Title: Break Me
Rating: PG, for mild violence and language
Summary: After a mission goes awry, Vaughn saves Sydney.
Spoilers: None really, this is pretty much AU.
Disclaimer: Alias is owned by J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot productions, lyrics written by Jewel
Feedback: Let me know what you think, whether it's good or bad. I know this story is somewhat weird, so please feel free to let me know what you hate about it.
Author's Note: This is an odd idea that came to me while listening to "Break Me." It really has nothing to do with the song, just an idea in the song. Also, to readers of "The Return," I am sorry about the long wait, but I will have the next chapter out ASAP.
"Break Me"
You could hurt me with your bare hands
You could hurt me using the sharp end of what you say
I am lost to you now
There's no amount of reason to save me
~o~
The small, dingy hotel room is dark, as she cannot stand the light. A double bed and a standard nightstand sit in the center of the room. It is a simple room, somewhat run-down, but nothing out of the ordinary. He planned it this way; they are supposedly just two lonely people taking advantage of a seedy hotel's hourly rate. The irony of the cover almost makes him laugh. He sits rigidly in the shadows, watching her. He's not sure if she even knows he is there.
She sits on the other side of the room; she is crammed into the corner, the juncture of the walls protecting her back. Her knees are drawn tightly to her chest and her right arm is wrapped firmly around her waist, but her hand hangs limply. He suspects some fingers may be broken, but he cannot tell if they are swollen or bruised. A triangle of sunlight invades her introverted position, illuminating parts of her face, neck, and shoulder. There is a gash on her cheek, dry and caked with blood. On her shoulder are four finger-shaped bruises. He is certain there are more bruises, cuts, and God knows what else on, or even in, her body, but she won't let him come close enough to look. Her eyes, once bright and dancing, are now dark and blank; she is lost in her own depths.
Just the thought of the person who hurt her, who stripped her of her spirit and left her broken and fearful brings bile to his throat. He jumps up, startling her, and runs to the bathroom. His knees collide with the linoleum as he throws up for the third time that day.
~o~
Darkness surrounds her, invades her. It is everywhere, permeating her senses; she can even smell it, taste it, hear it as it weaves its web around her, confining her in an unknown place. She cries out, but her voice, like everything else, is lost to the darkness…
Her head snaps up as he enters the room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She automatically panics.
"Who are you? Why are you here? What are you planning to do to me?" her questions are frantic; she doesn't even sound like herself, her voice coming out strained and shrill.
"Sydney," he says soothingly, patiently. My name is Michael Vaughn. You know me; I work for the CIA and I am your handler. I am here to help you. I only want to keep you safe." His eyes are unwavering, kind and honest, but she cannot focus herself long enough to even say something to him, to ask for help. Her fingers are throbbing, and she feels grimy, not to mention the many other aches coursing through her body.
The darkness returns. From the depths, she screams out to herself. //Trust this man! Let him help you! He's the only one who can save you.// But she cannot hear. Once again, she is surrounded by darkness, safe from the pain.
~o~
She stares at him blankly, not a hint of recognition. Still, he can tell that part of her wants to believe him; he can see her inner struggle and silently urges her to fight, to beat whatever foe she is sparring with. However, this is her worst enemy yet, as she is fighting against herself. She slowly slips away from reality, taking his last flicker of hope along with her.
He sighs and reclaims his spot in the opposite corner, carefully, so as not to disturb her again. She's been this way for almost nine hours now, and he is growing more desperate with every passing minute. He cannot reach her; he cannot even convince her to trust him. She's not the Sydney he used to know.
The Sydney he used to know…
She was fearless. No wait, she was afraid of everything, but she gritted her teeth and confronted her fear head on. She was brave, brave enough to put her life at risk daily for what she believed. She was noble and inherently good, yet mischievous and willing to break rules. She was…beautiful. Beautiful in every sense of the word. Hell, she surpassed beautiful.
And he loved her.
There was no denying that fact. From the moment he laid eyes on her, something inside of him clicked and told him that she was the one. From that moment on, he was hers, whether she knew it or not. He not only wanted to protect her, he wanted to make her happy. Preferably, he wanted to be the one to make her happy.
In the beginning, he hid his feelings. For the most part, it was easy. Sure, there were moments, when she'd tilt her head a certain way, finger her necklace, bite her lip, and his body would ache to hold her. Countless times he'd imagined taking her in his arms, brushing the hair away from her face, and kissing her soundly, until the whole world melted away. Sometimes he thought she wished he'd do just that, but he was never sure. It didn't matter though, because he would never make the move; he loved her and cared too much for her safety to take such a risk.
His concern for her safety was the one thing he could not hide; if she was in danger, he didn't care about anything, not his job or his own safety, but protecting her. This little escapade was no different, except for the gravity of the danger and his failure to save her before it went too far.
~o~
The mission had seemed simple.
DESTINATION: A small museum in Lyon
ALIAS: Viviane Clare, Parisian visiting relatives
MISSION: Enter the museum posing as a tourist. Sneak downstairs to the basement. After descrambling the code, open the door, lift the vase, and grab the tiny disk, replacing it with a fake containing PAC-Man (Marshall had such an odd sense of humor)
COUNTERMISSION: A simple brush-pass at the airport
The day before the mission, she had met Vaughn at the warehouse. Her counter was simple, and Dixon would not be going with her, so she doubted there would be complications. Both she and Vaughn were in lighthearted moods that day so they made small talk after he gave her the counter. He asked about Francie and Will, and she asked about his mom. Sydney loved her companionship with Vaughn; a kind of intimacy existed between them, emerging because of their circumstance. She left the warehouse feeling almost giddy.
Everything with the mission went according to plan until she was leaving the museum. She felt a gun pressed into her back, and a voice hissed, "Come with me," in French. She complied, planning to retaliate once they were outside. However, she did not anticipate the six men waiting outside or the swift blow to her head that knocked her unconscious.
She awoke in an unfamiliar room; she had a blinding headache and the room was dark. Panic washed over her as she realized she had no idea where she was or how long she had been out. She was sitting in a stout metal chair, her hands tied tightly behind her back and her legs strapped firmly to the legs of the chair. She squirmed, testing the strength of her restraints; it would take more than some deft maneuvering to escape.
In the midst of her potting, she heard a heavy door swing open. Two men entered, one large and one small. The latter stood in front of her and glared menacingly. "Why were you stealing the disk?" he asked in French. She noticed his accent was off, but couldn't place his nationality.
When she refused to answer, he came closer, running his finger under her jawbone and forcing her to look at him. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about the disk. It's not important. In fact, there's nothing on the disk you stole. It was simply a plant to get an SD-6 agent under our power. That's what you're here for, Darling. We want you to join our organization and help us to take down SD-6," he was speaking English now.
Sydney stared at him in disbelief. "Who do you work for?"
"I'm sorry. That is classified information."
"Are you with K-Directorate?"
The man just shook his head and laughed. "Now, are you going to join us?"
"Why should I?" Sydney asked. She was getting tired of this little game.
"It would be to your benefit to comply."
"I don't think so."
"Well, perhaps we can persuade you," he snapped his fingers and the larger man came forward. Sydney braced herself as the man's fist connected with her cheek. Her head snapped and pain exploded in her jaw.
"Now?" the smaller man asked.
"Not a chance in hell," she said through gritted teeth.
"All right, then," he said. "This is going to get messy."
Sydney sighed and rolled her eyes, trying desperately to mask the fear that was taking over. She told herself she could face whatever they had in store for her.
~o~
Vaughn knew something was wrong. Sydney was supposed to call him as soon as she completed the mission and returned to the hotel. He should have received that call hours ago. Something had happened, because Sydney would never forget to call. Once h realized the mission had gone awry, he quickly booked a flight to France. He did not even bother to inform his superiors of his intentions, because he knew what they would say. Sydney was in danger and he did not have time to debate the best extraction plan.
During the flight, he tried to calm his nerves, but the effort was in vain. He would not relax until he was certain that Sydney was out of danger. Vaughn loved his job, he really did, but the stress was beginning to take its toll. With each mission, he feared more and more for Sydney's life. His worries were beginning to affect his life. If she was away on a mission, he refused to go out. Hell, he barely slept. He sat and waited, anticipating her call and assurance of her safety. He knew that he was way too attached, but what could he do? He couldn't resign as her handler, because Sydney needed him. For the first time in his life, someone needed him, depended upon him. And he couldn't bring himself to give that up. Besides, although he knew there could never be anything but friendship between them, he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing her on a regular basis. Just one smile from Sydney Bristow was enough to sustain him through the loneliness in his life.
A few hours later, Vaughn was in Lyon, standing outside of the museum. After some deliberation, the head curator had finally told him about the group that had taken Sydney. He did not know much about the organization, but he had given Vaughn an address in Copenhagen, where the group was based.
Vaughn ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled slowly. He hoped he could get to Denmark before it was too late. He headed towards the train station and prepared himself for another anxiety-filled ride.
Once in Copenhagen, Vaughn got directions to the house. It was a plain, inconspicuous brick building, but who knew what it housed? Gun in hand, he walked in and pointed it at the first person he saw.
"American female. Is she here?" he asked in Danish.
"Yes," the frightened guard replied.
"Take me to her," he said, pressing his gun against the man's head.
"Right this way," he led Vaughn up the stairs. The guard at the door did not expect them, and Vaughn quickly shot them both. He hated the part of his job that required him to kill, but Sydney's' life could be in serious danger. He could not help her if he was killed.
He quickly opened the door; the sight before him nearly made him faint. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. It was her. She was strapped to a chair, unconscious, with her head tilting to the side. He could see numerous cuts and bruises on her body. Her breathing was labored, but relief washed over him as he realized she was alive. "Pull yourself together," he whispered to himself as he crossed the room and began to loosen her restraints. It was a difficult task, as he had to keep her body from falling over. He lifted her, amazed at her lightness.
After escaping the building, he took her to a hotel and registered them under Danish names. He set her gently on the bed and went to the bathroom to throw up. Then she awoke.
~o~
Sydney woke up with a start and bolted upright on the bed. Fear and panic took over as an unfamiliar man approached her. Her body ached and she vaguely remembers the source of her pain.
"Syd?" the man said quietly, hope in his eyes.
"Who are you?" she shrieked, as she jumped off the bed. Unwittingly, she backed into the corner, sliding down into a sitting position.
The man came and knelt down in front of her. He tried to touch her, but she screamed again, so he backed away. All the while, he was speaking to her, but she could not understand him, could not focus on the jumble of words coming out of his mouth. She heard something inside of her beckoning her, promising to take away the pain, and she allowed herself to slip into the recesses of her mind.
~o~
That was over nine hours ago, and Vaughn has made little, if any, headway with Sydney. She refuses to let him come near her, much less touch her. Her behavior reminds him of that of a wounded animal.
He knows they have to leave Copenhagen soon. Whoever kidnapped her will be looking for her, and if they were capable of hurting Sydney this badly, on this level, then they will have little trouble finding them. This idea scares him, but it also makes him fiercely protective. He will be damned if they ever hurt her again. Of course, the have already done something that is almost worse: they have made him a stranger to her. With this thought, he silently chastises himself. He knows that he should be grateful for her safety, and he is, but it kills him to look into those eyes that he loves and see no hint of recognition. But another voice inside of him insists that Sydney does need him, and while she seems physically stable at the moment, her mental state puts her in even more danger. He has to get her back.
He stands resolutely, and she doesn't scream this time; it is almost as if she feels his urgency. She merely looks at him, eyes searing through his, as he slowly approaches her. He carefully kneels down in front of her, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He wills her not to look away. He knows what he must do. He has never imagined it being like this, but necessity calls for drastic actions. He knows this will hurt like hell, but he doesn't care. He will do it, because he loves her that much, and will do anything to save her.
He takes her good hand in his, hoping the gesture will ground her, will ground them both, and slowly presses his lips against hers.
~o~
Sydney finds herself in that kiss. She feels herself slowly returning to reality, but a reality that is far better then the one she left. She lets herself sink into the kiss, her hand gripping his for dear life. Her body aches all over, but for these few moments, she feels wonderful, almost as if she is flying.
After what seems like forever, (or not nearly long enough) he pulls away.
"Vaughn," she breathes, unsure of her own voice.
"Sydney. Thank God," he says, still clutching her hand and cupping her chin. "I thought I'd lost you."
She smiles at his relieved expression. "Where are we?"
"Denmark."
"Denmark?" she asks in disbelief.
"Yes, that's where your captors took you," he says. "But more importantly, how do you feel? Where are you hurt?"
"Everywhere," she says with a small, bitter laugh as he dashes across the room to grab a first aid kit.
As he approaches her again, she carefully removes her button-down shirt, wincing as she lifts her arms. "Let me help you," he says, gently sliding it down her arms. Her tank top allows him to see the bruises on her arms and the small round marks on her upper right arm where a needle has been stuck. He runs his finger over the marks.
"What did they inject in you, Syd?"
"I don't know. I can't remember," she says, looking at the floor. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You're save now. They won't be able to hurt you again," his voice is level and convincing.
She believes him.
"Okay, he says. "Let's see what we can do about these cuts." He continues checking her wounds, applying antiseptic and bandages where needed. Her fingers are not broken, only mildly sprained.
When he finishes, she playfully asks, "What's the prognosis, Doctor?"
He grins, happy that she seems to be feeling better. "You're going to be sore, but I think you'll live."
"Thanks, Vaughn," she says quietly.
"No problem. Maybe you should take a bath; it will help you relax."
~o~
She finally lets out a sigh of relief as she sinks into the warm bath. The water is soothing; it washes away the images that keep flooding her mind. At first, she could not remember anything about the past twenty-four hours, but the events are slowly returning. She is too weary to deal with them, so she pushes them out of her mind and turns her thoughts to something more appealing: Vaughn.
She'd once called him her guardian angel, and this fiasco has definitely earned him his halo. He's always been there for her, the only one who understands her. She depends on him for so much more than just her counter missions.
A small smile plays on her lips as she remembers the kiss. She knows he was just trying to make a connection with her, to bring her back, but she can't help wondering if it meant anything to him. She knows he's attracted to her. He thinks she doesn't notice the way his eyes roam over her body, or the way his fingers lingered on her skin as he bandaged her wounds. She notices everything. She notices because that's all she's allowed to do. If their situation was normal, they would already be together. This thought causes a flood of longing to wash over her.
She quickly pushes those thoughts out of her mind. She won't allow her mind to run rampant with "what ifs?" Rather, she consoles herself with thoughts of "someday."
Someday, SD-6 will be gone.
Someday, they can go to a hockey game.
Someday, he will grab her hand.
Someday, they will for the entire world to see.
Someday, he will tell her he loves her.
Someday, there will be a place for them.
~o~
He jerks awake as she comes out of the bathroom; this time he is the one who is startled.
"Hey," he murmurs as she sits down next to him on the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," she says quietly. "Exhausted, actually."
"Well, lie down," he gestures at her side of the bed.
She lies down, her back to him. "Will you stay with me, Vaughn?"
"Yes, of course." He lies down, too. The past hours are starting to wear on him. He doesn't regret his decision to kiss her; he only wishes he could do it again. He won't allow himself to, though. Being her handler has been difficult in the past, but it will be even harder to hide his feelings now. Now that he knows what it's like to kiss her. Now that he knows how great they could be together. He can't have her, though, and it hurts like hell, just as he imagined it would. He feels broken; she is the one who broke him, and only she can put him back together.
Suddenly, Sydney wordlessly backs into him. He puts him arm around her and places his palm on her stomach. She sighs, a light contented sigh, and he realizes it was all worth it. He'll take what he can get. Hell, she can break him anytime she wants.
The End
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review. I am still dissatisfied with the second half of this, so if anyone has any suggestions, I may re- write it. Emma
Rating: PG, for mild violence and language
Summary: After a mission goes awry, Vaughn saves Sydney.
Spoilers: None really, this is pretty much AU.
Disclaimer: Alias is owned by J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot productions, lyrics written by Jewel
Feedback: Let me know what you think, whether it's good or bad. I know this story is somewhat weird, so please feel free to let me know what you hate about it.
Author's Note: This is an odd idea that came to me while listening to "Break Me." It really has nothing to do with the song, just an idea in the song. Also, to readers of "The Return," I am sorry about the long wait, but I will have the next chapter out ASAP.
"Break Me"
You could hurt me with your bare hands
You could hurt me using the sharp end of what you say
I am lost to you now
There's no amount of reason to save me
~o~
The small, dingy hotel room is dark, as she cannot stand the light. A double bed and a standard nightstand sit in the center of the room. It is a simple room, somewhat run-down, but nothing out of the ordinary. He planned it this way; they are supposedly just two lonely people taking advantage of a seedy hotel's hourly rate. The irony of the cover almost makes him laugh. He sits rigidly in the shadows, watching her. He's not sure if she even knows he is there.
She sits on the other side of the room; she is crammed into the corner, the juncture of the walls protecting her back. Her knees are drawn tightly to her chest and her right arm is wrapped firmly around her waist, but her hand hangs limply. He suspects some fingers may be broken, but he cannot tell if they are swollen or bruised. A triangle of sunlight invades her introverted position, illuminating parts of her face, neck, and shoulder. There is a gash on her cheek, dry and caked with blood. On her shoulder are four finger-shaped bruises. He is certain there are more bruises, cuts, and God knows what else on, or even in, her body, but she won't let him come close enough to look. Her eyes, once bright and dancing, are now dark and blank; she is lost in her own depths.
Just the thought of the person who hurt her, who stripped her of her spirit and left her broken and fearful brings bile to his throat. He jumps up, startling her, and runs to the bathroom. His knees collide with the linoleum as he throws up for the third time that day.
~o~
Darkness surrounds her, invades her. It is everywhere, permeating her senses; she can even smell it, taste it, hear it as it weaves its web around her, confining her in an unknown place. She cries out, but her voice, like everything else, is lost to the darkness…
Her head snaps up as he enters the room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. She automatically panics.
"Who are you? Why are you here? What are you planning to do to me?" her questions are frantic; she doesn't even sound like herself, her voice coming out strained and shrill.
"Sydney," he says soothingly, patiently. My name is Michael Vaughn. You know me; I work for the CIA and I am your handler. I am here to help you. I only want to keep you safe." His eyes are unwavering, kind and honest, but she cannot focus herself long enough to even say something to him, to ask for help. Her fingers are throbbing, and she feels grimy, not to mention the many other aches coursing through her body.
The darkness returns. From the depths, she screams out to herself. //Trust this man! Let him help you! He's the only one who can save you.// But she cannot hear. Once again, she is surrounded by darkness, safe from the pain.
~o~
She stares at him blankly, not a hint of recognition. Still, he can tell that part of her wants to believe him; he can see her inner struggle and silently urges her to fight, to beat whatever foe she is sparring with. However, this is her worst enemy yet, as she is fighting against herself. She slowly slips away from reality, taking his last flicker of hope along with her.
He sighs and reclaims his spot in the opposite corner, carefully, so as not to disturb her again. She's been this way for almost nine hours now, and he is growing more desperate with every passing minute. He cannot reach her; he cannot even convince her to trust him. She's not the Sydney he used to know.
The Sydney he used to know…
She was fearless. No wait, she was afraid of everything, but she gritted her teeth and confronted her fear head on. She was brave, brave enough to put her life at risk daily for what she believed. She was noble and inherently good, yet mischievous and willing to break rules. She was…beautiful. Beautiful in every sense of the word. Hell, she surpassed beautiful.
And he loved her.
There was no denying that fact. From the moment he laid eyes on her, something inside of him clicked and told him that she was the one. From that moment on, he was hers, whether she knew it or not. He not only wanted to protect her, he wanted to make her happy. Preferably, he wanted to be the one to make her happy.
In the beginning, he hid his feelings. For the most part, it was easy. Sure, there were moments, when she'd tilt her head a certain way, finger her necklace, bite her lip, and his body would ache to hold her. Countless times he'd imagined taking her in his arms, brushing the hair away from her face, and kissing her soundly, until the whole world melted away. Sometimes he thought she wished he'd do just that, but he was never sure. It didn't matter though, because he would never make the move; he loved her and cared too much for her safety to take such a risk.
His concern for her safety was the one thing he could not hide; if she was in danger, he didn't care about anything, not his job or his own safety, but protecting her. This little escapade was no different, except for the gravity of the danger and his failure to save her before it went too far.
~o~
The mission had seemed simple.
DESTINATION: A small museum in Lyon
ALIAS: Viviane Clare, Parisian visiting relatives
MISSION: Enter the museum posing as a tourist. Sneak downstairs to the basement. After descrambling the code, open the door, lift the vase, and grab the tiny disk, replacing it with a fake containing PAC-Man (Marshall had such an odd sense of humor)
COUNTERMISSION: A simple brush-pass at the airport
The day before the mission, she had met Vaughn at the warehouse. Her counter was simple, and Dixon would not be going with her, so she doubted there would be complications. Both she and Vaughn were in lighthearted moods that day so they made small talk after he gave her the counter. He asked about Francie and Will, and she asked about his mom. Sydney loved her companionship with Vaughn; a kind of intimacy existed between them, emerging because of their circumstance. She left the warehouse feeling almost giddy.
Everything with the mission went according to plan until she was leaving the museum. She felt a gun pressed into her back, and a voice hissed, "Come with me," in French. She complied, planning to retaliate once they were outside. However, she did not anticipate the six men waiting outside or the swift blow to her head that knocked her unconscious.
She awoke in an unfamiliar room; she had a blinding headache and the room was dark. Panic washed over her as she realized she had no idea where she was or how long she had been out. She was sitting in a stout metal chair, her hands tied tightly behind her back and her legs strapped firmly to the legs of the chair. She squirmed, testing the strength of her restraints; it would take more than some deft maneuvering to escape.
In the midst of her potting, she heard a heavy door swing open. Two men entered, one large and one small. The latter stood in front of her and glared menacingly. "Why were you stealing the disk?" he asked in French. She noticed his accent was off, but couldn't place his nationality.
When she refused to answer, he came closer, running his finger under her jawbone and forcing her to look at him. "It's fine if you don't want to talk about the disk. It's not important. In fact, there's nothing on the disk you stole. It was simply a plant to get an SD-6 agent under our power. That's what you're here for, Darling. We want you to join our organization and help us to take down SD-6," he was speaking English now.
Sydney stared at him in disbelief. "Who do you work for?"
"I'm sorry. That is classified information."
"Are you with K-Directorate?"
The man just shook his head and laughed. "Now, are you going to join us?"
"Why should I?" Sydney asked. She was getting tired of this little game.
"It would be to your benefit to comply."
"I don't think so."
"Well, perhaps we can persuade you," he snapped his fingers and the larger man came forward. Sydney braced herself as the man's fist connected with her cheek. Her head snapped and pain exploded in her jaw.
"Now?" the smaller man asked.
"Not a chance in hell," she said through gritted teeth.
"All right, then," he said. "This is going to get messy."
Sydney sighed and rolled her eyes, trying desperately to mask the fear that was taking over. She told herself she could face whatever they had in store for her.
~o~
Vaughn knew something was wrong. Sydney was supposed to call him as soon as she completed the mission and returned to the hotel. He should have received that call hours ago. Something had happened, because Sydney would never forget to call. Once h realized the mission had gone awry, he quickly booked a flight to France. He did not even bother to inform his superiors of his intentions, because he knew what they would say. Sydney was in danger and he did not have time to debate the best extraction plan.
During the flight, he tried to calm his nerves, but the effort was in vain. He would not relax until he was certain that Sydney was out of danger. Vaughn loved his job, he really did, but the stress was beginning to take its toll. With each mission, he feared more and more for Sydney's life. His worries were beginning to affect his life. If she was away on a mission, he refused to go out. Hell, he barely slept. He sat and waited, anticipating her call and assurance of her safety. He knew that he was way too attached, but what could he do? He couldn't resign as her handler, because Sydney needed him. For the first time in his life, someone needed him, depended upon him. And he couldn't bring himself to give that up. Besides, although he knew there could never be anything but friendship between them, he couldn't stand the thought of not seeing her on a regular basis. Just one smile from Sydney Bristow was enough to sustain him through the loneliness in his life.
A few hours later, Vaughn was in Lyon, standing outside of the museum. After some deliberation, the head curator had finally told him about the group that had taken Sydney. He did not know much about the organization, but he had given Vaughn an address in Copenhagen, where the group was based.
Vaughn ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled slowly. He hoped he could get to Denmark before it was too late. He headed towards the train station and prepared himself for another anxiety-filled ride.
Once in Copenhagen, Vaughn got directions to the house. It was a plain, inconspicuous brick building, but who knew what it housed? Gun in hand, he walked in and pointed it at the first person he saw.
"American female. Is she here?" he asked in Danish.
"Yes," the frightened guard replied.
"Take me to her," he said, pressing his gun against the man's head.
"Right this way," he led Vaughn up the stairs. The guard at the door did not expect them, and Vaughn quickly shot them both. He hated the part of his job that required him to kill, but Sydney's' life could be in serious danger. He could not help her if he was killed.
He quickly opened the door; the sight before him nearly made him faint. He grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. It was her. She was strapped to a chair, unconscious, with her head tilting to the side. He could see numerous cuts and bruises on her body. Her breathing was labored, but relief washed over him as he realized she was alive. "Pull yourself together," he whispered to himself as he crossed the room and began to loosen her restraints. It was a difficult task, as he had to keep her body from falling over. He lifted her, amazed at her lightness.
After escaping the building, he took her to a hotel and registered them under Danish names. He set her gently on the bed and went to the bathroom to throw up. Then she awoke.
~o~
Sydney woke up with a start and bolted upright on the bed. Fear and panic took over as an unfamiliar man approached her. Her body ached and she vaguely remembers the source of her pain.
"Syd?" the man said quietly, hope in his eyes.
"Who are you?" she shrieked, as she jumped off the bed. Unwittingly, she backed into the corner, sliding down into a sitting position.
The man came and knelt down in front of her. He tried to touch her, but she screamed again, so he backed away. All the while, he was speaking to her, but she could not understand him, could not focus on the jumble of words coming out of his mouth. She heard something inside of her beckoning her, promising to take away the pain, and she allowed herself to slip into the recesses of her mind.
~o~
That was over nine hours ago, and Vaughn has made little, if any, headway with Sydney. She refuses to let him come near her, much less touch her. Her behavior reminds him of that of a wounded animal.
He knows they have to leave Copenhagen soon. Whoever kidnapped her will be looking for her, and if they were capable of hurting Sydney this badly, on this level, then they will have little trouble finding them. This idea scares him, but it also makes him fiercely protective. He will be damned if they ever hurt her again. Of course, the have already done something that is almost worse: they have made him a stranger to her. With this thought, he silently chastises himself. He knows that he should be grateful for her safety, and he is, but it kills him to look into those eyes that he loves and see no hint of recognition. But another voice inside of him insists that Sydney does need him, and while she seems physically stable at the moment, her mental state puts her in even more danger. He has to get her back.
He stands resolutely, and she doesn't scream this time; it is almost as if she feels his urgency. She merely looks at him, eyes searing through his, as he slowly approaches her. He carefully kneels down in front of her, keeping his eyes locked with hers. He wills her not to look away. He knows what he must do. He has never imagined it being like this, but necessity calls for drastic actions. He knows this will hurt like hell, but he doesn't care. He will do it, because he loves her that much, and will do anything to save her.
He takes her good hand in his, hoping the gesture will ground her, will ground them both, and slowly presses his lips against hers.
~o~
Sydney finds herself in that kiss. She feels herself slowly returning to reality, but a reality that is far better then the one she left. She lets herself sink into the kiss, her hand gripping his for dear life. Her body aches all over, but for these few moments, she feels wonderful, almost as if she is flying.
After what seems like forever, (or not nearly long enough) he pulls away.
"Vaughn," she breathes, unsure of her own voice.
"Sydney. Thank God," he says, still clutching her hand and cupping her chin. "I thought I'd lost you."
She smiles at his relieved expression. "Where are we?"
"Denmark."
"Denmark?" she asks in disbelief.
"Yes, that's where your captors took you," he says. "But more importantly, how do you feel? Where are you hurt?"
"Everywhere," she says with a small, bitter laugh as he dashes across the room to grab a first aid kit.
As he approaches her again, she carefully removes her button-down shirt, wincing as she lifts her arms. "Let me help you," he says, gently sliding it down her arms. Her tank top allows him to see the bruises on her arms and the small round marks on her upper right arm where a needle has been stuck. He runs his finger over the marks.
"What did they inject in you, Syd?"
"I don't know. I can't remember," she says, looking at the floor. He lifts her chin, forcing her to look at him.
"You're save now. They won't be able to hurt you again," his voice is level and convincing.
She believes him.
"Okay, he says. "Let's see what we can do about these cuts." He continues checking her wounds, applying antiseptic and bandages where needed. Her fingers are not broken, only mildly sprained.
When he finishes, she playfully asks, "What's the prognosis, Doctor?"
He grins, happy that she seems to be feeling better. "You're going to be sore, but I think you'll live."
"Thanks, Vaughn," she says quietly.
"No problem. Maybe you should take a bath; it will help you relax."
~o~
She finally lets out a sigh of relief as she sinks into the warm bath. The water is soothing; it washes away the images that keep flooding her mind. At first, she could not remember anything about the past twenty-four hours, but the events are slowly returning. She is too weary to deal with them, so she pushes them out of her mind and turns her thoughts to something more appealing: Vaughn.
She'd once called him her guardian angel, and this fiasco has definitely earned him his halo. He's always been there for her, the only one who understands her. She depends on him for so much more than just her counter missions.
A small smile plays on her lips as she remembers the kiss. She knows he was just trying to make a connection with her, to bring her back, but she can't help wondering if it meant anything to him. She knows he's attracted to her. He thinks she doesn't notice the way his eyes roam over her body, or the way his fingers lingered on her skin as he bandaged her wounds. She notices everything. She notices because that's all she's allowed to do. If their situation was normal, they would already be together. This thought causes a flood of longing to wash over her.
She quickly pushes those thoughts out of her mind. She won't allow her mind to run rampant with "what ifs?" Rather, she consoles herself with thoughts of "someday."
Someday, SD-6 will be gone.
Someday, they can go to a hockey game.
Someday, he will grab her hand.
Someday, they will for the entire world to see.
Someday, he will tell her he loves her.
Someday, there will be a place for them.
~o~
He jerks awake as she comes out of the bathroom; this time he is the one who is startled.
"Hey," he murmurs as she sits down next to him on the bed. "How are you feeling?"
"Okay," she says quietly. "Exhausted, actually."
"Well, lie down," he gestures at her side of the bed.
She lies down, her back to him. "Will you stay with me, Vaughn?"
"Yes, of course." He lies down, too. The past hours are starting to wear on him. He doesn't regret his decision to kiss her; he only wishes he could do it again. He won't allow himself to, though. Being her handler has been difficult in the past, but it will be even harder to hide his feelings now. Now that he knows what it's like to kiss her. Now that he knows how great they could be together. He can't have her, though, and it hurts like hell, just as he imagined it would. He feels broken; she is the one who broke him, and only she can put him back together.
Suddenly, Sydney wordlessly backs into him. He puts him arm around her and places his palm on her stomach. She sighs, a light contented sigh, and he realizes it was all worth it. He'll take what he can get. Hell, she can break him anytime she wants.
The End
A/N: Thanks for reading! Please leave a review. I am still dissatisfied with the second half of this, so if anyone has any suggestions, I may re- write it. Emma