Title: Dissolve
Author: Coffee Crazy
Rating: PG
Time: AU
Disclaimer: Stupid Bad Robot
Summary: "You won't die. You're too stubborn like your father. (One-parter)
Dissolve
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"Vaughn?" Her throat now dry and cracked.
"It's me, Syd."
"What are you doing?" she asks, but even the small task of talking eats away at her energy.
When her eyes flicker open, Sydney's greeted by the ethereal figure of Michael Vaughn. She beams at his face radiating with love, until she sees the ever increasing wrinkles on his forehead and grimaces in playful disgust.
He mistakes this contortion for pain and rises to cater to her every whim, "Syd, are you okay?"
She attempts to caress his gentle face, but tires in mid gesture. She is ashamed of her weak fragile state and pulls back. "I'm fine," she lies, "I'm just so tired."
Panic fleets across his mind and in his utter desperation, he pleads, "Come on don't fall asleep. You have to stay awake. For me?"
Her body is setting into shock. Her limbs are slowly being deprived of necessary blood, and soon her vital organs will shut down. And she knows this, she has seen it before. She can't help but wonder if Dixon ever felt as carefree as she does now. Yet, in all futility, she nods in compliance.
He racks his brain for anything to keep the love of his life awake and stumbles out the words, "Favorite TV show?"
She smiles in an almost all knowing way. "The one where the girl saves the world every week and never suffers from jet lag."
"Sounds very familiar," he says jovial at her alertness and sense of humor.
"Its classic art imitates life."
"Very ironic, isn't it?"
Ironic. That's the word he uses to name it. Sydney Bristow slowly wasting away from a car accident rather than the inflictions of a rogue intelligence agency is most certainly ironic.
It wasn't supposed to happen, not to them. He guaranteed a quiet evening free from distractions and national security threats. Impulsively, she whisked him off to movie store to rent the newest blockbuster. But they both knew that in an hour or so the movie would still sit in the plastic bag.
She claimed it's the normalcy that she wanted. For one night she wanted to pretend to be a normal couple doing normal menial tasks. They never expected normal to do them in.
They were ten minutes from home, twelve from a night of pleasure when reality sped at them or rather a Plymouth Neon. The scene played out like a crazy montage. The cars colliding, the shear force of impact, the windshield shattering, the lights dimming from their former brilliance.
At first she feared for Vaughn, but here he was beside her looking none the worse for wear. Her safety line to life.
Sirens cut through the deadly tension in the air followed by the cries of EMS workers trying to divert bystanders. The emergency crew divide into groups sending only two workers into Sydney's care. The others gather round another site meters away.
Sydney lolls her head in the direction of a female crew member, who according to her name tag is named Betty. At least she looks like a Betty, since Sydney's mind isn't completely clear enough to read. Betty pays no heed to Vaughn's status, but focuses entirely on Sydney's condition. Something Vaughn is eternally grateful for. Meekly, Sydney submits to the interrogation and bombardment of lights in her eyes.
Meanwhile, she remains unconcerned of the measures taken to extract her broken body from the mangled vehicle. Instead, she ignores the wrenching groans of the jaws of life and concentrates on her guardian angel's face. In her heart, she knows he would give anything to prevent her suffering, but she rather have it this way. Seeing Vaughn in excruciating pain is most certainly one of the things that would instantly kill her.
Eventually, the team loads her onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Vaughn accompanies her on the endless journey to the hospital never straying from her side. From a nearly comatose state, she glances at her other savior constantly applying much needed intensive care. Assuming that Betty and her partner have been in similar predicaments since they do not contest to Vaughn's presence, Sydney allows herself to relax in the deceptive quiet.
~~~
"Vaughn," she chokes out halfway through the leg in their drive, "despite our current situation.if you were going to die and had one day to live what would you do?"
He struggles to hold back a sob. "Sydney, you are not going to die."
In response, she simply stares in disbelief, wincing at his hopeless outlook. He grasps her hand in reassurance and reiterates in a calm, steady voice, "You won't die. You're too stubborn like your father."
She chuckles at the lightness in his tone, but sighs as one aware of one's mortality. "You know what I would do," she looks to see if he is still attentive, which he is, "I'd go down to the beach and ride horses in the surf."
"I promise you, Syd, that one day you will be able to do just that. It's not your time to go."
With sorrowful eyes, she relates her pessimistic outlook. "Don't make promises you can't keep. By the way, you never did answer the question."
He looks deeply at her and in soft tones answers, "I would spend every single moment with you."
She rewards him with one of her patented dimpled grins. "That sounds nice, very nice," she mumbles as the darkness closes in. The last thing she sees is not the panicked expressions of the EMS workers, but Vaughn's sweet loving eyes. Gradually his voice is marred the deafening silence and the soothing contact of his feathery skin releases her to oblivion.
~~~
'If heaven is this bright, I wonder what is hell like' contemplates Sydney Bristow as the light blinds her peripheral vision. She is nearly startled by her surroundings, linoleum floors and sterile off-white sheets. In confusion, she spins her head in the direction of the weary sleeping figure upon the uncomfortable hospital chair.
"Daddy?"
Instinctively, the silhouette starts from his perch and stares in blissful doubt, "Sydney?"
"Dad," she wheezes, "How long? H-how long have I been asleep?" The tubes running through her nose and mouth cause her voice to come out muffled and scratchy.
"About 48 hours. You had some head trauma." He swallows an impossibly large lump in his throat then continues, "For a while it was touch and go. We thought- I thought I had lost you."
She pays him with a lopsided grin. "You could never lose me. I'm too stubborn just like you." Immediately after uttering those final words, the color drains from her face. Her appearance ages several years wiser, the worry lines etched on her once flawless skin multiply and deepen.
"Dad, where's Vaughn?"
Jack Bristow shifts his weight in the chair before responding. He does not mask his emotion like usual, but clasps his large, sinewy hands in hers. Leaning forward at the doe-eyed daughter before him, he begins, "Sydney, I don't know how to say this, but Agent Vaughn, Michael is dead."
She retracts from his contact and in a fearful unfamiliar pitch rambles, "He's not dead. Vaughn was right beside me the whole time. God, he was right there instructing me to live, to not give up. Don't lie to me."
Jack lifts his daughter's head and protects it in a fatherly embrace. "Vaughn wasn't wearing his seatbelt at the time of the collision. His body was ejected from the car via the windshield. The examiner pronounced him dead upon impact. I'm so sorry."
Denial surges through her veins and she beats madly at her father. Unheard of wails escape her mouth as her world around her becomes a blur. She glimpses the nurse increasing her morphine drip and tries to tear at her in grief.
But the damage has been done. Involuntarily, her body gives way to the drugs causing her to sway back and forth from consciousness. In no time, the sun is beginning to set over Santa Monica beach. But Sydney Bristow is unaware of the spectacular view, she's too busy with the view from her Palomino; Michael Vaughn.
Finis
Author: Coffee Crazy
Rating: PG
Time: AU
Disclaimer: Stupid Bad Robot
Summary: "You won't die. You're too stubborn like your father. (One-parter)
Dissolve
"Hey, sleepyhead."
"Vaughn?" Her throat now dry and cracked.
"It's me, Syd."
"What are you doing?" she asks, but even the small task of talking eats away at her energy.
When her eyes flicker open, Sydney's greeted by the ethereal figure of Michael Vaughn. She beams at his face radiating with love, until she sees the ever increasing wrinkles on his forehead and grimaces in playful disgust.
He mistakes this contortion for pain and rises to cater to her every whim, "Syd, are you okay?"
She attempts to caress his gentle face, but tires in mid gesture. She is ashamed of her weak fragile state and pulls back. "I'm fine," she lies, "I'm just so tired."
Panic fleets across his mind and in his utter desperation, he pleads, "Come on don't fall asleep. You have to stay awake. For me?"
Her body is setting into shock. Her limbs are slowly being deprived of necessary blood, and soon her vital organs will shut down. And she knows this, she has seen it before. She can't help but wonder if Dixon ever felt as carefree as she does now. Yet, in all futility, she nods in compliance.
He racks his brain for anything to keep the love of his life awake and stumbles out the words, "Favorite TV show?"
She smiles in an almost all knowing way. "The one where the girl saves the world every week and never suffers from jet lag."
"Sounds very familiar," he says jovial at her alertness and sense of humor.
"Its classic art imitates life."
"Very ironic, isn't it?"
Ironic. That's the word he uses to name it. Sydney Bristow slowly wasting away from a car accident rather than the inflictions of a rogue intelligence agency is most certainly ironic.
It wasn't supposed to happen, not to them. He guaranteed a quiet evening free from distractions and national security threats. Impulsively, she whisked him off to movie store to rent the newest blockbuster. But they both knew that in an hour or so the movie would still sit in the plastic bag.
She claimed it's the normalcy that she wanted. For one night she wanted to pretend to be a normal couple doing normal menial tasks. They never expected normal to do them in.
They were ten minutes from home, twelve from a night of pleasure when reality sped at them or rather a Plymouth Neon. The scene played out like a crazy montage. The cars colliding, the shear force of impact, the windshield shattering, the lights dimming from their former brilliance.
At first she feared for Vaughn, but here he was beside her looking none the worse for wear. Her safety line to life.
Sirens cut through the deadly tension in the air followed by the cries of EMS workers trying to divert bystanders. The emergency crew divide into groups sending only two workers into Sydney's care. The others gather round another site meters away.
Sydney lolls her head in the direction of a female crew member, who according to her name tag is named Betty. At least she looks like a Betty, since Sydney's mind isn't completely clear enough to read. Betty pays no heed to Vaughn's status, but focuses entirely on Sydney's condition. Something Vaughn is eternally grateful for. Meekly, Sydney submits to the interrogation and bombardment of lights in her eyes.
Meanwhile, she remains unconcerned of the measures taken to extract her broken body from the mangled vehicle. Instead, she ignores the wrenching groans of the jaws of life and concentrates on her guardian angel's face. In her heart, she knows he would give anything to prevent her suffering, but she rather have it this way. Seeing Vaughn in excruciating pain is most certainly one of the things that would instantly kill her.
Eventually, the team loads her onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Vaughn accompanies her on the endless journey to the hospital never straying from her side. From a nearly comatose state, she glances at her other savior constantly applying much needed intensive care. Assuming that Betty and her partner have been in similar predicaments since they do not contest to Vaughn's presence, Sydney allows herself to relax in the deceptive quiet.
~~~
"Vaughn," she chokes out halfway through the leg in their drive, "despite our current situation.if you were going to die and had one day to live what would you do?"
He struggles to hold back a sob. "Sydney, you are not going to die."
In response, she simply stares in disbelief, wincing at his hopeless outlook. He grasps her hand in reassurance and reiterates in a calm, steady voice, "You won't die. You're too stubborn like your father."
She chuckles at the lightness in his tone, but sighs as one aware of one's mortality. "You know what I would do," she looks to see if he is still attentive, which he is, "I'd go down to the beach and ride horses in the surf."
"I promise you, Syd, that one day you will be able to do just that. It's not your time to go."
With sorrowful eyes, she relates her pessimistic outlook. "Don't make promises you can't keep. By the way, you never did answer the question."
He looks deeply at her and in soft tones answers, "I would spend every single moment with you."
She rewards him with one of her patented dimpled grins. "That sounds nice, very nice," she mumbles as the darkness closes in. The last thing she sees is not the panicked expressions of the EMS workers, but Vaughn's sweet loving eyes. Gradually his voice is marred the deafening silence and the soothing contact of his feathery skin releases her to oblivion.
~~~
'If heaven is this bright, I wonder what is hell like' contemplates Sydney Bristow as the light blinds her peripheral vision. She is nearly startled by her surroundings, linoleum floors and sterile off-white sheets. In confusion, she spins her head in the direction of the weary sleeping figure upon the uncomfortable hospital chair.
"Daddy?"
Instinctively, the silhouette starts from his perch and stares in blissful doubt, "Sydney?"
"Dad," she wheezes, "How long? H-how long have I been asleep?" The tubes running through her nose and mouth cause her voice to come out muffled and scratchy.
"About 48 hours. You had some head trauma." He swallows an impossibly large lump in his throat then continues, "For a while it was touch and go. We thought- I thought I had lost you."
She pays him with a lopsided grin. "You could never lose me. I'm too stubborn just like you." Immediately after uttering those final words, the color drains from her face. Her appearance ages several years wiser, the worry lines etched on her once flawless skin multiply and deepen.
"Dad, where's Vaughn?"
Jack Bristow shifts his weight in the chair before responding. He does not mask his emotion like usual, but clasps his large, sinewy hands in hers. Leaning forward at the doe-eyed daughter before him, he begins, "Sydney, I don't know how to say this, but Agent Vaughn, Michael is dead."
She retracts from his contact and in a fearful unfamiliar pitch rambles, "He's not dead. Vaughn was right beside me the whole time. God, he was right there instructing me to live, to not give up. Don't lie to me."
Jack lifts his daughter's head and protects it in a fatherly embrace. "Vaughn wasn't wearing his seatbelt at the time of the collision. His body was ejected from the car via the windshield. The examiner pronounced him dead upon impact. I'm so sorry."
Denial surges through her veins and she beats madly at her father. Unheard of wails escape her mouth as her world around her becomes a blur. She glimpses the nurse increasing her morphine drip and tries to tear at her in grief.
But the damage has been done. Involuntarily, her body gives way to the drugs causing her to sway back and forth from consciousness. In no time, the sun is beginning to set over Santa Monica beach. But Sydney Bristow is unaware of the spectacular view, she's too busy with the view from her Palomino; Michael Vaughn.
Finis