I really cannot stop writing.
This is the only possible explanation for this fic, I swear. Only I would be crazy enough to start a new WIP the same day I finish a 20,000+ word fic.
I blame this on the Syd/Weiss clip from "Reunion."
And if you ever start to doubt what ship this will be in the end, well.....yeah. Read "Playing Hockey" again, okay? :D ;)
TITLE: Pretense
SUMMARY: "I slept with Weiss."
TIMELINE: Post-Telling, sometime Season 3.
SHIP: Syd/Weiss, S/V.
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. All JJ's. I promise.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This will be a fic of uncertain length, with parts from both Syd and Vaughn's POV [and possibly Weiss's as well]; but they will all be in second person. There might even be a Lauren POV, but she will most likely not resemble the Lauren we all know and....um, yeah.
Pretense
1) Vaughn
You're in an elevator together, on a mission, on your way to some basement somewhere to knock out a bunch of bad guys and steal some sort of gadget that'll help protect your country.
It's important, but no more important than any other mission you've ever been on or ever will go on.
It's just another mission, really, in another desolate place that will be exchanged for another bleak target next week.
The place doesn't matter.
The mission doesn't matter.
After awhile they all seem to blend into one another, anyway, Paris becoming Berlin becoming Moscow becoming London.
You doubt very much that you'll be able to remember very much about the specifics of this mission the week after next, anyway.
She turns off her comm with one quick flick of her wrist, and you can't help watching her move, admiring her grace.
You've never been able to take your eyes off her, and the ring on your finger doesn't stop your eyes from watching her every move.
She turns to you, and the words she says nearly stop your heart.
"I slept with Weiss."
"Okay." It's the only thing you can possibly say, because words escape you. They just…escape you, like birds flying just out of your grasp.
You're numb.
You thought she'd move on, hoped she'd move on.
But you never thought it'd be so soon….or in such a way.
There are so many words, questions, things running through your mind.
what?
how?
when?
why?
But you know the answers to these questions, don't you?
What?
She slept with Weiss. She spent the night with Weiss. She made love to Weiss. She had sex with Weiss.
There are a thousand ways to phrase it, but none of them obscure the one truth.
She slept with Weiss.
She kissed him, she touched him, she did countless things to him. She went to bed in his arms, and woke up in them in the mornings.
This is the truth.
You've never been jealous of your best friend before. But suddenly you think you might be, even though you said youdidn'tregretmovingon. Even though you're wearing another woman's ring on your finger.
How?
Maybe they got drunk.
Maybe they were watching a romantic movie…and it just happened.
Maybe she was crying over you in his arms.
But in the end it doesn't really matter how, does it? Because what's done is done, and cannot be undone.
This you know all too well.
When?
Last night?
A week ago?
Earlier?
Later?
Did she wake up in his arms this morning?
Does it matter?
It happened. And maybe it'll happen again. And maybe it won't. But it happened.
It's history, in one way or another, whether or not it's the beginning of a new chapter, a new relationship, or a single page, a relationship started and finished on a single piece of paper.
Why?
Maybe she still loves you.
Maybe he's just a rebound guy.
Maybe she's using him for comfort sex.
Maybe she doesn't love you anymore.
Maybe she's realised that you're married.
Maybe she's trying to move on.
Maybe she's in love with him.
But does it really matter exactly why she slept with him?
Because you're pretty sure you know why she was in his arms and not yours last night.
And it lies on your left ring finger.
You twist it around, slowly, slowly, slowly.
Yes, you think to yourself, bitterangrytorn…you know why.
You think about all these things in a millisecond, but it feels like an eternity, standing there beside her, sensing her body heat, smelling the shampoo she still uses in her hair, the perfume she still wears two years later.
But the most irrational thought that rushes through your head in that instant?
She can't sleep with him! He's your best friend!
And suddenly you don't think you'll ever forget this mission, this elevator, this place.
"Is it," you start to say hoarsely, before your throat dries up.
"Is it serious, you mean?" she says for you.
You can only nod.
"We're not really sure. It…it just happened, really. We're going to try to make it work, though," she says with a small smile.
You've always hated being lied to, just as she always had.
And so you'd never lied to her, at least not on purpose, and never about important things.
Except, says a little voice in the back of your head, the fact that you loved her, huh, Vaughn?
You'd always tried to tell her the truth. Tried to be honest with her.
Tried to be the one part of her life that was true and real.
Because you knew that she needed that more than she needed false hope and pretty words.
You've always hated being lied to.
But somehow you think that it would be easier to hear her lie to you now and say, "We were both smashed and somehow we ended up in bed. We've both decided it was a hideous mistake and will never happen again. And oh, by the way, I'm still in love with you," than to hear the truth that she's telling you now.
Because it would mean that she hadn't given up on you, hadn't moved on.
That she had cared as much about the death of your relationship as you had cared about her death.
You know it's selfish, you know it's wrong.
But you can't help wanting, even a little, for her be as broken and dejected about your marriage as you've felt sometimes after her return.
It's not that you don't love your wife.
Because you do.
You love your wife.
But then why does it hurt so much to hear that your ex-girlfriend's sleeping with your best friend?
You should be happy for both of them.
Happy that she's moved on, that she's getting on with her life. That she's finally had another chance to be happy.
Happy that maybe he'll find the girl he's been looking for, that maybe she's it. That maybe he'll get the chance to have some of the happiness you had.
You should be happy.
"I'm happy for you, Syd. For both of you," you say, even forcing a small smile.
You both know you're lying.
You're both very good spies, after all.
Your words are hollow, empty, meaningless, even for a lie, even by a spy such as yourself.
But you lie to yourself in the hope that someday your words will become truth.
That someday maybe you'll be able to make yourself believe your own lies.
That you're happy for them.
That you love your wife more than you love her.
But someday has never seemed quite as far away as it does right now.
*
Well........there you go. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Let me know. And if you really want to, reviews with quotes are great. I really, really, really love reviews with quotes.
