TITLE: Angel

AUTHOR: savvyspychick47

RATING: PG

SUMMARY: Love overcomes all obstacles. Including paralyzer drugs and duct tape. No Terrible Two Minutes. S/V S3 AU.

REVIEW: For those of you who remember the days of old at SD-1 - refresher course! For newbies at , newbies to the strange and sometimes frightening world of Savvy's mind, an introduction!

YAY: You like it.
BOO: You don't like it.

Savvy will stab you with a spork if you no review.

TIMELINE AND SPOILERS: This is complicated – Read Author's Notes below. Pay special attention to bold type.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sarah McLachlan. Neither do I own ALIAS or its affiliated characters. J.J. Abrams and his Incredibly-Weird-Name-For-A-Production-Company Bad Robot own it. Technically, he owns me too, because I might as well live in the ALIAS world. I actually wouldn't mind being a test subject for Project: Christmas if it means I could become a spy and smile every time Syd and Vaughn kiss and shoot Jack evil glares for no apparent reason and laugh at Marshall's crazy ramblings and -

I just wouldn't mind it, okay?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HEY EVERYONE! SAVVY'S BACK! WHOO! :people run away screaming: Guys? Hello? Aw, come on, ya'll! I'm not that bad! :running after screaming people: Come on! Wait up!

As I'm sure you can see from the disclaimer, this is YET ANOTHER FIC set to the hauntingly beautiful Sarah McLachlan song 'Angel', from the album Surfacing. My wonderful 'betas' and I were having the hardest time naming this fic, and I got so frustrated one night that I closed Word and started looking through the manipulations I have stored on my computer. I came across an absolutely gorgeous one I found on AllAlias, with the lyrics from this song on it. It was love at first read-through, and I instantly went onto and downloaded the song. It plays even now, as I type this author's note. I hope it works.

As for the timeline and spoilers, let me explain. In this world, the last two minutes of 'The Telling' never happened, but she DID disappear. I can't remember what episode it was ("Full Disclosure"?), but there was the scene of Sydney in the VW van with the creepy ugly torturer dude, who gives her the paralyzer drug and tapes her mouth shut. Then he forces her to watch her own funeral where Vaughn spreads her ashes at sea, and Vaughn hugs Weiss and starts to cry. Yeah, that scene.

Basically, I treated this scene as if it were in chronological order, as if the Terrible Two Minutes and everything after it never even happened. It will make sense when you read the story, I hope.

So I don't quite know how to warn for spoilers, other than "If you haven't seen S3, this won't exactly spoil you. The first part might not make a lot of sense. All you need to know: Sydney was captured and was forced to watch her own funeral." Nothing specific. :ducks flying objects: Please don't hurt me if this was more than you wanted to know!

Also, know that the first part of this story was read-over and approved, but the last part hasn't, and the whole story hasn't been beta'd. So I'd love to hear your opinions! No flames, please!Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and if you have 'Angel' by Sarah McLachlan, I recommend you turn it on right now and read the story while listening.

Happy reading!

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Angel

It's easier to believe
In this sweet madness
Oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees...

It's too much.

I have never seen Vaughn cry.

It's just too much.

My cretin captor didn't count on my love for Vaughn being as strong as it is.

Love overcomes all obstacles.

Including paralyzer drugs and duct tape.

I feel my scream welling up inside of me before I actually even think about screaming.

I feel my limbs tensing before I actually tell them to.

I feel my anger and love and pain bubbling over before I even realize I'm feeling the emotions.

A power I never realized I had surges through my veins, a strength I didn't know I possessed overwhelms me.

And I let my hell break loose.

A blood-curdling, ear-splitting scream I didn't know I was capable of tears itself from my throat, a deafening animal shriek that would terrify the dead. I didn't know any human could make a sound like this, much less me.

Without even thinking, I break my own wrist, yanking it through the cuff holding me to the gurney and bringing my hand up to tear away the tape over my mouth.

All this happens in a matter of maybe 5/8ths of a second.

My captor never sees it coming as I grab a tray from beside him and pound him upside the head with it.

I know he is dead before he even begins to fall. A blow backed by the anger of tortured love can cause nothing less than death.

His eyes roll back in his head and he collapses into my lap, blood gushing from his temple and further staining my clothes.

And all this time, I am still screaming at the top of my lungs.

People in China hear me, I am positive of it.

So the broken man a few yards away has to have heard it.

Until now, I have never believed in a higher power, God, Buddha, or otherwise.

But some form of deity is watching me, because I watch in rapture as Vaughn freezes, the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing.

Turn around, turn around! I scream at him mentally, willing him to come find me and save me, take me away from all this. To take me away from the bulltrash of this life, to a life of love and peace.

Slowly, ever-so-slowly, the man I love more than life itself turns around, his eyes searching for the source of the scream no wrenching his heart.

There is no possible way he could know it's me, but yet somehow, even though he can't see me, his gaze meets mine through the darkened glass.

He begins to walk towards the van, a look of both hope and fear on his face. I want to cry out, to scream for him to walk faster, but my mouth won't move. I want to free myself, get up and run to him, but my muscles will no longer function.

God gave me the exact amount of strength I needed to do what I had to do. Nothing more, nothing less.

There most definitely is a God.

My savior is now maybe 10 yards from the doors to the van, and has broken into a sprint. His companions are shouting at him, running after him, undoubtedly asking him what in the world he's doing, telling him to come back, thinking he's snapped completely.

My Michael Vaughn could never snap. He's too strong.

I can see his eyes clearly now - his beautiful green eyes are bloodshot and weary, and my heart breaks at the thought that I am the one to have shattered the glass in the windows to his soul.

My own tears begin to flow, and I can do nothing but lie on this stupid gurney, waiting for my heaven to come and rescue me from this hell.

His hands are on the handles to the doors, and he's straining to get them open.

I nearly break down when I see that the doors are locked. Again, I order myself to move, but my muscles won't obey.

No no, please, you got him this far, don't let him give up now! I plead with God, the tears flowing harder, sobs trying to break from my throat but nothing escaping but silent gasps. Oh, please don't let him give up!

A gunshot very nearby snaps me from my reverie, and I try to scream again, thinking someone has shot Vaughn in his attempts to save my life. For an irrational moment, I believe my torturer is alive, and has fired his gun and taken the life of my angel.

But then I realize that the gun is from not foe but friend - my sweet, smart, gorgeous, incredible Michael shot the lock off.

A thud - he dropped the gun on the asphalt - , and then a creak - the doors straining open. Light explodes into the dark van - as my vision fades to black.

Holding hands on the pier.
An hours-long conversation at the back table of a little restaurant in Nice about everything and nothing, things both important and trivial.
Kissing for the first time, heaven in the midst of hell.
Reheating dinner at 4:00 in the morning after...a wonderfully long night.
Ice cream in the park.
Falling asleep in each other's arms on a cargo plane.
Skipping work completely to go and do absolutely nothing in the middle of nowhere all day.
Tempting caresses, subtle glances, and naughty text messages exchanged during a particularly long briefing.
Flicking Kendall off behind his back and stifling laughter every time.
A night of undercover reconnaissance in which drunken stupor led to fiery passion in the back seat of a rented sedan.
Cooking pasta for Sunday dinner with football blaring from the TV set.
Screaming at the top of our lungs at a Kings game.
Dancing in a thunderstorm for absolutely no reason other than to say we did it.
Laughing hysterically at the stupid comedy of Whose Line reruns at 3:00 in the morning.
Waking up to a room full of white and yellow and pink and red roses on our three-month anniversary.
Making love under the stars on the beach for hours at a time.

The scenes swirl through my dream at the speed of light, a blur of color and light and laughter and joy and life and love in what feels like hours of dreaming. Some of the scenes I recognize as memories, events I have actually experienced, and some I don't.

And I wonder if the ones I don't recognize are foreshadowings of things to come.

A noise snaps me back into coherency, and I open my eyes to find the van doors opening. I must have only blacked out for a second, although it feels as if I had been asleep for hours.

The doors suddenly fly open, as if I've been watching the previous events in slow motion, and someone has suddenly flipped the switch back to real time.

And suddenly, I realize, that this moment will be added to the list of the above pipe dreams, a moment containing color and light and laughter and joy and life and love, all summed up in one simple word.

Michael...

I don't know what I expected him to do.

Hug me, kill me, leave me, tell me he loves me, anything.

But none of those are what he does.

No, Michael just stands there, staring at me.

I'm just lying here on the gurney, still mostly strapped down, a dead guy bleeding all over me, in quite a bit of pain from my several broken bones, including my most recently broken wrist, and my various other untreated wounds from my fight with my roommate's evil double, and he just stands there.

Staring.

Then –

"I just spread your ashes in the Pacific."

His voice is harsh, angry. Disbelieving. I don't blame him.

I would do the same exact thing.

But I force moisture back into my dry mouth, force my lips to move. "Francie..." I manage, in a voice barely softer than a whisper. "Her body..."

Suddenly, my body convulses violently, straining against the straps and cuffs holding me down.

The pain is excruciating, every nerve ending soaked in acid and flame. I try to scream in agony, but all that comes out is a weak little cry.

Michael, help me, please!

"Mi-"

"I don't believe you," he says, again in the rough, angered tone. "You aren't Sydney. My Sydney is dead." The last part is dull, haunted. Lifeless.

I shake my head as best I can, tears streaming from my eyes in both physical and spiritual pain. "No...I- "

"Prove it," he challenges, and now tears are building in his eyes, as well. He climbs into the van, a dare in his eyes. "Prove to me you're her."

Oh my god, he really doesn't think it's me.

He doesn't believe me.

"Prove it how?" I cry, the sobs building in my throat. Michael, it's me, please! I promise it's me, Michael, I love you, please believe it's me!

The hurt builds with the tears. I love this man so much, but yet he refuses to believe that I'm alive, that I'm standing – well, laying here before him, that I am who I say I am. How could he not believe me?

His steely green eyes flash with something, something I've seen before.

My dad had that look after my mom 'died'.

I had that look after Danny was murdered.

That look is despair. Hopelessness. Helplessness.

He's so scared.

And in that moment, I realize he wants to believe it's me.

But he won't let himself.

Because he's afraid he'll get hurt again. He's so scared of letting himself hope...

And I let the tears fall, because now I'm scared with him.

Oh, Michael, I'm so sorry.

"I don't know," he manages through gritted teeth. "Tell me something only my Sydney would know."

More tears keep falling as I wrack my brain for something, something only he and I would know.

Everything I come up with was either videotaped or voice-recorded or in public.

I can see him losing patience as I struggle to come up with proof. The seconds are ticking away, his irritation building –

Seconds – the watch!

"Your father's watch," I hiccup, looking to the watch on his wrist. "That watch."

He pauses, unable to look at me suddenly. Desperate, I continue.

"You told me that your father gave you the watch when you were little, that it used to keep perfect time. Your father used to say you could set your heart by the watch. Then you said that it stopped October 1st – the day we met. No one had ever told me their heart stopped when they met me." I pause to take a shaky breath.

"But Kendall paged us and interrupted before I could tell you I felt the same way; that my heart stopped, too. I didn't get to tell you I loved you, Michael, I'm so sorry I didn't. But I'm saying it now, I love you, Michael, I love you so much, I promise it's me, please!" I sob, not even caring about the tears now.

He doesn't look at me, but you don't have to see a person's eyes to know what they're thinking. He's gritting his teeth, tears threatening to spill over as his emotions war with his rationale. "How could you know that..." he chokes, shaking his head vigorously.

"Because it's me!" My words are quieter than a whisper. I can't talk any louder – I've cried my voice away.

Again, he shakes his head. "It can't be you...I just buried you...I saw your body...I watched them -" His tears choke him off, moisture traces down his cheek, but he angrily wipes it away. "I want to believe it's you, but I...can't...I just can't."

Something inside me snaps.

I don't know where I get the strength, but somehow, I sit up, freeing myself from my restraints with surprising agility and speed. The pain dissolves into thin air, and I lay my hand on his arm, my vision blurring with tears.

"Michael..." I manage, and he looks over at me, pain and fear and hopelessness in his eyes...

I lean in before he can truly process what I'm doing, and with a prayer, I press my lips to his in the lightest and gentlest, yet most important kiss I have ever given.

For a moment, he stiffens, in shock, and maybe in a little bit of repulsion. But then...

I don't have to look at him to know he knows.

He believes me.

I can feel him relax, and he begins to kiss me back. And I just melt into him.

He believes me.

I'm not sure how long we kiss, and I'm not quite sure I care. But when we finally pull away, both panting raggedly, I taste the flavor of our combined tears.

"Syd...oh, god, Sydney..." he manages, his hands framing my face as he covers me with kisses. "I'm sorry, baby..."

I cut him off, shaking my head as I press a finger to his lips, a gentle smile on my lips. "Shh, I know. I understand. I wouldn't have believed me, either. It's okay."

And it really is...how could someone ever hold anything against their angel?

He kisses the tip of my finger, and I blush as his hand slides down from my face to cup the back of my neck. He looks into my eyes, his expression unlike anything I've ever seen. It's an intense look, a mixture of true joy and gratitude and complete adoration, plus a little bit of total wonder.

Wonder and adoration and gratitude and joy...for me.

"What?" I ask after a moment, a little self-conscious.

He grins softly, shaking his head in awe. "I just get the feeling I'm looking at my angel."

Shivers skitter up and down my spine at the incredible tenderness in his voice, at the hints of wonder in his tone, and I just melt.

Tears spring to my eyes, and I laugh shyly, resting my forehead against his. "That's funny...I was just thinking the same thing."

He grins again, and leans down to capture my lips again, in a passionate yet gentle kiss. I kiss him back, but before things can escalate, the pain catches up with me again, and I pull away, gasping for oxygen.

His eyes fill with concern, and he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "What's wrong?"

I try to smile, to relieve his worry. But it hurts more than I realized, and my smile comes out as more of a wince. "As much as...I'd like to continue...I don't think I can hold myself up much longer," I gasp, as I collapse helplessly against him.

I can hear him begin to panic. "Sydney, what did they do to you?" he asks anxiously, shifting me into his embrace, unconsciously beginning to stroke my back.

I can't help but smile for real. His touch is so soothing, and again, the pain begins to ebb away.

"It doesn't matter. It's nothing that won't heal," I reply quietly, snuggling up against him, looking up into his beautiful green eyes. "I just need you to help me heal."

"Always," he replies instantly, reaching up to push a strand of loose hair out of my eyes. "I'll always be here for you."

Tears fill my eyes at the words he's said so many times before, but now they have new meaning, and I know without any doubt that he will always be there.

I nod. "I know you will. You're my angel."

He smiles that smile again, the one full of love and utter devotion, and plants one more kiss on my lips. Then, without a word, he slips his arms underneath me, lifts me off the gurney, and somehow manages to get out us of the van without one hint of strain on his part.

I won't lie and say it doesn't hurt as we land, a bit harder than I would have liked. Several broken ribs, a couple torn ligaments, cracked everything else, and bruises on top of everything aren't painless, but without so much as a sound on my part, Michael just knows. He shifts me into a more comfortable position, and I just let myself relax against him, resting my head against his shoulder and draping my arms around his neck, cautiously avoiding jostling broken bones.

It's the classic Gone-With-The-Wind, hero-saves-damsel-in-distress routine, and it used to be this idea I hated. That a woman needed a man to save her, to carry her to his white horse, to sweep her away to safety in Happily Ever After.

But now I have my knight in shining armor, and the concept is no longer offensive. On the contrary, it's...wonderful, comforting.

For the first time in my life, I know nothing can hurt me.

Dad chooses that moment to run up, and the look on his face I know I will never forget for as long as I live.

The Man of Steel melts before my eyes, tears suddenly streaming down his hardened face. My own tears overflow as I smile at him, carefully reaching my right hand out to him.

My daddy is crying.

"It's okay, Daddy," I manage, as he takes my hand and squeezes it as tight as he can without feeling he's hurting me.

"They're going to pay, Sydney," Dad states shakily, moving to fall in step with Michael as we proceed towards my father's car. "We'll find out who did this to you, and they'll pay."

We reach the black sedan as Weiss, Will, Marshall, Dixon, and Kendall all come over.

They all stop short, staring at me in shock.

I grin weakly, lifting my head just enough from its resting place over Michael's heart to look at them. "You should see your faces. You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Marshall almost falls over, and Will just continues to stare open-mouthed at me. Weiss grins, but rather than the snide comment I expected, a short little bark of laughter comes from his mouth. "Well, can you blame us?"

I just laugh weakly and return my head to its pillow. "No, not really."

My dad opens the back seat of his car, then steps aside to allow Michael to pass.

My savior must also be Hercules, because he somehow manages to get us both in the car without a hint of strain.

And he still continues to cradle me like one would cradle a small child, as if he's unwilling to let me go again. I end up in his lap, my head pillowed on his shoulders, my legs strewn across him and the seat.

I can't say I'd have it any other way.

Weiss sticks his head in as Michael and I get comfortable for the long ride back to L.A. "I just have a question for you, Mike," he says, bracing a hand on the roof of the black sedan.

Michael and I both look up. "Okay..." he replies warily, raising an eyebrow.

Weiss cocks his head. "How did you know to come over here? How did you know it was her?" he asks, for once being totally and completely serious.

Michael looks down right as I look up, our eyes meeting in silent understanding.

"I just knew," he says quietly after a long moment, a hand coming up to stroke my hair as he smiles softly, never once breaking our eye contact.

I grin bashfully, blushing and burying my face in his chest. But he refuses to let me, and he takes my chin in his hand and guides it back up so that I'm looking at him again.

He grins again, and I can't help but grin back. As best as I can, I lift myself up to press my lips to his, a sweet confirmation of his words. He kisses me back, deeply, his hand returning to its place in my hair.

But before things can intensify, a voice breaks the moment. "Get a room, you two," Weiss teases, and I grin into the kiss, laughing a little as I pull back to cast the chubby agent a mock-annoyed glance. He just laughs and shuts the door, leaving us alone for the time being.

I relax back into Michael's arms, looking back up at him. His gorgeous green eyes sparkle as they sweep over me, take me in, as if I'm a precious treasure, the likes of which he's never been seen before. And his hands are still in my hair, moving to my face, stroking, caressing, gently confirming his devotion to me.

I catch his eyes then, and just gaze into them. I will never get tired of looking into his eyes.

After a long moment, he reddens, smiling bashfully as he continues to caress my cheek. "What?"

I grin softly.

"I love you," I murmur without any thought, continuing to just...look into his eyes.

His hand stills against my cheek, and he grins down at me. "I love you too."

Seven words long overdue. But now that they're said, I will never go another day without saying them. We've been given another chance - and I'll be damned if I let this one pass us by.

I love this man...

I love him, I love him, I love him.

The grin that accompanies the newest revelation in our relationship is suddenly interrupted by a huge yawn that threatens to split my face in two.

His grin widens, and he laughs a little. "Get some sleep, Syd. You're exhausted."

True, very true. But I swallow the yawn, covering it with a sleepy grin as I shake my head. "No...wanna talk t'you," I murmur, taking his hand and entwining my fingers in his. "Don't wanna go t'sleep."

He grins, lifting my hand to plant a gentle kiss on my fingertips. "I'll be here when you wake up, Syd. I promise. But you need some rest or you won't be able to heal." His other hand moves to my forehead, gently stroking, avoiding the bruises and scrapes with care.

The sensation is very soothing, and my feeble protest dies on my lips as I close my eyes, grinning softly as I feel myself drift off. "Kay."

Then, as an afterthought:

"Love you." Quiet, sleepy, but from the deepest part of my soul. Love you.

I hear him grin as he continues to stroke my forehead. "Love you too, baby."

With his quiet reassurance, I finally let myself give in, still smiling as I nod off to sleep in the arms of an angel.

You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie...
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

You're in the arms of the angel
May you find...
Some comfort here

Fin

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Or is it?

It all depends on you.

The unrecognizable memories/foreshadowings listed above can all be turned into fluffy stand-alones, if the public desires it. I have ideas for each one – they would be a series tentatively entitled The Angel Chronicles. If anyone is interested, let me know by...

CLICKING THE PRETTY PURPLE BUTTON MARKED REVIEW!!! Yep, you guessed it! Wow, that would be a huge boost to both my ego and creative juices! ;)

Review, review, review! It's easy! YAY or NAY or ELSE! LOL! Let me know what you think, of both the story and of the possible follow-ups! Thanks for reading!

Much love!

Savvy