual observer as he slowly eases back into the fray. He is not field rated yet, and for that he is selfishly thankful. It will keep him from becoming too involved. It will spare him from dealing with being her partner again when they will never fully be partners on all the levels they had been before. And most of all, he won't have to face the disappointment in her eyes.
Familiar players and some new ones gather at tech station for the pre- mission systems check. The assistant is sent to get coffee, and the air is casual as they wait for things to get under way. It's just a bunch of guys shooting the bull and discussing last night's game.
He hangs back, content to observe, and finds himself looking for Weiss even though he knows Weiss is in the field. Two tech guys who were around from before are instructing a new recruit on mission protocol. They tell the new guy he is in for a real treat. The agent in the field is a real pro, a legend even. And in the breath following their homage, they make a wager as to how quickly she will incapacitate her mark. He wonders if they always did this, and if he was just too caught up in the world of Sydney Bristow to pay attention to anything else. He wryly realizes that Weiss probably ran the pool.
The sound of her voice over the speakers startles him when she signs on. It's just the equipment check, but he watches as each man stops what he is doing and gives her his undivided attention. She reports that they are going live and their ears are assaulted by the pulsating beat of yet another Eurotrash club. He doesn't know it yet, and won't for some time to come, but he has just taken the first step down a very slippery slope.
It all starts with her breath. It evens out as she enters the club. The rest of her world may be insane, but in this moment, she becomes cool, calm, collected. The act is on. She is in the thick of it and he knows she has always enjoyed this part. She would have made a great actress. When she is on a mission, in character, her presence is undeniable, and he doesn't have to be there to know how quickly she will catch her mark's interest, dangling just the right piece of intel in front of him.
He listens as the bodyguard pats her down and though the men standing around him miss it, he notes a slight catch in her breath as unwanted hands fondle her form. He glances around at Marshall and Dixon. They are alert, but not on edge, objectively waiting for the drama to unfold.
Her mark studies her, and reacts as any man graced by the good fortune of her presence would. He's watched this scenario a thousand times. Still, he marvels at her patience, her timing, that innate sense learned long ago, of how to ride the edge of the situation, biding her time until it is just right to make her move. In fact she doesn't even make the move, she leads him to make the move for her.
It's like he's at the farm and watching a training video of how to be a field agent. She's textbook perfect at her job, and even though he always knew this, he still finds it hard to believe that he was ever good enough to work with her.
She gives a shallow giggle to the prideful ramblings and lecherous breath in her ear. Their clothing rustles together as they dance to the mesmerizing beat. He has to remind himself that she is a professional and knows exactly how to handle these men. Still, it makes his skin crawl. He can just see the man leering over Sydney, and it turns his stomach what she has to do for her job. Even worse, they are willing voyeurs on this situation, listening to her every sigh, her every breath.
He hears her shrug out of her jacket, and it's hard not to wonder what she is wearing. German missions usually provided better disguises - not as much skin exposed, more conservative and restrained. His memory flashes to a red vinyl corset, but he quickly pushes it aside, refusing to remember how said corset turned him into a fumbling fool after the mission when he tried to coax it to release her secrets.
The mark fishing for "collateral" brings him back to the situation at hand. With a sudden burst of action he has recently experienced first hand, she has had enough of the leech. She knocks him out without even breaking a sweat. This he knows as surely as he knows her.
As much as her earlier actions were bound in restraint, her current actions are driven by motion. She moves quickly to the vault level to deactivate the alarm. It's an easy run, but now her heart is pumping and her breathing grows louder.
That's when it hits him. She is really back out there. She is really on a mission. She is putting her life on the line and could very well fail. He tries to continue listening passively, but it gets increasingly harder as the stakes of the mission escalate.
The urgent need to reanalyze the mission strikes him hard. While he knows Marshall and Dixon are more than competent, and have backed her up more often than he has; he realizes he will only be satisfied by double-checking every last detail. It's like riding a bike; he has not missed a beat. The building schematics flash by, and that sixth sense of all things Sydney causes the little hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end. Something is just not right. This is Sydney's life and he cannot sit passively by. He starts to grill Marshall on the building systems, searching for source of the alarm in his mind.
And just like that he is back in the game. He grabs the extra headset without thinking, and immediately instructs Sydney. He has no time to marvel at his actions, though he will run them through his mind a million times after the mission is over. They are so on. They are right there, back in the game like not a moment has passed, and she immediately accepts his orders without question.
He had worked so hard to earn her trust. Sydney had come to him so damaged, and trust did not come easy for her especially after Danny. They had played a game of two steps forward and three steps back, and there were times he thought they would never work out. But somewhere in all their hard fought battles, they forged an almost unbreakable bond.
The current situation reminds him of another alarm where last minute intel revealed a failsafe. In that mission, they were still butting heads over operational control. He had given her Irina's intel, but as much she distrusted her mother, she had trusted in him. He almost had her compliance until Kendall decided to play alpha male and make it an official order. Every time they were around Kendall, she had to remind him that she was an alpha too and had the right of refusal.
Later their interchange will baffle him because now she has so much to question of him. But their bond, their trust, still exists on the most fundamental level. Her reactions to him are not based on a conditioned response. Her missing time has only strengthened her defiance of authority, and he has already heard the rumors of her confrontation of Lindsey.
His quick thinking works, and they all breathe sighs of relief. He hadn't even realized how rapidly he had gotten caught up in the whole situation until he notices how his pulse is racing and his palms are sweaty. She pushes on and Dixon's voice waivers as he sends the team in. He's glad he's not the only one who is reacting emotionally.
She's breathing hard now, moving with urgency. She meets up with Weiss and arms herself. Her gun clicks off safety, and he hears the team trailing her. Another beep and she's accessing the vault.
He thought that the sound quality was good on the speakers, but it is nothing compared to the intimacy of sounds he hears through the headset. He is right there with her listening to the exact pitch of her exertions - every breath, every sigh, every grunt, and every groan. He tries to remain objective and evaluate how this constant intimacy could have manufactured his attraction to her. But later he will admit to himself that those were the moments he cherished most. The link was the genesis of their connection. The link was how he knew her so well that she could answer him from the grave during those dark drunken nights.
He had known her so intimately. Long before they ever became lovers he knew her reactions right down to a biological level. It was his job, and he took pride in being good at his job. He knew her every reaction time. She could run a mile in five and a half minutes. He knew her resting heart rate, her active heart rate and exactly how adrenaline and stress affected each. He knew the arguments her mind would make and prepared responses a hundred times over before he would ever set foot in that warehouse to meet her. And he knew which sighs and moans were the same ones he heard calling his name over and over again as he gave her pleasure. And though he would not consciously admit it to himself, he knows he will dream of those moans and not be able to get them out of his head even when he is in bed with his wife. It scares him because he knows the intimacies of this woman far better than he will ever know the one he has pledged his life to.
Another commotion erupts as she throws open the door and confronts the man holding their agent captive. He hears a gun cock, but she is so much faster, and she shoots to kill. Her breathing is erratic from the adrenaline, but she still hits her mark and quickly moves to free the agent. With kind words of reassurance, she fulfills her role as rescuing angel.
He thinks they have achieved their objective, and he foolishly lets his guard down. That, of course, is when they hear it. The voice is in the background and would be easy to miss, except for the way Sydney freezes up in response.
"You kept your promise, that you would kill me. You were my favorite. You never broke."
Those words chill him to the bone. He knows she has new scars. And they would all like to think that she obtained them in battle where she could actively defend herself, but now they have the frightful confirmation that this is not the case. It chills them to the bone to think that she not only was tortured, but that her torturer took sadistic pride in it. He finds himself gasping for air at the thought. He want to scream and hit and hurt something.
But it is the quiver in her voice that truly rips him apart. She's frantic as she desperately tries to question the rheumy voice. Her torturer is going to slip through her hands because she is such a damn good shot.
She screams for her missing time, for her missing knowledge, and it breaks his heart. He tries not to let Marshall or Dixon see how it affects him, but he knows that they too are barely holding back the tears. They're all voyeurs on this woman's life and her anguish is displayed for all to see.
She's whimpering, about to totally lose it, and he doesn't notice as Dixon directs the guys to leave Sydney to her private moment and attend to other parts of the mission clean up. He almost wishes she would turn off her comm link, but he just as desperately wants her leave it on. He can't be a part of this now. His heart is breaking for her in this moment, but he can't be there. She is broken and he is no longer able to fix her.
It's Weiss who goes to her and wraps his arms around her and holds her crumpled form. Weiss stands in as his proxy. He hears his friend murmuring reassurances in her ear and her muffled tears against his shoulder. He is so absorbed in the new dynamic they share that he doesn't realize how long he has been sitting there. The post mission debrief is about to start. He's not sure how he will make it through the wrap up, but he forces himself to clear his head and move on.
At the end of the day, all he wants to do is go get a beer with Weiss, get drunk, and honestly talk about the situation. To reaffirm how much he loves Lauren, and how she makes him happy. But also to confess how scary it is that nothing that has happened it the last two years has done a thing to sever that fundamental connection he shares with Sydney. He realizes that while Sydney may feel alone, bereft of her old friends; she doesn't yet see how all their colleagues are rallying around her. He is the one who is truly isolated with no one to confide in. No one, except his wife.