Barely Breathing
With Love, Part I
© 2002
Rating: PG
Spoilers: a world of what ifs
Pairing: V/S, Vaughn does some venting
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Author's Note (wow, my first ever): With Love, Part II will be up by Friday. After that, there won't be another update until February 18th, when I get back from Boston. I usually write at least two chapters ahead of time but, as of this moment, I haven't even finished chapter 10! I've been trying to update every day or, at least, every couple of days, but school is really busy for me this year. Slacking off makes me feel guilty, even though everyone's doing it. Well, enough babble, I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next one!
*J*: No, that doesn't sound rude, it's just I have this two page per chapter thing going and I kind of like it. Plus, I want to make sure you all keep reading! ^_^
-Vaughn's POV-
It's only ten o'clock and my fingers are already itching to dial her number. Sydney is back today. Our meeting is scheduled for eleven. Funny, how I waited for three long days to see her again, and now I can't even wait an hour. One measly hour. I know. It's pathetic. Ever since Monday I've become this giant, useless blob of human flesh that slinks around the office, ignoring coworkers and constantly in a mindless stupor. Weiss, when he does manage to get through to me, says I'm in a funk. What does he know? Certainly not that today will be the first time I've seen Sydney since our lips last met in a hot, passionate embrace? No, he doesn't know that. How could he? I had no urge to tell him, to confirm his suspicions.
Growling softly, I push back from my desk. This building, this room, is suffocating. I think I am going out of my mind. The thick air is infused with a heady mixture of paper, plastic, and flesh. I find it difficult to breathe.
I glance at the clock. Three minutes have passed. Three measly minutes. I can't believe it. I will never survive the next fifty-seven minutes. Not here, not like this. Grabbing my keys, I storm out of the office, slamming my door loudly. People stare at me, but I no longer care what they think. They have been staring all week. It's almost like they know something is up. Something is wrong with me. And they are right. I am in love with a woman I cannot have. Not now, and maybe not ever. But that's my business.
Come to think of it, they probably don't even care.
--
She's late, again. Only this time, it's by almost an hour. I called her at eleven thirty, but her roommate answered. I won't call again for at least an hour. Any less time and her roommate might get suspicious.
For three consecutive nights I dreamed of her. She came to me in my sleep, and we talked about things we would never dare approach during waking hours. We did stuff, too. I took her to the movies, where we shared popcorn and she laughed at my corny jokes. We dined at fancy restaurants and played countless holes of miniature golf. We went swimming at the lake and ate our lunches sitting on the soft, green grass under a huge, maple tree. She called me Michael. We kissed a lot.
For once, ours was a world free of obligations and responsibilities. She could gaze into my eyes and read all that I felt for her. There would be no danger in that. There would be no shielding, no lies. I could whisper sweet nothings into her ear without fear of someone hearing, or caring. Our fingers could intertwine, her smooth, agile fingers tangling with my own. There would be no thought of someone seeing, or looking.
There would be no more sneaking furtive looks at one another from across the room, no more yearning glances and unspoken promises. Promises that we know cannot be kept.
I wonder if I will dream of her tonight. Never before have I wanted so much to escape reality. The bitterness inside of me threatens to poison my mind and my entire being. I need her so much now. That first kiss was a taste of something sweet and divine and powerfully addictive. Can you have withdrawal symptoms from a kiss?
Something small and wet slides down my cheek, and I realize I am silently weeping. For what? I push the tear away angrily. I will not cry. It does nothing to ease the pain, especially not the dull ache in my heart.
I don't know why I am so emotional. Even when I was a kid, and my father died, I did not cry. A few tears here and there when I scraped my knee or bumped my head, maybe, but always from physical pain. Physical pain goes away after a while. I eventually reach a state of mind where I am completely detached from the source of discomfort. I become indifferent to all feeling.
But this kind of pain, emotional pain, is unlike anything I have ever encountered. When Alice left me, I did not cry. I did not scream, or pout, or beg her to stay. Yes, I had fought with her the week before, but the words exchanged had no tenderness behind them on my part, only anger and the deepest frustration. Frustration because she did not understand. She could not understand. I had never let her.
There was a void in me after she left. But it was hardly anything akin to pain.
--
I stare glumly at a spot on the concrete floor. Outside, I am cool and composed, the ever-professional CIA handler. Inside, I am a total wreck of twisted emotions and scattered thoughts.
Oh, Sydney, why can't you understand how I feel? If you asked, I would give up my entire world for you. I don't even have to think about it. I won't hesitate, because I know I will do it the moment the words leave your supple lips. But you don't ask. And that's what hurts me the most.
I can't hate you for it. You're probably scared. But don't they say that love makes you bold? It has made me bold. Bold enough to reach out and finally touch those lips I've spent hours thinking about, hours dreaming about. Sometimes I can't sleep at night, my mind occupied by thoughts of you, so it cannot rest. You are so unbelievably brave. I admire your strength, your versatility, your intense beauty, your sharp intelligence, and your loving nature. You have lost so much, been lied to and deceived so many times that your warm demeanor amazes me. Your ability to love remains boundless still. I can see all that. Do you realize?
My entire body trembles at the thought of your absence in my life. It trembles much as a fallen leaf trembles from the wind and the cold. My life before you walked into my office, flaming red hair and all, seems so distant now. I am intricately tied to you by millions of minute connections. Every time we talk, I learn something new about you, and that information strengthens our invisible bond. It does not break. It will not break. I would rather die before that happens.
The depth of my feelings surprises me all the time. Would I die for you? The answer is a resolute yes. I am surprised, but I realize it is true. Yet love alone is not enough. Our circumstances divide us, perhaps definitely. Our actions, even our thoughts, are perilous.
I lock up my turbulent emotions. I am Vaughn again. Michael remains a dream.
With Love, Part I
© 2002
Rating: PG
Spoilers: a world of what ifs
Pairing: V/S, Vaughn does some venting
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Author's Note (wow, my first ever): With Love, Part II will be up by Friday. After that, there won't be another update until February 18th, when I get back from Boston. I usually write at least two chapters ahead of time but, as of this moment, I haven't even finished chapter 10! I've been trying to update every day or, at least, every couple of days, but school is really busy for me this year. Slacking off makes me feel guilty, even though everyone's doing it. Well, enough babble, I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next one!
*J*: No, that doesn't sound rude, it's just I have this two page per chapter thing going and I kind of like it. Plus, I want to make sure you all keep reading! ^_^
-Vaughn's POV-
It's only ten o'clock and my fingers are already itching to dial her number. Sydney is back today. Our meeting is scheduled for eleven. Funny, how I waited for three long days to see her again, and now I can't even wait an hour. One measly hour. I know. It's pathetic. Ever since Monday I've become this giant, useless blob of human flesh that slinks around the office, ignoring coworkers and constantly in a mindless stupor. Weiss, when he does manage to get through to me, says I'm in a funk. What does he know? Certainly not that today will be the first time I've seen Sydney since our lips last met in a hot, passionate embrace? No, he doesn't know that. How could he? I had no urge to tell him, to confirm his suspicions.
Growling softly, I push back from my desk. This building, this room, is suffocating. I think I am going out of my mind. The thick air is infused with a heady mixture of paper, plastic, and flesh. I find it difficult to breathe.
I glance at the clock. Three minutes have passed. Three measly minutes. I can't believe it. I will never survive the next fifty-seven minutes. Not here, not like this. Grabbing my keys, I storm out of the office, slamming my door loudly. People stare at me, but I no longer care what they think. They have been staring all week. It's almost like they know something is up. Something is wrong with me. And they are right. I am in love with a woman I cannot have. Not now, and maybe not ever. But that's my business.
Come to think of it, they probably don't even care.
--
She's late, again. Only this time, it's by almost an hour. I called her at eleven thirty, but her roommate answered. I won't call again for at least an hour. Any less time and her roommate might get suspicious.
For three consecutive nights I dreamed of her. She came to me in my sleep, and we talked about things we would never dare approach during waking hours. We did stuff, too. I took her to the movies, where we shared popcorn and she laughed at my corny jokes. We dined at fancy restaurants and played countless holes of miniature golf. We went swimming at the lake and ate our lunches sitting on the soft, green grass under a huge, maple tree. She called me Michael. We kissed a lot.
For once, ours was a world free of obligations and responsibilities. She could gaze into my eyes and read all that I felt for her. There would be no danger in that. There would be no shielding, no lies. I could whisper sweet nothings into her ear without fear of someone hearing, or caring. Our fingers could intertwine, her smooth, agile fingers tangling with my own. There would be no thought of someone seeing, or looking.
There would be no more sneaking furtive looks at one another from across the room, no more yearning glances and unspoken promises. Promises that we know cannot be kept.
I wonder if I will dream of her tonight. Never before have I wanted so much to escape reality. The bitterness inside of me threatens to poison my mind and my entire being. I need her so much now. That first kiss was a taste of something sweet and divine and powerfully addictive. Can you have withdrawal symptoms from a kiss?
Something small and wet slides down my cheek, and I realize I am silently weeping. For what? I push the tear away angrily. I will not cry. It does nothing to ease the pain, especially not the dull ache in my heart.
I don't know why I am so emotional. Even when I was a kid, and my father died, I did not cry. A few tears here and there when I scraped my knee or bumped my head, maybe, but always from physical pain. Physical pain goes away after a while. I eventually reach a state of mind where I am completely detached from the source of discomfort. I become indifferent to all feeling.
But this kind of pain, emotional pain, is unlike anything I have ever encountered. When Alice left me, I did not cry. I did not scream, or pout, or beg her to stay. Yes, I had fought with her the week before, but the words exchanged had no tenderness behind them on my part, only anger and the deepest frustration. Frustration because she did not understand. She could not understand. I had never let her.
There was a void in me after she left. But it was hardly anything akin to pain.
--
I stare glumly at a spot on the concrete floor. Outside, I am cool and composed, the ever-professional CIA handler. Inside, I am a total wreck of twisted emotions and scattered thoughts.
Oh, Sydney, why can't you understand how I feel? If you asked, I would give up my entire world for you. I don't even have to think about it. I won't hesitate, because I know I will do it the moment the words leave your supple lips. But you don't ask. And that's what hurts me the most.
I can't hate you for it. You're probably scared. But don't they say that love makes you bold? It has made me bold. Bold enough to reach out and finally touch those lips I've spent hours thinking about, hours dreaming about. Sometimes I can't sleep at night, my mind occupied by thoughts of you, so it cannot rest. You are so unbelievably brave. I admire your strength, your versatility, your intense beauty, your sharp intelligence, and your loving nature. You have lost so much, been lied to and deceived so many times that your warm demeanor amazes me. Your ability to love remains boundless still. I can see all that. Do you realize?
My entire body trembles at the thought of your absence in my life. It trembles much as a fallen leaf trembles from the wind and the cold. My life before you walked into my office, flaming red hair and all, seems so distant now. I am intricately tied to you by millions of minute connections. Every time we talk, I learn something new about you, and that information strengthens our invisible bond. It does not break. It will not break. I would rather die before that happens.
The depth of my feelings surprises me all the time. Would I die for you? The answer is a resolute yes. I am surprised, but I realize it is true. Yet love alone is not enough. Our circumstances divide us, perhaps definitely. Our actions, even our thoughts, are perilous.
I lock up my turbulent emotions. I am Vaughn again. Michael remains a dream.
