Title: The Usual Suspects â€" [By Genise A. Mora]
Rating: G - PG
Disclaimer: Vaughn, Sydney, and Alice are not my property. They belong to the VERY creative people down at ABC, no copyright infringement intended [although I would like to own Vaughn!]
Classification: Vaughn/Sydney Romance
Keywords: Vaughn/Sydney romance
Spoilers: all the episodes that show Vaughn/Sydney interaction
Summary: After having her date with Vaughn canceled unexpectedly, Alice wonders where - or who - he will be heading to. Vaughn/Sydney romance
Personal note: This is my first piece of Alias fan fiction. I just wondered what it would be like for Alice, the one person we haven't seen, to see the relationship between Vaughn and Sydney for what it is.
Feedback: Welcome. Please send me comments, constructive ones that is.
E-mail: rockenpnay@yahoo.com -- feel free to email me about my stories
AIM: rockenpnay
The Usual Suspects â€" [By Genise A. Mora]
=====
What is it about Michael Vaughn that intrigues me? I can think of a dozen things, from his good looks to his pensive thoughtfulness, but what is it about him that makes me stay with him, despite the lack of trust he has put into our relationship?
Work, always work. I wish he loved me, or was as dedicated to me, as he is to his job. He never even discusses it much. Yes, I am jealous of his work. Jealous of the time it takes, and extremely jealous of the intimacy it has with him that the two of us will never be able to achieve together.
And so, here it goes, another usual Saturday night. Don't worry, I'll be there, he promised me. I should have known better. His intentions may have been good, but Michael doesn't control himself, he is controlled by the invisible metal hand of his work, calling him back with the annoying buzzer on his beepers and cell phones.
The booth is in the back, his favorite place to sit. I sit quietly, amidst the roar and laughter of the other customers, staring blankly into the dark depths of my soda. A couple of men give me appraising looks, but I shrug them off nonchalantly. There is only one man whose appraisal matters to me, and he has yet to arrive.
Finally, he does arrive, after giving me more than enough time to allow my embarrassment to completely sink though. He carries with him a single white rose, the apology apparent on his face for having left me here so long by myself.
"Sorry," He says, almost gruffly, as he slides into the seat across from me. He hands me the rose, a simple act to show how sorry he was. He gives me a cautious grin, not wanting to seem too happy until he was out of the woods.
"It's okay. I understand." I tell him. No! I don't understand. What's wrong with me? The truth is, I would rather lie to keep Michael from feeling that he owes me anything.
The relief on his face is evident. He takes my hand, kissing it gently. "You're too good to me, Alice." He says. The waitress comes at that moment, relieving us both of what could have possibly been a very uncomfortable moment. She smiles flirtatiously at Michael, but he ignores her looks as she takes our orders. Am I really too good for him? His comment makes me wonder, could being too lenient on Michael be the reason he isn't around as much as I want him to be?
Our food arrives, and we both dig in. "How was work today?" He asks me, taking in a forkful of spaghetti.
"Pretty good." I wiped a spot of tomato sauce near his mouth with a napkin. "How about you?"
"Thanks. Busy, as usual." A beeping noise pierces the calm of our conversation. Michael reaches into his pocket, pulling out his beeper, his lips twisted in a mild scowl. His eyes scan the small screen of the scanner, and he puts it back into his pocket immediately.
"I've got to go." Oh, jeez. Tell me something I don't know. I want to grab that stupid beeper and crush it beneath my heels. Stomp on it until it's just a pile of metal and computer parts that are unrecognizable. Stomp on it until the person on the other end gets the idea that this is my night with Michael, not his job's.
"Oh." I answer, more than slightly annoyed. "You should have canceled on me, Michael, instead of doing this to me."
"I know, Alice, and I'm sorry," He looks guiltier than he's ever looked, as if torn between something, "I'll see you tomorrow." He kisses me quickly on the cheek, a chaste brush of flesh against mine that seems void of all the passion and love he's felt for me in the past.
I watch him leave, noticing that he's in a bigger rush than he normally is when he gets called to work. Yet again, I wonder, what kind of job has people coming in at such unusual hours? My curiosity piqued, I pull out a couple of bills from my purse and set them on the table, grabbing my purse and stuffing the rose Michael gave me in it.
The cold air bites at my face as soon as I step outside, the warmth of the restaurant receding into some distant memory. I look right and left, and see him walking swiftly towards a parking lot across the street. He turns to look around, not looking in my direction but looking for someone who may be watching him. His face is illuminated by the streetlights he passes under, giving me a view of the worry that was displayed on his face.
Worry? What does Michael have to worry about? I track him from across the street, wishing that I'd worn more comfortable shoes than the heels I had just bought from Macy's the other day. He turns into the parking lot, and I'm thankful that I parked on the curb so I wouldn't have to follow him in and risk getting caught.
I get into my car, starting the engine and waiting for him to pass by me. He's in a hurry, which is no longer a surprise, and I have to occasionally go faster than the speed limit to keep up with him. I'm surprised to find myself at the pier. Don't tell me Michael's hardworking, backbreaking, time consuming job is shoveling fish.
He gets out of his car, the sea breeze ruffling his hair as he heads for the pier. I wait a considerable amount of time and then get out to follow him. The pier is lit by street lamps, but I guess in this case they'd be pier lamps but they cast much of the dock in darkness, leaving me plenty of room to observe and not be seen.
I see the woman standing out there, alone, staring out into the sea with a lost look in her eyes, and I can feel my legs shake with the shock. She's beautiful, yet there's something in her eyes that express a hidden sadness, as if she's seen too many horrible things in her life to be happy.
I stop after Michael stands next to her, leaning on the railing of the pier. They stand a respectable distance apart, yet I know that there is something more to this. She's crying now, and while I don't want to be discovered I yearn to hear what they're talking about.
I can hear snippets of what she's saying. He's mostly listening to what she says, his head nodding slightly and occasionally he looks at her in shock. Is this Michael's other woman? Are all those late night hours at work really late night clandestine liaisons?
"I'm sorry to call you," She says, sobbing. I can hear her sobs, but her back only shakes slightly, "I just didn't know who else to call." Their voices lower in volume for a moment, and then she takes a deep breath, "I feel like I'm losing my mind, like I don't even know who I am anymore, or what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it."
He's completely sympathetic towards her, "When you're at your absolute lowest, at your most depressed, just remember that you can always... you know. You got my number." I know from the look on his face that he wants to touch her, wants to hold her, yet something's holding him back. Maybe he's thinking of me, of what our relationship has meant to both of us.
When she grasps his hand in hers and he doesn't pull back, I know I'm wrong. It's not our relationship that's holding him back, it's her. He doesn't want to rush it, doesn't want to jeopardize his own feelings, because there is something that connects them, holding them together. Something that's so deep and intimate that I can't begin to comprehend what it may be.
I turn on me heel, the tears silently sliding down my cheeks as I head away from the two. Three's a crowd, and in this case, I feel like I'm an entire cavalry interrupting their moment together. Goodbye, Michael, I think to myself, knowing that I'll never be able to tell him that in person, because I couldn't ever look him in the eye and say goodbye.
I feel something brush against my hand as I touch my purse. I look down, seeing the white petals of the rose glow despite the darkness that seems to cover and suffocate me. I pull it out, stroking the petals, the softness a reminder of the tenderness in Michael's eyes when he looked at her. After a moment's consideration, I place it tenderly in the trashcan.
Rating: G - PG
Disclaimer: Vaughn, Sydney, and Alice are not my property. They belong to the VERY creative people down at ABC, no copyright infringement intended [although I would like to own Vaughn!]
Classification: Vaughn/Sydney Romance
Keywords: Vaughn/Sydney romance
Spoilers: all the episodes that show Vaughn/Sydney interaction
Summary: After having her date with Vaughn canceled unexpectedly, Alice wonders where - or who - he will be heading to. Vaughn/Sydney romance
Personal note: This is my first piece of Alias fan fiction. I just wondered what it would be like for Alice, the one person we haven't seen, to see the relationship between Vaughn and Sydney for what it is.
Feedback: Welcome. Please send me comments, constructive ones that is.
E-mail: rockenpnay@yahoo.com -- feel free to email me about my stories
AIM: rockenpnay
The Usual Suspects â€" [By Genise A. Mora]
=====
What is it about Michael Vaughn that intrigues me? I can think of a dozen things, from his good looks to his pensive thoughtfulness, but what is it about him that makes me stay with him, despite the lack of trust he has put into our relationship?
Work, always work. I wish he loved me, or was as dedicated to me, as he is to his job. He never even discusses it much. Yes, I am jealous of his work. Jealous of the time it takes, and extremely jealous of the intimacy it has with him that the two of us will never be able to achieve together.
And so, here it goes, another usual Saturday night. Don't worry, I'll be there, he promised me. I should have known better. His intentions may have been good, but Michael doesn't control himself, he is controlled by the invisible metal hand of his work, calling him back with the annoying buzzer on his beepers and cell phones.
The booth is in the back, his favorite place to sit. I sit quietly, amidst the roar and laughter of the other customers, staring blankly into the dark depths of my soda. A couple of men give me appraising looks, but I shrug them off nonchalantly. There is only one man whose appraisal matters to me, and he has yet to arrive.
Finally, he does arrive, after giving me more than enough time to allow my embarrassment to completely sink though. He carries with him a single white rose, the apology apparent on his face for having left me here so long by myself.
"Sorry," He says, almost gruffly, as he slides into the seat across from me. He hands me the rose, a simple act to show how sorry he was. He gives me a cautious grin, not wanting to seem too happy until he was out of the woods.
"It's okay. I understand." I tell him. No! I don't understand. What's wrong with me? The truth is, I would rather lie to keep Michael from feeling that he owes me anything.
The relief on his face is evident. He takes my hand, kissing it gently. "You're too good to me, Alice." He says. The waitress comes at that moment, relieving us both of what could have possibly been a very uncomfortable moment. She smiles flirtatiously at Michael, but he ignores her looks as she takes our orders. Am I really too good for him? His comment makes me wonder, could being too lenient on Michael be the reason he isn't around as much as I want him to be?
Our food arrives, and we both dig in. "How was work today?" He asks me, taking in a forkful of spaghetti.
"Pretty good." I wiped a spot of tomato sauce near his mouth with a napkin. "How about you?"
"Thanks. Busy, as usual." A beeping noise pierces the calm of our conversation. Michael reaches into his pocket, pulling out his beeper, his lips twisted in a mild scowl. His eyes scan the small screen of the scanner, and he puts it back into his pocket immediately.
"I've got to go." Oh, jeez. Tell me something I don't know. I want to grab that stupid beeper and crush it beneath my heels. Stomp on it until it's just a pile of metal and computer parts that are unrecognizable. Stomp on it until the person on the other end gets the idea that this is my night with Michael, not his job's.
"Oh." I answer, more than slightly annoyed. "You should have canceled on me, Michael, instead of doing this to me."
"I know, Alice, and I'm sorry," He looks guiltier than he's ever looked, as if torn between something, "I'll see you tomorrow." He kisses me quickly on the cheek, a chaste brush of flesh against mine that seems void of all the passion and love he's felt for me in the past.
I watch him leave, noticing that he's in a bigger rush than he normally is when he gets called to work. Yet again, I wonder, what kind of job has people coming in at such unusual hours? My curiosity piqued, I pull out a couple of bills from my purse and set them on the table, grabbing my purse and stuffing the rose Michael gave me in it.
The cold air bites at my face as soon as I step outside, the warmth of the restaurant receding into some distant memory. I look right and left, and see him walking swiftly towards a parking lot across the street. He turns to look around, not looking in my direction but looking for someone who may be watching him. His face is illuminated by the streetlights he passes under, giving me a view of the worry that was displayed on his face.
Worry? What does Michael have to worry about? I track him from across the street, wishing that I'd worn more comfortable shoes than the heels I had just bought from Macy's the other day. He turns into the parking lot, and I'm thankful that I parked on the curb so I wouldn't have to follow him in and risk getting caught.
I get into my car, starting the engine and waiting for him to pass by me. He's in a hurry, which is no longer a surprise, and I have to occasionally go faster than the speed limit to keep up with him. I'm surprised to find myself at the pier. Don't tell me Michael's hardworking, backbreaking, time consuming job is shoveling fish.
He gets out of his car, the sea breeze ruffling his hair as he heads for the pier. I wait a considerable amount of time and then get out to follow him. The pier is lit by street lamps, but I guess in this case they'd be pier lamps but they cast much of the dock in darkness, leaving me plenty of room to observe and not be seen.
I see the woman standing out there, alone, staring out into the sea with a lost look in her eyes, and I can feel my legs shake with the shock. She's beautiful, yet there's something in her eyes that express a hidden sadness, as if she's seen too many horrible things in her life to be happy.
I stop after Michael stands next to her, leaning on the railing of the pier. They stand a respectable distance apart, yet I know that there is something more to this. She's crying now, and while I don't want to be discovered I yearn to hear what they're talking about.
I can hear snippets of what she's saying. He's mostly listening to what she says, his head nodding slightly and occasionally he looks at her in shock. Is this Michael's other woman? Are all those late night hours at work really late night clandestine liaisons?
"I'm sorry to call you," She says, sobbing. I can hear her sobs, but her back only shakes slightly, "I just didn't know who else to call." Their voices lower in volume for a moment, and then she takes a deep breath, "I feel like I'm losing my mind, like I don't even know who I am anymore, or what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it."
He's completely sympathetic towards her, "When you're at your absolute lowest, at your most depressed, just remember that you can always... you know. You got my number." I know from the look on his face that he wants to touch her, wants to hold her, yet something's holding him back. Maybe he's thinking of me, of what our relationship has meant to both of us.
When she grasps his hand in hers and he doesn't pull back, I know I'm wrong. It's not our relationship that's holding him back, it's her. He doesn't want to rush it, doesn't want to jeopardize his own feelings, because there is something that connects them, holding them together. Something that's so deep and intimate that I can't begin to comprehend what it may be.
I turn on me heel, the tears silently sliding down my cheeks as I head away from the two. Three's a crowd, and in this case, I feel like I'm an entire cavalry interrupting their moment together. Goodbye, Michael, I think to myself, knowing that I'll never be able to tell him that in person, because I couldn't ever look him in the eye and say goodbye.
I feel something brush against my hand as I touch my purse. I look down, seeing the white petals of the rose glow despite the darkness that seems to cover and suffocate me. I pull it out, stroking the petals, the softness a reminder of the tenderness in Michael's eyes when he looked at her. After a moment's consideration, I place it tenderly in the trashcan.