1 Email: writerlms@msn.com
2
Website: www.isnt-it-romantic.net/home
3
Feedback: Writer's don't require petty things like food and water; they live off your gracious feedback… so do me a favor and FEED ME! ;)
4
Distribution: Sure thing, just please e-mail me and let me know where I can find it.
Disclaimer: Alias, Sydney Bristow, Michael Vaughn and all related components are owned by ABC and Touchstone, and were created by JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. Please accept this as high praise and do not sue me. ;)
5
Summary: Following "The Confession" Sydney decides to move forward with her life and would like Vaughn to play a more active role in it. This was also inspired somewhat by spoilers for "The Box."
Rating: PG
Classifacation: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure
6
7 The Trouble with Bach
7.1 Chapter One
Did he have any idea how long it had taken her to work up the courage to ask him about the Bach concert? Going up against Anna, running avoidance patterns, disabling nuclear bombs were nothing compared to asking Agent Michael Vaughn out on a date.
"Sydney," he had said. "You know we can't do this."
"I'm starting my life over, Vaughn. I'd like you to be a part of it."
The world-class grin appeared, but his eyes were more concerned with a speck of dried paint on the warehouse floor. "We have a job to do."
"We're people, Vaughn. When do we get to be people?" she asked.
He glanced up, just a hair, and looked at her under those long lashes. "When the job is done. When SD-6 is destroyed. When people like Danny stop dying to further the twisted plots of men like Sloane."
This time it is Sydney who contemplates the paint splotches. "So we're sacrificial lambs. Giving up everything that makes us human so that others can enjoy their own personal freedoms."
Vaughn laughed. "Well, those aren't the precise words they use in the CIA brochure, but I think I read it in the fine print somewhere when I signed on. I imagine you read the same when you thought SD-6 was on the level."
Sydney kicked a dilapidated cardboard box across the floor and crossed to the filthy window, cover with chain link. Her fingers griped the rusty metal in frustration.
"Sydney, move away from the window." It was a quiet order, but an order nonetheless.
She didn't budge, but rather stared out at the endless blue sky bitterly; as if it's vibrant color mocked her mood.
"It's not safe, Sydney. Move away from the window." Vaughn insisted.
He was coming up behind her now, slowly but deliberately. Yet still she did not move.
"All those people out there, relying on us to do something so extraordinarily impossible. If they only knew that terror doesn't just come in the shape of a foreigner from the Middle East, it can be as innocent as a mother to a child."
Vaughn placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sydney…"
She shrugged as if to knock his hand loose, but he refused to move it. Instead his grip tightened on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. "You are not your mother."
"I may as well be," she muttered, looking away. "How can you even look at me? How can you not see *her* and the unspeakable things she did to those agents, to your father?"
"Come away from the window, Sydney." He reached down and took her hand and pulled lightly.
Her eyes scanned down her arm until they rested on Vaughn's long masculine fingers securely wrapped around her hand. It was inexplicable, the feeling of having a man hold her hand, to see a man's fingers wrapped around her when it wasn't a life or death moment. When she didn't have to consider twisting the digits to cause horrific pain or swallow down the wave of nausea as she did when Sloane touched her.
She took a step away from the window; amazed at how easily Vaughn moved her…and how easily she was moved by him.
"You think I don't want to spend time with you because of your mother?" he asked. When she did not respond he added, "Don't you get it? I think you're amazing. I think everything about you is beyond explanation…your drive, your passion, and your ability to remember every detail from Francie's wedding caterer's number to the formula for antitoxins. Don't you think there are days that I wish I were just another guy? Days that I wish I could drop by and share a pizza with you or take you to my favorite Jazz club?"
Sydney swallowed hard and looked up to meet his pleading eyes. "Are there?"
"Every day Sydney." He squeezed her hand. "Every day, I find something I wish I could share with you. But then I realize that I can't risk national security to call you to tell you that "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is playing on cable at one in the morning."
She laughed and thought how nice it would be to sit and watch it with him. Did he like "Moon River" too? Sydney let go of his hand. "So we are punished…forced to a live a life where we can't choose our own friendships."
"You have Francie…and Will," he added, hesitantly. "And you have me. I may be your handler, but I'm also your friend."
"My secret friend," she scoffed. "Whom I can't even talk to in public without averting my eyes."
Vaughn took a seat on the crate in front of her and took her hands in his, then looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm looking at you now. And I'm here, to talk to about all of this stuff, Sydney. The stuff you can't talk to anyone else about, don't forget that. I'm glad I can be that person for you. And you can do the same for me."
It wasn't enough, but it would have to be.
The next day was brimming with activity. It was her full-load day at school. Two classes. She laughed to herself at what the other students would think of her calling two classes a full-load, but she was barely juggling that much. In between 8 a.m. Management and 3:30 p.m. Business Law she had to rush to SD-6 for a briefing on her trip to Istanbul the next day. Of course, that would be followed up by a dead drop to the CIA and then even later a meeting with Vaughn to discuss her counter-mission.
That night, as she was packing her carry-on, the phone rang. "Joey's Pizza?"
"No sorry, wrong number."
Francie called in from the living room. "We really need to think about having our phone number changed. That's really getting annoying."
Sydney froze and yelled back, "Uh…yeah, I know, but I think it's probably a bigger hassle to deal with the phone company." She smiled as she entered the room. "Maybe we should just start taking pizza orders."
"You're right." Francine agreed. "Too much hassle. You're off again, are you?"
"In the morning," she nodded. "I should be back by Thursday afternoon."
"But you definitely have two weeks from Friday cleared, right?" Her smile was nervous. She was fiddling with a bunch of small reply cards from the wedding and looking at a large poster board diagram of the wedding reception.
Sydney approached her friend and gave her a light squeeze. "Nothing will keep me from your wedding. I promise."
As Sydney wrapped a scarf around her neck, Francie added. "Hey, you didn't mark down anything about a date." She held up Syd's reply card.
"No."
"The thing is…I'm pretty sure Will *is* bringing someone."
"Jenny."
"Yeah, Jenny. I thought maybe you might want to invite a friend…from work maybe. Maybe that guy from the office who bought you that beautiful frame."
The frame, Sydney mused silent, the frame that Vaughn bought that held the picture of her mother. How twisted.
"Syd?"
"Huh?" she asked. "Oh, a date. Um, no I don't think so."
"Well," Francie said, "you can always change your mind, they'll be plenty of room."
***
Sydney flipped through magazines at the small bookshop, looking for something to preoccupy her on her flight. Clever tag lines like, IS HE MR. RIGHT? and SECRET LOVES, HOW TO KEEP THEM THAT WAY glared at her from the covers of Cosmo and Vogue.
"You don't really read that trash do you?"
She quickly placed the magazine back in the rack and picked up TIME. "No. I was just trying to look busy," she said. "It's all a pack of lies anyway."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"I didn't go to spy school for naught, you know," Vaughn teased. "Something's upset you. Something happen at home? Is everything ok with Francie?"
Sydney smiled briefly at his thoughtfulness. "Fine. She's busy planning out the seating chart for the reception. I get to sit with the photographer, Charlie's single Aunt and her "good friend Trish," she made her fingers do the "quote" thing, "and any other outcast who decides to respond without a date."
"What about Will?" he asked, thumbing through a copy of Popular Mechanics.
"Will?" she blushed. "Will's bringing Jenny."
Vaughn smiled widely, unseen by Sydney. "Jenny? Don't think I've heard about her."
She decided not to elaborate. "Let's get back to Istanbul. What's my counter mission?"
"This one's easy. No switches, no photos…SD-6 is on their own with this one, it's not something we want to get our fingers into. But we will accept whatever information you bring back and store it away for future use."
Sydney shrugged. "Hardly worth the trip, Agent Vaughn."
"No?" he asked, reaching over her for a copy of Newsweek, purposefully grazing her shoulder with his forearm. "Well then maybe this will be." He dropped an envelope in between the pages of Time.
"What's this?"
"A little personal freedom." He put his magazine back and turned to leave. "Be careful, Sydney."
When she turned to look for him, he was gone. She fingered the envelope but didn't open it, opting instead to slide it into her purse for later perusal.
2
Website: www.isnt-it-romantic.net/home
3
Feedback: Writer's don't require petty things like food and water; they live off your gracious feedback… so do me a favor and FEED ME! ;)
4
Distribution: Sure thing, just please e-mail me and let me know where I can find it.
Disclaimer: Alias, Sydney Bristow, Michael Vaughn and all related components are owned by ABC and Touchstone, and were created by JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions. Please accept this as high praise and do not sue me. ;)
5
Summary: Following "The Confession" Sydney decides to move forward with her life and would like Vaughn to play a more active role in it. This was also inspired somewhat by spoilers for "The Box."
Rating: PG
Classifacation: Romance, Drama, Action/Adventure
6
7 The Trouble with Bach
7.1 Chapter One
Did he have any idea how long it had taken her to work up the courage to ask him about the Bach concert? Going up against Anna, running avoidance patterns, disabling nuclear bombs were nothing compared to asking Agent Michael Vaughn out on a date.
"Sydney," he had said. "You know we can't do this."
"I'm starting my life over, Vaughn. I'd like you to be a part of it."
The world-class grin appeared, but his eyes were more concerned with a speck of dried paint on the warehouse floor. "We have a job to do."
"We're people, Vaughn. When do we get to be people?" she asked.
He glanced up, just a hair, and looked at her under those long lashes. "When the job is done. When SD-6 is destroyed. When people like Danny stop dying to further the twisted plots of men like Sloane."
This time it is Sydney who contemplates the paint splotches. "So we're sacrificial lambs. Giving up everything that makes us human so that others can enjoy their own personal freedoms."
Vaughn laughed. "Well, those aren't the precise words they use in the CIA brochure, but I think I read it in the fine print somewhere when I signed on. I imagine you read the same when you thought SD-6 was on the level."
Sydney kicked a dilapidated cardboard box across the floor and crossed to the filthy window, cover with chain link. Her fingers griped the rusty metal in frustration.
"Sydney, move away from the window." It was a quiet order, but an order nonetheless.
She didn't budge, but rather stared out at the endless blue sky bitterly; as if it's vibrant color mocked her mood.
"It's not safe, Sydney. Move away from the window." Vaughn insisted.
He was coming up behind her now, slowly but deliberately. Yet still she did not move.
"All those people out there, relying on us to do something so extraordinarily impossible. If they only knew that terror doesn't just come in the shape of a foreigner from the Middle East, it can be as innocent as a mother to a child."
Vaughn placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sydney…"
She shrugged as if to knock his hand loose, but he refused to move it. Instead his grip tightened on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. "You are not your mother."
"I may as well be," she muttered, looking away. "How can you even look at me? How can you not see *her* and the unspeakable things she did to those agents, to your father?"
"Come away from the window, Sydney." He reached down and took her hand and pulled lightly.
Her eyes scanned down her arm until they rested on Vaughn's long masculine fingers securely wrapped around her hand. It was inexplicable, the feeling of having a man hold her hand, to see a man's fingers wrapped around her when it wasn't a life or death moment. When she didn't have to consider twisting the digits to cause horrific pain or swallow down the wave of nausea as she did when Sloane touched her.
She took a step away from the window; amazed at how easily Vaughn moved her…and how easily she was moved by him.
"You think I don't want to spend time with you because of your mother?" he asked. When she did not respond he added, "Don't you get it? I think you're amazing. I think everything about you is beyond explanation…your drive, your passion, and your ability to remember every detail from Francie's wedding caterer's number to the formula for antitoxins. Don't you think there are days that I wish I were just another guy? Days that I wish I could drop by and share a pizza with you or take you to my favorite Jazz club?"
Sydney swallowed hard and looked up to meet his pleading eyes. "Are there?"
"Every day Sydney." He squeezed her hand. "Every day, I find something I wish I could share with you. But then I realize that I can't risk national security to call you to tell you that "Breakfast at Tiffany's" is playing on cable at one in the morning."
She laughed and thought how nice it would be to sit and watch it with him. Did he like "Moon River" too? Sydney let go of his hand. "So we are punished…forced to a live a life where we can't choose our own friendships."
"You have Francie…and Will," he added, hesitantly. "And you have me. I may be your handler, but I'm also your friend."
"My secret friend," she scoffed. "Whom I can't even talk to in public without averting my eyes."
Vaughn took a seat on the crate in front of her and took her hands in his, then looked up to meet her eyes. "I'm looking at you now. And I'm here, to talk to about all of this stuff, Sydney. The stuff you can't talk to anyone else about, don't forget that. I'm glad I can be that person for you. And you can do the same for me."
It wasn't enough, but it would have to be.
The next day was brimming with activity. It was her full-load day at school. Two classes. She laughed to herself at what the other students would think of her calling two classes a full-load, but she was barely juggling that much. In between 8 a.m. Management and 3:30 p.m. Business Law she had to rush to SD-6 for a briefing on her trip to Istanbul the next day. Of course, that would be followed up by a dead drop to the CIA and then even later a meeting with Vaughn to discuss her counter-mission.
That night, as she was packing her carry-on, the phone rang. "Joey's Pizza?"
"No sorry, wrong number."
Francie called in from the living room. "We really need to think about having our phone number changed. That's really getting annoying."
Sydney froze and yelled back, "Uh…yeah, I know, but I think it's probably a bigger hassle to deal with the phone company." She smiled as she entered the room. "Maybe we should just start taking pizza orders."
"You're right." Francine agreed. "Too much hassle. You're off again, are you?"
"In the morning," she nodded. "I should be back by Thursday afternoon."
"But you definitely have two weeks from Friday cleared, right?" Her smile was nervous. She was fiddling with a bunch of small reply cards from the wedding and looking at a large poster board diagram of the wedding reception.
Sydney approached her friend and gave her a light squeeze. "Nothing will keep me from your wedding. I promise."
As Sydney wrapped a scarf around her neck, Francie added. "Hey, you didn't mark down anything about a date." She held up Syd's reply card.
"No."
"The thing is…I'm pretty sure Will *is* bringing someone."
"Jenny."
"Yeah, Jenny. I thought maybe you might want to invite a friend…from work maybe. Maybe that guy from the office who bought you that beautiful frame."
The frame, Sydney mused silent, the frame that Vaughn bought that held the picture of her mother. How twisted.
"Syd?"
"Huh?" she asked. "Oh, a date. Um, no I don't think so."
"Well," Francie said, "you can always change your mind, they'll be plenty of room."
***
Sydney flipped through magazines at the small bookshop, looking for something to preoccupy her on her flight. Clever tag lines like, IS HE MR. RIGHT? and SECRET LOVES, HOW TO KEEP THEM THAT WAY glared at her from the covers of Cosmo and Vogue.
"You don't really read that trash do you?"
She quickly placed the magazine back in the rack and picked up TIME. "No. I was just trying to look busy," she said. "It's all a pack of lies anyway."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"I didn't go to spy school for naught, you know," Vaughn teased. "Something's upset you. Something happen at home? Is everything ok with Francie?"
Sydney smiled briefly at his thoughtfulness. "Fine. She's busy planning out the seating chart for the reception. I get to sit with the photographer, Charlie's single Aunt and her "good friend Trish," she made her fingers do the "quote" thing, "and any other outcast who decides to respond without a date."
"What about Will?" he asked, thumbing through a copy of Popular Mechanics.
"Will?" she blushed. "Will's bringing Jenny."
Vaughn smiled widely, unseen by Sydney. "Jenny? Don't think I've heard about her."
She decided not to elaborate. "Let's get back to Istanbul. What's my counter mission?"
"This one's easy. No switches, no photos…SD-6 is on their own with this one, it's not something we want to get our fingers into. But we will accept whatever information you bring back and store it away for future use."
Sydney shrugged. "Hardly worth the trip, Agent Vaughn."
"No?" he asked, reaching over her for a copy of Newsweek, purposefully grazing her shoulder with his forearm. "Well then maybe this will be." He dropped an envelope in between the pages of Time.
"What's this?"
"A little personal freedom." He put his magazine back and turned to leave. "Be careful, Sydney."
When she turned to look for him, he was gone. She fingered the envelope but didn't open it, opting instead to slide it into her purse for later perusal.
