Hi. Okay, so I wrote this before the season finally (I forgot what it was
called), so there shouldn't be any spoilers for that, but there are
spoilers for Rendezvous. Anyway, hope you enjoy it…reviews would be
appreciated. Oh yeah, I don't own the show.
l i k e w i l d f i r e
b y : t e r i n
"To live is to suffer, but to survive, well, that's to find meaning in the suffering."
She wasn't going to make it out of their alive. This much she knew. Dixon was dead, dead by her own fault. She had killed him. To save Vaughn.
She had killed her partner.
And she would soon follow him.
She hadn't killed him with her own hands—nothing so dramatic as that. Oh no. She would have never done that. But none the less, she had killed him. Led him in to danger as a diversion—a diversion to cover for Vaughn. Dixon was gone now.
Dixon was gone, and she wasn't going to make it out of the building alive. Vaughn? Who knew where Vaughn was. He could be dead, too. Dead like Dixon.
She had gone insane after Will. Couldn't handle any of it. She was like a firecracker which had finally exploded. Like wildfire, a madness had sped through her mind. Even Vaughn couldn't stop her. Oh, he tried. Everyone tried. It made no difference.
Francie's face. It was frozen in her mind. Would always be. The hurt, the distrust that had flickered over her chocolate eyes. Distrust of Sydney. Will was gone, and it was all her fault. Just like Dixon.
Dixon had heard. Sent deepest sympathies, whatever that meant. Had attended the funeral. "Do you need anyone to talk to?" he had asked. Her answer had been a cold, resounding no. It echoed in her mind along with all the other memories that constantly pumped through her bloodstream.
Vaughn. She had been worse to him, completely cutting him off. She hadn't talked to him; hadn't trusted him. Will had been in an CIA safe-house, and now he was dead. Along with Dixon. Her thoughts kept returning to the same subject, caught in an endless loop: death.
She had yelled, she had screamed, she had even hit him once. It had all been for nothing. No amount of force would bring Will back. She was caught with only herself to blame.
She had never really noticed just how much he meant to her. What a good friend he was; someone she could depend on. Someone who could make her laugh, and laugh right along with her. He wasn't laughing anymore.
Yes, it had been after Will that she had snapped; like a cheap rubber band that had been twisted one knot too tight. She had gone after him. After Khasinau, who she had killed with a quick syringe to the neck while he held a gun to her neck. She had gone in search of 'The Man', who had in truth turned out to be a woman. A woman: a wife, a mother. Her mother.
She had given her one chance to escape with her life. She had been escorted out the door by a maraud of bullets which had sizzled past her, barely missing her. Then she had gone to him, to Vaughn, with tears in her eyes.
He had held her, had spoken soothing words in her ears, just what she wanted to hear: "It'll all be fine, don't worry Syd." He had said. And now he was probably dead. Might as well blame it on herself: everything else seemed to be her fault.
Her mind snapped to the present: a cold metal table which she was restrained to. The pain of the endless needles of some sort of truth serum burning in her arms. Her vision foggy. No good having a hostage if she can see her interrogators.
She didn't know, didn't care if she would ever escape. They were dead, and there was nothing she could do to stop that, nothing left to do. Except join them.
End Chapter.
I'm not sure whether to continue this…I'm not really sure where I'm going with it, but please review it and tell me if I should continue. Thanks,
--Terin :-)
l i k e w i l d f i r e
b y : t e r i n
"To live is to suffer, but to survive, well, that's to find meaning in the suffering."
She wasn't going to make it out of their alive. This much she knew. Dixon was dead, dead by her own fault. She had killed him. To save Vaughn.
She had killed her partner.
And she would soon follow him.
She hadn't killed him with her own hands—nothing so dramatic as that. Oh no. She would have never done that. But none the less, she had killed him. Led him in to danger as a diversion—a diversion to cover for Vaughn. Dixon was gone now.
Dixon was gone, and she wasn't going to make it out of the building alive. Vaughn? Who knew where Vaughn was. He could be dead, too. Dead like Dixon.
She had gone insane after Will. Couldn't handle any of it. She was like a firecracker which had finally exploded. Like wildfire, a madness had sped through her mind. Even Vaughn couldn't stop her. Oh, he tried. Everyone tried. It made no difference.
Francie's face. It was frozen in her mind. Would always be. The hurt, the distrust that had flickered over her chocolate eyes. Distrust of Sydney. Will was gone, and it was all her fault. Just like Dixon.
Dixon had heard. Sent deepest sympathies, whatever that meant. Had attended the funeral. "Do you need anyone to talk to?" he had asked. Her answer had been a cold, resounding no. It echoed in her mind along with all the other memories that constantly pumped through her bloodstream.
Vaughn. She had been worse to him, completely cutting him off. She hadn't talked to him; hadn't trusted him. Will had been in an CIA safe-house, and now he was dead. Along with Dixon. Her thoughts kept returning to the same subject, caught in an endless loop: death.
She had yelled, she had screamed, she had even hit him once. It had all been for nothing. No amount of force would bring Will back. She was caught with only herself to blame.
She had never really noticed just how much he meant to her. What a good friend he was; someone she could depend on. Someone who could make her laugh, and laugh right along with her. He wasn't laughing anymore.
Yes, it had been after Will that she had snapped; like a cheap rubber band that had been twisted one knot too tight. She had gone after him. After Khasinau, who she had killed with a quick syringe to the neck while he held a gun to her neck. She had gone in search of 'The Man', who had in truth turned out to be a woman. A woman: a wife, a mother. Her mother.
She had given her one chance to escape with her life. She had been escorted out the door by a maraud of bullets which had sizzled past her, barely missing her. Then she had gone to him, to Vaughn, with tears in her eyes.
He had held her, had spoken soothing words in her ears, just what she wanted to hear: "It'll all be fine, don't worry Syd." He had said. And now he was probably dead. Might as well blame it on herself: everything else seemed to be her fault.
Her mind snapped to the present: a cold metal table which she was restrained to. The pain of the endless needles of some sort of truth serum burning in her arms. Her vision foggy. No good having a hostage if she can see her interrogators.
She didn't know, didn't care if she would ever escape. They were dead, and there was nothing she could do to stop that, nothing left to do. Except join them.
End Chapter.
I'm not sure whether to continue this…I'm not really sure where I'm going with it, but please review it and tell me if I should continue. Thanks,
--Terin :-)