The Hero Dies In This One
Clunk. Scratch.
The last words he had said to her were 'So after the debrief I'll come and pick you up.' It's funny, really. Because if he had the chance now..he would have said a lot more to her then some stupid schedualing statement. Had he even ever told her he had loved her? He didn't think so. He wanted to slam his head up against the wall, dive off of a bridge..something to give him some..feeling.
It was almost like he needed to prove to himself he was still alive, if that made any sense. He didn't even understand his thoughts anymore.
Groaning softly, he pressed his head against the icy wall. The back of his neck stuck to the wall, his sweaty skin contacting the ice and immediately sticking. His body was slowly turning to ice...he could feel it.
Static. A pop, and more static.
"God damnit! Are you there? Get out, your going to freeze! Boy Scout, do you copy? VAUGHN!"
Vaughn's lips curled downwards. Slowly...he could feel his blood thickening, freezing in the cold atmosphere. He reached down to his belt, the red, turning-frostbitten fingers gripped at his pocket. He couldn't feel anything.
Snap. Another clunk.
Any contact he had to the world outside this icy coffin was cut off as he switched the comm off, and threw it across the room. It skidded across the metal floor, slamming into the opposite wall and busting into a million pieces.
Good. At least if he died now, his heart would stop aching.
White. All he saw was white.
Great. I thought after you died..you didn't feel anything.
Pause.
Now I'm going to have to continue living with the god damned memories, still. Can I say "god" in heaven? Damn.
All he saw was white. He could hear breathing. Was it his breathing? It had to be.
Am I dead?
His thoughts were answered as he began coughing and choking - gasping for air. His body propelled upright, the heaves turning dangerously violent.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Great. He hated hospitals. He hated the noises the machines made. He hated having to depend on something that can't comprehend thoughts. His lip curled, as he looked down at his left hand. An IV was stuck in his vein, the mistake of a month now, curled around his finger.
Just as he was about to take his frustration out and rip the IV out of his hand, Weiss came through the door. His eyes had bags under them, wrinkles beginning to form at the corners of his eyes. The last year had taken a toll on all of them.
Taken Vaughn was adding to that pressure didn't help his concious any.
"You didn't phone her, did you. God Weiss, tell me you didn't..."
"I didn't, Vaughn." he sighed. "You know when you get married, your supposed to love the woman you choose. And stand to take her calls."
A pained look came across Vaughn's face, but now it wasn't from the numbness that was slowly dissapearing from his legs. He shook his head at Weiss, and moved his head to look at the other side of the bed.
"Yeah Vaughn, 'shading your eyes' is gonna help make this easier. She's gone, Vaughn. She's dead, just like Jack and just like Francie. She's gone. You know why? Because that's life. Now get over it, so the rest of us can, too." Weiss hissed. Vaughn cringed, trying to wll his memory back to when Weiss was..Weiss. "You know it, Vaughn. You know it."
Vaughn was blinking rapidly to keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks. He could hear the rapidness in Weiss' voice, tears beginning to swell up in his throat.
"You have a wife, Vaughn. Give or take it only took you a year. You have a wife, a good wife who doesn't deserve to be lied to day after day." Weiss continued, and Vaughn could hear the tears spill over his words.
Vaughn's jaw tightened, as his head snapped back to look at Weiss.
"Shut up. You shut the hell up." he whispered, his voice hissing slightly.
Weiss's sholders broadened for a moment, before he collapsed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You know what? Fine. Just fuckin' fine, Vaughn. You sit here in the Ops for the fucking CIA, and you call me when you've gotten over whatever pole got shoved up your ass on that mission. Alright? Because I don't care. I just don't care. Anymore."
The leaves are scattered on the ground.
I miss the seasons,
And the comfort of your smile.
Swish, swish, swish. Stop. Swish.
Vaughn walked down the path in the small park, remembering the last time he was here on free will. Like shading his eyes would block out the memories, he kicked his way through the ankle high leaves.
Smiling softly, he almost broke out into tears. They had gone to the new ice cream shop prior to their park visit. They had decided to get ice cream in the cups, because, according to her, "It lasts longer, and they give you more. Ice cream vendors can be cheap, you know."
He sat on the bench. Part of actually getting over someone - (versus just lying and saying you have gotten over him or her..when that couldn't be farther from the truth.) - was closure, right? Well, he wasn't sure what closure in particular he needed in this case, but maybe knowing that his short lived relationship with her wasn't a dream..maybe that would do it.
Or maybe he was just trying to go back in time - so to speak - and resolve himself into a memory that feels safe and right and..everything he wasn't at the moment.
Choking back another sob, he rose to his feet to avoid any stares he was -already- getting. He carefully made his way back to his car. It was a black van now. It wasn't the one he had driven with Sydney. This was economic and homely and...not him. At all. That's what it felt like now. Michael is not Michael with Alice. Michael and Sydney. Sydney and Michael.
Fate.
He couldn't hold it back this time. A sob strangled itself around his throat, his upper torso falling onto the steering wheel. The loud blast that came from the car's system was deafining and annoying to say the least, but he blocked it out. The blood rushing in his ears was too loud. Louder then anything. Even louder then the shrill ring of his cellphone.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
Stop.
Silence.
Sometimes this all feels like a dream.
I'm waiting for someone to just wake me up,
From this life.
He had stayed in his car for minutes. Hours, even. But - The travel and distance between where he was and where he currently resided was all a blur. All he heard was his own yelling and screaming and..begging. And her yelling and screaming and anquished cries.
"DON'T TELL THEM! VAUGHN! DON'T TELL THEM! I'M FINE! I'M OKAY!"
When the honking stopped, and he raised his head, he thought he would go home. He decided he would go home. He would go home and forget Sydney and only remember Alice. Remember when he loved her, remember before Sydney Bristow ever happened.
That was when he saw her. The woman who had killed his father, the woman who had killed her daughter.
The woman who handed her daughter over to the bad guys.
He had barely gotten enough time to comprehend that retched face before he felt a sharp, burning pain in his sholder. The last look he got was of his lap, before he slumped over and fell against the steering wheel.
"What does the CIA know about the Rambaldi heart?"
"My name is Michael Vaughn, and I work for the CIA."
As I look out at these fairgrounds,
I don't think I ever told you,
But I know you always did your best.
And the hard times,
They only made us stronger.
"I know you can hear me, Mr Vaughn. The sedatives are beginning to wear off."
That voice. That stupid, british accent...the one the CIA had in observations less then twenty four hours ago...
"We have some questions for you, Mr Vaughn. Can I call you Michael?"
Sark.
"My name is Michael Vaughn, and I work for the CIA."
"We've established that fact, Mr Vaughn. Michael. Whatever."
"Ah, Mr Vaughn. So good to finally meet you."
He had never met the bastard before, but he knew that voice. That voice that had haunted her days and nights so many times. The voice that she had cried about so many times.
Who else, but Arvin Sloane?
Snap. Pop.
Sloane appeared in front of him, a small wooden box with needles brimming on the opening in clear view. Vaughn pressed his lips in a thin line.
"I'm going to ask you each question once, Mr Vaughn. I have no patience, nor the time. Needles of Fire. Believe me when I say they are the most morbidly aggrevating thing you will ever encounter in your lifetime-"
"-besides some scumbag that betrayed the CIA and his country. Pray tell."
"Ah, quick wit, Mr Vaughn. These needles are like the hottest of any spice you will ever eat. Now, take that spice, and get the Devil to eat it. When he spits it out, that is what I'm talking about. With the combination of that spice in a needle, inserted into pressure points, well Mr Vaughn,..."
Vaughn's face hardened.
"I have nothing to loose."
"Are you sure of that, Mr Vaughn?" Sloane smirked. He made a gesture with his hand.
Vaughn watched the needle wavering in front of him. He was already cuffed at each ankle and wrist, and he wasn't about to fight back. Let him die. So be it.
Sloane turned back to him, his eyes glimmering a shade of red in the dim lighting. They were in a torture chamber. Vaughn had never personally visited one - not that he wanted to. Where the chamber was located, he had no idea.
Why Sloane was so sure his "plan" would work?
Vaughn wasn't sure of that either.
As I sit here all alone,
I wonder how I'm suppose to carry on when you're gone.
I'll never be the same without you,
I love you more then you will ever know.
"I'll ask you again, Vaughn. What does the CIA know about the 47 pieces of Rambaldi equipment, and what do they pertain to the heart for?"
Vaughn's back teeth clenched together, his eyes flashing.
"I have nothing to loose."
A gasp of air escaped his lips as the second needle was inserted into his knee. Sloane smirked.
"We'll soon see, right?"
Snap. Twist. Luuuurch.
A soft whimper, and a groan. The metal doors were shut again, leaving whatever was deposited at Sloane's advantage. He heard Irina and Sark murmuring in the background, but his hearing was beginning to cloud over.
Smash. Thump.
Vaughn's vision was starting to go burned black at the edges, everything blurry and dream like. A dream like state was not what he would call two needles in your joints, in some musty old torture room located in God knows where.
Ironic.
"I believe you know eachother."
Vaughn forced his head up slowly, seeing Sloane wave his hand. He slowly focused into the blurry lump in the middle of the floor. A guard walked up and kicked it (or him, or her), and another groan arose for her.
"Erhalten Sie zu Ihren Füßen. Jetzt."
They were in Germany.
Vaughn focused as much as possible. Suddenly, he couldn't feel the needles, he couldn't see Sloane - he couldn't even comprehend. His whole body jerked against the metal bed he was on, immediately pulling back. His head smashed against the headrest, gravity taking it's place.
"Sydney!" his voice was weaker and more rough then he remembered.
She was unconcious. The guard gave her another swift kick.
"Ich habe auf gesagt!"
"DON'T VAUGHN! I'M FINE! VAUGHN NO! PLEASE!"
"SYDNEY I NEED TO! SYDNEY!"
"VAUG-MICHAEL, NO!"
He must have blacked out. When he awoke again, she was tied to another board directly across from him, blood covering the left side of her head. Vaughn took a sharp breath of air, his abdomen paining whenever he spoke.
"Sydney?"
She had been crying. He knew it. Slowly, his head turned to look at her, his eyes focusing now the needles no longer registered. They were the only ones in the room - readying for another round of torture.
"Sydney, what?"
They were both crying violently, the four sets of iron cuffs the only thing between them now. Sydney was blanched white, a huge splash of blood across the outside of her sweater. It was located directly ontop of her abdomen.
"Vaughn I- oh my God.."
"Sydney, please-"
"No Vaughn, you need to listen. You must listen to me. I-"
The doors swung open again, Sloane appeared - a smile spread across his face.
"Well, are the troopers up for round two then?"
One.
Two.
Three.
Ten.
Fifty.
Were they investigating his dissapearance? Or did they just brush it off as they had with Sydney's? Fifty days. Forty nine nights. He had been counting.
Seven days he had spent being repeatedly dunked in water.
"SYDNEY I NEED TO TELL THEM-"
"VAUGHN YOU CAN'T!"
"WHY NOT? WHY NOT!?"
So maybe now you finally know.
Sometimes we're helpless and alone,
But you can let it keep you weighted down.
You must go on.
Sixty-Three.
It was nearing the end. He knew it. He was going to die. He would count upto seventy - four, and then he would die. He hoped he would die in his sleep. He didn't want them to have the satisfaction of being present for his last breath.
He wasn't sure where she had gone. Had they killed her? Was she safe? Was she simply a hallucination? His mind was beginning to block out the feeling of emotions. The only pain he felt was the psysical type. Pain. Blood.
Clunk.
Vaughn woke up with the framiliar pain of a gun handle knocked across his forehead. They had been knocking him out before his daily sessions. The one time they hadn't, he had almost escaped. Well..almost. He could of, if he hadn't taken those extra seconds to find Sydney.
I'm dreaming. Your dreaming again. Sydney isn't real. She's dead.
Sydney was across from him, her eyes shut in pain. The blood hadn't been cleaned, now crusted to her body and clothes. New pools of blood were forming on her sholder.
Vaughn shut his eyes.
Block her out. Block her out.
The framiliar sound of the door crunching open sent chills up his spine. Pressing the side of his head against the metal bed, he blocked out Sydney's pleas for him to listen to her.
"Well, today is the last day that we are going to ask you, Michael Vaughn."
"My name is Michael Vaughn, and I work for the CIA."
"Very well, Mr Vaughn. Sark, bring in the device."
"NO! NO! TELL ME WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW! ASK ME AGAIN!"
Do you ever feel like crying?
Do you ever feel like giving up?
I raise my hands up towards the sky,
I say this prayer for you tonight,
Because nothing is impossible.
The crying was hysterical. The crying, the pleading, the screams...they were making him break down. Sydney screamed again, as Sloane pushed a needle into the back of her neck.
"DON'T TELL HIM VAUGHN! DON'T TELL HIM!"
Vaughn's cries were turning anguished, the raw feeling of his throat bleeding more then he could take.
"Funny things, these needles. You can put three in your arms - four at most - before your heart shuts down." he paused, and reached for the second needle. "But when they go directly into your spine..it only takes...two."
"YOU SICK BASTARD! YOU SICK BASTARD!" Vaughn was screaming the same sentance over and over again. If he knew the answer to Sloane's questions - he would have answered them long ago. Jack died this way, because he was the only officer with clearance to know that stuff.
"I will ask you once more, before this needle goes into Miss Bristow's spine. What does the CIA want with the Rambaldi artifacts?"
"DON'T VAUGHN! PLEASE! DON'T, I'M FINE!" the gurgling of the back of her throat cut off her screams, as the needle pricked at her spine.
"SYDNEY I NEED TO! SYDNEY!" His mind was racing, his mouth going quicker then his mind.
"VAUG-MICHAEL, NO!"
Vaughn's shell crumpled, and he fell against the cool metal.
"I don't know...I don't know..."
Sydney's last scream echoed through his ears, just as the door burst open and he felt the air flowing around him. He vaguely saw the white and black jackets and logos as his vision faded in and out.
As I sit here all alone,
I wonder how I'm suppose to carry on when you're gone.
I'll never be the same without you,
I love you more then you will ever know.
So. This is what closure was.
Sitting at her funeral.
Her actual funeral.
Her body in that case.
The heat of the sun on his back.
The soft murmur of her past friends and family, the sobs of her closest.
He showed no emotions. He was solid. His eyes wouldn't leave the tombstone that floated above the coffin.
SYDNEY A. BRISTOW
APRIL 17th, 1974 - MAY 5th, 2004
FRIEND / DAUGHTER / MOTHER
THE HERO DIES IN THIS ONE.
Closure. Irony. Why were the two so closely set in Vaughn's mind?
Looking down slowly, he saw the glint of the metal band in the sunlight. Slowly, he removed it, and walked towards the coffin. Choking back sobs, he placed the wedding band ontop of the flower botiques that rested on the coffin's lid. It sunk into two roses.
"It's...it's ironic how I can give my marriage up so quickly for someone who doesn't exist anymore...and how hard it is to let go to someone you...you never knew.." he broke into sobs, the soft voice he was using shattered into a cry. Weiss wrapped an arm around his sholders, pulling him back.
"VAUGHN! VAUGHN! WE'VE GOT VAUGHN OVER HERE!"
Vaughn felt the cuffs unlock around his wrists. He stumbled out of the shallow metal grave he had spent the last two months in, and across to her.
Her face was covered with blood, her chin hanging against her chest.
"WE'VE GOT DEREVKO! DEREVEKO IS IN CUSTODY."
"Vaughn...she's gone."
"No."
Nonononononoonoononononononon she can't be. I just found her. Ijustfoundherijustfoundher.
"Vaughn. Let go. Let go!"
"LEAVE ME ALONE! SHE'S FINE! SHE'S FINE!"
"Vaughn..please..."
"PISS OFF! I WON'T LET GO OF HER THIS TIME!"
He would never let go of her again.
So maybe now you'll finally know.
Sometimes we're helpless and alone,
But you can't let it keep you weighted down.
You must go on.
"I don't understand."
"Miss Bristow gave birth several months into her dissapearance. We've recovered the baby-"
"The baby..the baby or the body?"
"The baby, Mr Vaughn."
"Wait. I don't see.."
"We took tests. She's biologically yours. She was near death when we found her...Sydney took care of her when she was alive, but given the circumstances, it wasn't easy."
Vaughn was silent, trying to comprehend his thoughts.
"Can I see her?"
"Daddy...I don't remember mommy."
Vaughn's heart broke in two, as he read over the words on the grave one more time.
The Hero Dies in This One.
A hero.
"Your mommy was beautiful. She had brown hair, just like you."
"I got your green eyes though, right?"
"Right."
"Why don't I know mommy?"
"Mommy and daddy went to a movie one night, just before Christmas. We left you with your grandfather and grandma -"
"-where are they?"
"In heaven. We left you there over night when you were a tiny baby. On the way home...," he coughed and choked on his words, the tears brimming. This. Stupid. Story.
Crunch. The sound of her boots against the hard snow.
"..daddy ran into some ice on the road. The car skidded, and we crashed. Mommy couldn't get out in time."
"Oh."
"Why does it say he...errro?"
"Your mommy was a hero. More then you'll ever know."
Sometimes, being a hero just isn't good enough. Sometimes it call depends who's side irony and luck is on.
In this case?
It was the anti-hero.
Stay who you are.
You must go on.
Stay who you are.