Ok, I've come to the conclusion that bathrooms are evil. Well, not bathrooms themselves, but the plot bunnies that attack while you are in there getting ready for work. Damn plot bunnies anyway...
So anyway, this obviously hit me while I was getting ready for work yesterday. And I tried to kill the evil PB, but unfortunately, this one wouldn't go away. So today I sat down and wrote it.
To my knowledge, this is the first time I've done second person and I have a feeling it will be my last. Cause damn...
So anyway here is all the fun stuff:
Title: Menteur
Rating: PG-13
Classification: I suppose it would be angst.
Spoilers: Anything up to and including S3 but especially "Crossings".
Also a hint of "Full Disclosure". And this is also AU, but that's what makes it fun, right?
Summary: What if there was more to what Vaughn wanted to tell Sydney?
Feedback: Oh yes please. Love it, love it. LOVE IT!
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. They belong to JJ, Bad Robot, and Touchstone. I'm just playing with them for a little bit.
Distribution: ff.net, Cover Me, SD-1 Boards, and those who've asked. Anyone else who's interested, please just ask. I'll probably say yes.
A/N: Thanks to Jen who put up with this pretty much paragraph by paragraph on MSN this afternoon. I'd also like to thank her for the beta. And I know this one wasn't easy. Tense issues in second person POV are nasty. (And see? I posted this AND a part to BorR. Didn't think I'd do it, did you? )
So now on with the show.
Enjoy!
Becky
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Menteur 1/1
"We're not going to make it out of here."
You don't want to believe this, but you can't help yourself. You've both cheated death so many times before that you can't help thinking that this time it will be different. But you don't want it to be different.
"There's something you need to know."
Even with Jack's words about your kindness torturing her, you can't let it end like this. Not like this… It's selfish and you don't care. You won't let her die thinking that you don't still love her.
With that thought foremost in your mind, it is easy to ignore her pleas as you try explaining yourself. But withhold the explanation you really want to give her, knowing that it serves no purpose to tell her now.
In the end, you still don't – or maybe can't – say the words you long to say. Maybe it's because she says she knows. That shouldn't stop you, but it does. She whispers that you'll find each other. That you always do. And you accept this because she is right. You have always found each other. And you always will…
When your lips touch, you try to hold yourself back, but in the end, you can't because if this really is the end, you won't go to your grave without knowing the sensation of her touch one final time.
You are pulled apart and as they lead you out of the cell, you think about how you got here. And you wonder if it should have been different. You know it could have been different. If you'd only said no. If only retribution hadn't been so appealing. If only you had believed.
*
You had managed to make it to the office before noon for the first time in months. Six months, to be exact. The last time you were on time was the day she died. You took a seat at your desk, glancing up to see Weiss coming out of Kendall's office. When he glanced back at you, you knew it was going to be a bad day. But you didn't know just how bad until you found yourself seated across from Kendall.
You were certain that he had finally had enough of you. Of your – How did Eric put it? – moping. You were prepared for this. It still surprised you that it had been allowed to go on that long. But what surprised you more was what Kendall did next.
He pushed the folder towards you, waiting - as patiently as was possible for him – as you examined the contents. You looked up at him, confusion etched across your drawn features. He began by explaining that there still wasn't much intel on the group they believed to be behind Sydney's murder. At least they've stopped acting like it was something other than a murder…
You shifted restlessly in your chair as he continued his explanation. The longer he spoke, the more you realized you didn't really give a damn. You just wanted to leave. You were almost ready to do just that when he uttered the words that damned you. "Wouldn't you like to see those responsible pay for her death?"
From that moment, he had you. And he knew it. And it made you truly understand Sydney's single-minded determination to bring down SD-6 and Arvin Sloane.
You said yes before you even knew what you were doing. Before you knew what would be involved. Before you knew the sacrifices that would have to be made. You said yes because it gave you something to focus on other than the pain of her absence.
That night you took home the file and pored over the contents. For the first time in six months you didn't touch one of the multitude of half-consumed bottles that you had relied on to get you through the night. You fell asleep on the couch - not an unusual occurrence- but when you woke in the morning, the familiar pounding in your head was conspicuously absent.
You showered and dressed and even beat Weiss to the office. You spent your day gathering everything you could get your hands on that related to the Covenant. When Dixon stopped to hand you one more file, this one containing the information Will had gathered for you on the KGB's version of Project Christmas, you glanced up to thank him, but stopped at his unreadable expression.
You asked if everything was okay and he just nodded. Later on you realized that he knew what you were doing. That you'd traded one crutch for another. But at the time you just cleared a new spot on your desk for the latest file.
A week later you had your first meeting with the agents from the NSC who were trying to wind up the investigation concerning Irina. And a name from the list Will had compiled was standing before you. No longer just a name on a piece of paper, but a living, breathing, flesh and blood person.
That first meeting passed without incident. The second as well. By the third, you allowed yourself to say yes to coffee. After that it was dinner. And then it was lunch. Finally, one night three months later, you were asked to stay for breakfast.
That night as you held the door open for her, you almost said goodnight. You wanted to say goodnight. But you ignored that feeling that made you want to scan the streets and the vehicles parked there, and you followed her inside.
Breakfast the following morning had been coffee. You were too afraid your stomach would reject whatever food you tried to put in it. You left after the first cup, unable to force yourself to stay any longer.
You arrived home, quickly shedding your clothes and jumping into a scalding shower. You let the water cascade over you until it ran cold, leaving you numb. You stepped out and grabbed a towel, rubbing it quickly over your head before wrapping it around your waist.
You walked past the mirror, not recognizing the man who stared back. You shook your head and ventured into the living room. You thought about checking the kitchen but changed your mind when you saw your old friends sitting neglected on the bar.
You found yourself reaching out, the bottle almost within your grasp when you glanced to your left. The sight of Sydney's smiling countenance was more than you could bear. You fell to your knees, an anguished cry followed by the sound of glass shattering as you took the first bottle in your hand and blindly swung out, demolishing the others.
You don't remember how long you sat there amongst the broken bottles and dripping liquids. You don't remember how many calls you missed before her voice finally forced you to move, to grab the phone and respond. You looked at Sydney's picture as you agreed to meet her the next night for dinner and possibly a movie. Possibly more than just dinner and a movie.
You replaced the receiver a few minutes later and walked back to the wreckage that was once a bar. You picked up the picture and promised that you would see this through to the end. For her you would do this. And you would do it.
*
The sunlight almost blinds you as you are pushed outside. When the guard backs you against the wall, you remember what you said to Sydney when she showed up in your classroom; it seems a lifetime ago now.
You remember that you told her that you had loved her – loved her, past tense – so much that it nearly killed you. And that wasn't a lie. It had almost killed you.
No, the lie came in the sentence that followed. To say that you didn't regret moving on took more strength than you thought you possessed. But you managed to get the words out of your mouth and make them sound convincing as well.
You realize now that you were wrong. You had lied about loving her. Not about loving her, per se, but about it being in the past. Your love for her was never in the past. It had never ended. It just had to seem that way. It has to seem that way.
You wanted to scream when she told you about sleeping with Will. You wanted to wrap you fingers around her arms and shake her, make her understand that she couldn't move on. That she had to wait. But instead, you accepted her explanation and let the subject drop.
You force the thought of Will and Sydney from your mind and glance over at her, your eyes locking.
And you regret, now more than ever, that you took Kendall's assignment.
~~fin~~
A/N: For those interested or curious, menteur is liar in french.