"Gray Skies Again" (2/3)
Author: Bella
E-mail: bella_lumina@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters (except Joe, Jamie, John, and Nina and Ellie Vaughn) are not mine.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Box." Minor spoilers from "The Coup" are referenced indirectly. You probably won't be able to find them if you aren't looking.
Notes: This is a companion piece to "Nothing to Be Afraid Of." Thanks to Cassandra for the beta-read! :) Another story will follow this one, tying up the loose ends.
*December 26, 2003*
I don't celebrate Christmas. It's an annoying commercial holiday with too many characters and too many preconceived notions. Sydney, on the other hand, loves Christmas; I stopped by this year to see exactly why she thought it was so special.
They had a huge dinner; they always have huge dinners. Vaughn's mother came over and cooked with Francie. Sydney apparently cannot cook, and she spent the late afternoon watching a movie in the living room with her -- and I hesitate to use the term -- *fiancé*. He was trying to be amusing by translating the entire movie into French. Ha. Yeah, that's a great way to impress a girl.
Her dad came over for dinner with a huge bundle of gifts in his arms; there were presents for Francie, Will, Amy, and even little gifts for Nina and John. And, of course, a box for Sydney and one that bore both her name and Vaughn's.
They ate turkey and ham, and John and Will traded stories about their respective childhood Christmases. Vaughn responded quietly about Christmas with his father -- like he was the only person in the room who had lost a parent -- when Francie asked gently, and Sydney, who is the best comforter I have ever seen, gently rubbed his back.
Francie danced around crazily to Christmas music as they opened their presents. Most of it was run-of-the-mill: clothes, books, CDs. There were a few notable exceptions. Vaughn gave Sydney a necklace that had belonged to his grandmother; the tiny sapphires embedded in it glinted against Sydney's skin. Sydney gave him a puzzling present: a pair of worn tickets that were bent and slightly tattered around the edges. His eyebrows shot up when he opened the package, and he murmured, "You didn't use them?"
She shook her head. "I didn't want to give them to anyone else. Those were ours, even if we couldn't go."
He leaned over and kissed her, whispering, "I wanted to go."
"I know you did," she replied softly, sighing and leaning against him. "I wish that we could have."
Jack pulled off the biggest surprise of the evening; inside the box with both Sydney and Vaughn's names inscribed on it was a simple piece of paper. Apparently it was the deed to a piece of property. "I bought this when your mother and I got married," he said quickly, looking at Sydney carefully. "We never got around to using it. I'd like you to have it; build a beautiful place to live."
Sydney rose from her seat on the floor beside Vaughn and launched herself into her father's arms. She thanked him quietly, and he nodded. Vaughn looked surprised; I couldn't believe that her father was somehow sanctioning this, the biggest mistake Sydney could possibly make.
I didn't walk away with any new ideas about Christmas. Maybe I would have felt differently if I was the one sitting beside her, exchanging gifts that only we would understand.
*January 5, 2004*
It was almost over. I almost ended it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Looking back, I can't believe that I even tried. It would have hurt her so much, and that's not what I'm trying to do. Hurting her would hurt me. And, for some bizarre reason that I fail to understand, hurting him would hurt her, too.
Did that make any sense? I don't know. All I know is that I took a gun over to her house this evening. I saw his car there, and I steeled myself. I could end her problems and my problems in one fell swoop.
I watched as they cooked dinner in the kitchen. Sydney was cooking ravioli in a big silver pot on the range; Vaughn watched her out of the corner of his eyes as he chopped vegetables for a salad. She was talking about a discussion she'd had with her senior English students that day. She teaches beginning French and advanced literature courses at a private prep high school nearby.
"So, this girl starts asking about Miss Havisham. How in the world could someone like that exist? Why wasn't she put into a mental institution?" Sydney recalled as she stirred the pasta.
He smirked. "If she only knew..."
"I really wanted to tell her that," Sydney admitted, turning her attention to the tomato sauce, stirring it quickly. She held out the wooden spoon and crooked a finger at him. "Taste?"
He leaned over and wrapped his lips around the spoon; she laughed and smoothed a palm down his cheek. "Excellent," he judged, grinning and wiping a stray drop from his chin.
I checked the gun to make sure the bullets were loaded.
"So anyway, this other kid -- Jim, the funny one -- starts in on how his great-aunt could be Miss Havisham's evil twin. The whole thing disintegrated into this hilarious conversation about horrible relatives. One girl's grandmother has had so much plastic surgery that apparently she looks like she's always wearing one of those plastic Halloween masks from when we were kids. Remember those?"
He chuckled, scooping the vegetable pieces into his hands and dropping them into a bowl of lettuce. "The ones with the nose holes? Those things were terrible. They stuck to your face."
She giggled. "I had a Barbie one when I was seven. And a Wonder Woman one at some point..." Her diamond glinted as she turned off the burner. "Want red or white?"
He considered this. "Red, I think. Unless you've got more of that great stuff we had last time..."
"I think there might be half a bottle left," she mused, standing on her tiptoes to peer into the tallest cabinet.
I had a clear shot. I raised the gun and pointed it toward him through the window. My finger was on the trigger. I felt myself begin to press down...and then I stopped. She found the bottle, nearly toppling the whole stack from the cabinet, and he rushed to stand behind her, reaching over her head to steady the bottles, pressing his body against hers. She shivered, turning around so that she was facing him, and kissed him on his neck. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and looked down at her, lifting her up onto the countertop. She laughed, wrapping her legs around his hips as he kissed her.
"Sauce is going to burn..." he reminded as she moved her lips to his ear.
She sighed. "I don't want to eat anymore."
His stomach growled, right on cue. "I promise, after I get some food, I'm all yours." He gave her a leering grin.
She rolled her eyes. "Pig."
"Hussy," he replied, laughing. She glared up at him, smacking him lightly on the chest.
"Come on, let's eat," she replied begrudgingly.
I sighed, unloading my gun. I was a coward for even wanting to try it. I went home and didn't sleep.
*January 30, 2004*
I always thought that when Sydney Bristow got married, it would be a beautiful ceremony in some garden in the country. She'd wear a beautiful white dress, because she seems like the kind of girl who always wanted a big wedding and a white dress. There would be cake, and there would be presents. I imagined myself there, too.
I was there, as it turned out, but not necessarily how I expected to be. There was no crowd, no garden, and no big white wedding dress. Sydney got married in the smallest church I had ever seen. It was a little white building in Santa Barbara, close to Vaughn's mother's home. Vaughn wore a suit -- surprise, surprise -- and Sydney wore a beautiful knee-length white dress.
I heard her talking about her wedding the night before to Francie. Vaughn wasn't at her house for once, and the two of them were sitting on the living room floor watching television.
"I can't believe you're getting married," Francie said for the seventeenth time.
"Francie, come on," she replied, hugging her knees to her chest. "You had to have known that this would happen way before he even asked me."
"I had an inkling," she admitted. "You're so attached to him."
"I'm in love with him," Sydney clarified. "I love him."
"He adores you, Syd," Francie offered, and Sydney blushed. "I'll admit it, I knew."
"The beginning of our relationship was so difficult," Sydney began, and I listened more carefully. I knew next to nothing about how she had ended up with this CIA man. "With his job...we could barely even see each other."
"I guess that makes this that much more meaningful," Francie reasoned, grabbing a handful of popcorn.
"Yeah," Sydney said softly. "I can't wait for tomorrow."
"No cold feet?"
"Nope," she replied confidently.
And apparently Vaughn didn't have cold feet either, the bastard, and she married him. After the little ceremony they went back to his mom's house, which turned out to be on the beach, and they all ate and danced on the sand until late into the night and early in the morning. I watched her dance with the man, feeling sick inside for her that she'd made such a terrible choice, watched her bare feet make soft indentations in the white sand. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he stroked her back as they moved in time with the music.
When his mother brought out the wine for the toast, I went home. So she was married; what of it? Marriage isn't always permanent. Nothing in life is permanent. I should know this. Besides, she's married to a man who is in intelligence, and she and I both know what sort of people are in power in that profession. I still have to make sure that she isn't in danger; she'd done the same for me, so I owe her that much.
Marriage isn't permanent, but I had to put my gun away. I needed to face it; I couldn't kill Vaughn. I love her, but for some reason beyond me, she loves him. I can't hurt someone that I love. I've already done that once, even though I didn't know her then. I can't be the one who takes this person away from her, too. All I can do is sit back and hope that she comes to her senses.
*April 2, 2004*
They've been living in her house together for three months now. Francie stayed with them for a few weeks before moving in with her boyfriend, which apparently angered his parents. She didn't move back, though, and they had the house all to themselves. I've kept an eye on her.
Tonight they had their first real fight that I've witnessed. There was breaking (on her part). There was yelling (on both parts). There were tears (again, on her part). I had to literally hold myself back, because I could have gone in there and stopped it.
Turns out that the whole thing was over something really stupid, and that stupid something is her friend Will. I think that Vaughn has realized what Will knows, and finally told her tonight. She refused to believe him, and he got very angry with her. She shouted that he shouldn't judge Will, that he didn't know him like she did. He fired back that she was letting her emotions cloud what she really thought. I couldn't believe that he had the audacity to yell at her like that. She yelled that she couldn't believe he wanted her to dredge all of the horrible memories from SD-6 back out just so that Will could have something to write about. Did he want their lives exposed that way? Didn't he have any respect for her judgment at all?
With that, she slammed her wineglass down on the kitchen countertop, and it shattered into glinting shards around her hand. She squeaked, looking at the blood that welled in the tiny lacerations that snaked across her palm, and her tears finally spilled over. He cleaned her hand off gently and bandaged it, then pulled her into his arms and apologized. She believed him. I wanted to die.
I went home. I can't stand to see her in pain. The greens and the blues start to fade when she cries, and they're my favorites of all the colors.
To be continued...
Author: Bella
E-mail: bella_lumina@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The characters (except Joe, Jamie, John, and Nina and Ellie Vaughn) are not mine.
Spoilers: Everything up to and including "The Box." Minor spoilers from "The Coup" are referenced indirectly. You probably won't be able to find them if you aren't looking.
Notes: This is a companion piece to "Nothing to Be Afraid Of." Thanks to Cassandra for the beta-read! :) Another story will follow this one, tying up the loose ends.
*December 26, 2003*
I don't celebrate Christmas. It's an annoying commercial holiday with too many characters and too many preconceived notions. Sydney, on the other hand, loves Christmas; I stopped by this year to see exactly why she thought it was so special.
They had a huge dinner; they always have huge dinners. Vaughn's mother came over and cooked with Francie. Sydney apparently cannot cook, and she spent the late afternoon watching a movie in the living room with her -- and I hesitate to use the term -- *fiancé*. He was trying to be amusing by translating the entire movie into French. Ha. Yeah, that's a great way to impress a girl.
Her dad came over for dinner with a huge bundle of gifts in his arms; there were presents for Francie, Will, Amy, and even little gifts for Nina and John. And, of course, a box for Sydney and one that bore both her name and Vaughn's.
They ate turkey and ham, and John and Will traded stories about their respective childhood Christmases. Vaughn responded quietly about Christmas with his father -- like he was the only person in the room who had lost a parent -- when Francie asked gently, and Sydney, who is the best comforter I have ever seen, gently rubbed his back.
Francie danced around crazily to Christmas music as they opened their presents. Most of it was run-of-the-mill: clothes, books, CDs. There were a few notable exceptions. Vaughn gave Sydney a necklace that had belonged to his grandmother; the tiny sapphires embedded in it glinted against Sydney's skin. Sydney gave him a puzzling present: a pair of worn tickets that were bent and slightly tattered around the edges. His eyebrows shot up when he opened the package, and he murmured, "You didn't use them?"
She shook her head. "I didn't want to give them to anyone else. Those were ours, even if we couldn't go."
He leaned over and kissed her, whispering, "I wanted to go."
"I know you did," she replied softly, sighing and leaning against him. "I wish that we could have."
Jack pulled off the biggest surprise of the evening; inside the box with both Sydney and Vaughn's names inscribed on it was a simple piece of paper. Apparently it was the deed to a piece of property. "I bought this when your mother and I got married," he said quickly, looking at Sydney carefully. "We never got around to using it. I'd like you to have it; build a beautiful place to live."
Sydney rose from her seat on the floor beside Vaughn and launched herself into her father's arms. She thanked him quietly, and he nodded. Vaughn looked surprised; I couldn't believe that her father was somehow sanctioning this, the biggest mistake Sydney could possibly make.
I didn't walk away with any new ideas about Christmas. Maybe I would have felt differently if I was the one sitting beside her, exchanging gifts that only we would understand.
*January 5, 2004*
It was almost over. I almost ended it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Looking back, I can't believe that I even tried. It would have hurt her so much, and that's not what I'm trying to do. Hurting her would hurt me. And, for some bizarre reason that I fail to understand, hurting him would hurt her, too.
Did that make any sense? I don't know. All I know is that I took a gun over to her house this evening. I saw his car there, and I steeled myself. I could end her problems and my problems in one fell swoop.
I watched as they cooked dinner in the kitchen. Sydney was cooking ravioli in a big silver pot on the range; Vaughn watched her out of the corner of his eyes as he chopped vegetables for a salad. She was talking about a discussion she'd had with her senior English students that day. She teaches beginning French and advanced literature courses at a private prep high school nearby.
"So, this girl starts asking about Miss Havisham. How in the world could someone like that exist? Why wasn't she put into a mental institution?" Sydney recalled as she stirred the pasta.
He smirked. "If she only knew..."
"I really wanted to tell her that," Sydney admitted, turning her attention to the tomato sauce, stirring it quickly. She held out the wooden spoon and crooked a finger at him. "Taste?"
He leaned over and wrapped his lips around the spoon; she laughed and smoothed a palm down his cheek. "Excellent," he judged, grinning and wiping a stray drop from his chin.
I checked the gun to make sure the bullets were loaded.
"So anyway, this other kid -- Jim, the funny one -- starts in on how his great-aunt could be Miss Havisham's evil twin. The whole thing disintegrated into this hilarious conversation about horrible relatives. One girl's grandmother has had so much plastic surgery that apparently she looks like she's always wearing one of those plastic Halloween masks from when we were kids. Remember those?"
He chuckled, scooping the vegetable pieces into his hands and dropping them into a bowl of lettuce. "The ones with the nose holes? Those things were terrible. They stuck to your face."
She giggled. "I had a Barbie one when I was seven. And a Wonder Woman one at some point..." Her diamond glinted as she turned off the burner. "Want red or white?"
He considered this. "Red, I think. Unless you've got more of that great stuff we had last time..."
"I think there might be half a bottle left," she mused, standing on her tiptoes to peer into the tallest cabinet.
I had a clear shot. I raised the gun and pointed it toward him through the window. My finger was on the trigger. I felt myself begin to press down...and then I stopped. She found the bottle, nearly toppling the whole stack from the cabinet, and he rushed to stand behind her, reaching over her head to steady the bottles, pressing his body against hers. She shivered, turning around so that she was facing him, and kissed him on his neck. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing, and looked down at her, lifting her up onto the countertop. She laughed, wrapping her legs around his hips as he kissed her.
"Sauce is going to burn..." he reminded as she moved her lips to his ear.
She sighed. "I don't want to eat anymore."
His stomach growled, right on cue. "I promise, after I get some food, I'm all yours." He gave her a leering grin.
She rolled her eyes. "Pig."
"Hussy," he replied, laughing. She glared up at him, smacking him lightly on the chest.
"Come on, let's eat," she replied begrudgingly.
I sighed, unloading my gun. I was a coward for even wanting to try it. I went home and didn't sleep.
*January 30, 2004*
I always thought that when Sydney Bristow got married, it would be a beautiful ceremony in some garden in the country. She'd wear a beautiful white dress, because she seems like the kind of girl who always wanted a big wedding and a white dress. There would be cake, and there would be presents. I imagined myself there, too.
I was there, as it turned out, but not necessarily how I expected to be. There was no crowd, no garden, and no big white wedding dress. Sydney got married in the smallest church I had ever seen. It was a little white building in Santa Barbara, close to Vaughn's mother's home. Vaughn wore a suit -- surprise, surprise -- and Sydney wore a beautiful knee-length white dress.
I heard her talking about her wedding the night before to Francie. Vaughn wasn't at her house for once, and the two of them were sitting on the living room floor watching television.
"I can't believe you're getting married," Francie said for the seventeenth time.
"Francie, come on," she replied, hugging her knees to her chest. "You had to have known that this would happen way before he even asked me."
"I had an inkling," she admitted. "You're so attached to him."
"I'm in love with him," Sydney clarified. "I love him."
"He adores you, Syd," Francie offered, and Sydney blushed. "I'll admit it, I knew."
"The beginning of our relationship was so difficult," Sydney began, and I listened more carefully. I knew next to nothing about how she had ended up with this CIA man. "With his job...we could barely even see each other."
"I guess that makes this that much more meaningful," Francie reasoned, grabbing a handful of popcorn.
"Yeah," Sydney said softly. "I can't wait for tomorrow."
"No cold feet?"
"Nope," she replied confidently.
And apparently Vaughn didn't have cold feet either, the bastard, and she married him. After the little ceremony they went back to his mom's house, which turned out to be on the beach, and they all ate and danced on the sand until late into the night and early in the morning. I watched her dance with the man, feeling sick inside for her that she'd made such a terrible choice, watched her bare feet make soft indentations in the white sand. She rested her head against his shoulder, and he stroked her back as they moved in time with the music.
When his mother brought out the wine for the toast, I went home. So she was married; what of it? Marriage isn't always permanent. Nothing in life is permanent. I should know this. Besides, she's married to a man who is in intelligence, and she and I both know what sort of people are in power in that profession. I still have to make sure that she isn't in danger; she'd done the same for me, so I owe her that much.
Marriage isn't permanent, but I had to put my gun away. I needed to face it; I couldn't kill Vaughn. I love her, but for some reason beyond me, she loves him. I can't hurt someone that I love. I've already done that once, even though I didn't know her then. I can't be the one who takes this person away from her, too. All I can do is sit back and hope that she comes to her senses.
*April 2, 2004*
They've been living in her house together for three months now. Francie stayed with them for a few weeks before moving in with her boyfriend, which apparently angered his parents. She didn't move back, though, and they had the house all to themselves. I've kept an eye on her.
Tonight they had their first real fight that I've witnessed. There was breaking (on her part). There was yelling (on both parts). There were tears (again, on her part). I had to literally hold myself back, because I could have gone in there and stopped it.
Turns out that the whole thing was over something really stupid, and that stupid something is her friend Will. I think that Vaughn has realized what Will knows, and finally told her tonight. She refused to believe him, and he got very angry with her. She shouted that he shouldn't judge Will, that he didn't know him like she did. He fired back that she was letting her emotions cloud what she really thought. I couldn't believe that he had the audacity to yell at her like that. She yelled that she couldn't believe he wanted her to dredge all of the horrible memories from SD-6 back out just so that Will could have something to write about. Did he want their lives exposed that way? Didn't he have any respect for her judgment at all?
With that, she slammed her wineglass down on the kitchen countertop, and it shattered into glinting shards around her hand. She squeaked, looking at the blood that welled in the tiny lacerations that snaked across her palm, and her tears finally spilled over. He cleaned her hand off gently and bandaged it, then pulled her into his arms and apologized. She believed him. I wanted to die.
I went home. I can't stand to see her in pain. The greens and the blues start to fade when she cries, and they're my favorites of all the colors.
To be continued...