Poison

Author: Keren Ziv
Disclaimer: I don't own Alias. I've got clowns.
Archive: Cover Me ... rest, ask, pwease.
Rated: R. A very tame R.
Summary: "His very breath laced his lips with poison but she did not care; she needed to feel them against her own more than she needed to live."

THANKS! ... thank you, Karen T (poohmusings)! You did a WONDERFUL job getting me through the first of this. W00t! You are like my new favorite beta.

A very late pressie to Jessica S. Because I promised a long time ago.

She smoothed the dress again. For perhaps the millionth time, she checked to make certain that her earrings were on straight, and her fingers went to her temple to discern that all hair was in place. Reaching down, she picked up the long white gloves and held them against the bodice of the dress, the white making a stark contrast to the ivory she wore. She turned slightly to face the mirror and appraised herself. Eyes large, eye make-up dark, lips done cleverly in red, her pale face blushed with rose.

She looked terrified.

Sydney hadn't put on any of the underthings yet, none of the stockings or garters that were lying out on the table next to her expectantly. Her painted toes were visible underneath the loose folds of her dress. She could hear the murmur of voices through the walls and rooms that separated her from the main contingent of guests. Syd closed her eyes and dropped her hands to her sides. Immediately, Francie was next to her, worried.

"Syd, are you okay?"

Sydney opened her eyes and smiled, tired. "I'm fine, Francie. Just a little overwhelmed. I can't believe I'm getting married." She gestured to the room surrounding them as if that held some sort of meaning to add to her words. "It's . . . surreal." Surreal as in she couldn't believe she was actually at this point in her life. She hadn't seen herself doing this, four years ago. She hadn't even imagined this was possible two years ago. And yet, here she was.

Francie's eyes danced. "I know what you mean." She took Sydney and, very carefully, gave her a hug through the loose-fitting dress. "Don't worry, you'll be fine. Johnny adores you. Your father likes him. And he can cook. You've got your guy."

No, she didn't have her guy. He had her, but was there any difference? Sydney liked to pretend there wasn't, but there was a feeling of being totally and completely wanted that enveloped her like a warm sweater on a spring day.

"Who could ask for anything more, eh?" Sydney said wryly, reminding them both of the song that they'd sung together at Francie's bachelorette party. She and Francie laughed, Francie's dark red dress tightening slightly across her belly as she took in gulps of air in a laughter that was too much, too forced, to be real. Sydney watched the rounded form intently.

A knock on the door caused her to turn her head sharply. They stopped laughing. Francie frowned and went to the door, opening it slightly and calling out, "Who is it?" Her voice was strained, as if she was worried about who it might be and wanted to warn that person to stay away, that he was not wanted.

"Is there some rule that says the father of the bride cannot wish his only daughter good luck before he gives her away?" It was only Jack.

Francie opened the door and stepped through it. "I'll give you two some privacy." Her voice had softened several degrees and she was smiling.

Sydney turned to her father. "Dad," she began weakly. She shook her head and to her surprise began crying. "Oh, no, my make-up," she said, bringing her hands up to her face. Had she used waterproof mascara? She couldn't remember.

Sydney would have thought of that; she usually thought of everything, of all the possibilities that could go wrong. All Syd could think of was how her lipstick tasted like a chocolate latte.

She fell into her father's embrace and said, "I love you," to him in a small whisper. She pulled back and allowed him to take his handkerchief and minister to her eyes.

"This was a long time coming, Sydney," Jack Bristow told his daughter gently. "I'm so pleased that you want me to be here with you on your special day." Impulsively, he hugged her tightly, not mindful of the soft layers of the dress he was crushing. "You and John will be so happy together," he promised her. "So very happy." He stepped back and looked at her, smiling his half-smile.

"Thank you," Sydney whispered. She looked down at the floor. "Could you postpone Francie's reentry for thirty minutes or so? I'd just like to have some quiet time and be with myself." Some time to herself before she became another person with another name. A name that was not her father's or Danny's, but Johnny's. Syd had never felt that way before, as if she was owned by someone else, a possession.

Jack nodded, and then spoke again. "I'll tell Francie that you need to be alone for a half hour," he said. "I think that's all you really need right now. Not Francie jumping here and there with excitement." He had heard the laughter, then, through the door. Sydney watched as he left, then sighed and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Wow. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all. Syd looked so happy in the mirror. She tried on a smile, then cast it aside for another. The second fit much more prettily, with just enough of her fear showing through her eyes to make it look as if Sydney was merely nervous on this day.

She was nervous; that was all it was. There was nothing else. No relief that she was finally finished with it all. No reason for her to keep glancing at the cell phone on the table; it was turned off anyway.

A knock at the door brought her quickly to reality. Apparently, her father hadn't been able to convince Francie that she wanted to be alone. The thought was alien to Sydney's best friend, whose personality demanded people. She groaned and called out for Francie to enter.

She saw him in the mirror, first. His brown hair fell almost to his eyes and his hands were tucked into his dress pants, his jacket missing. Vaughn. He looked so cute standing there, with his face twisted in a sort of half-smile. His very breath laced his lips with poison but she did not care; she needed to feel them against her own more than she needed to live.

Her hand went to her own mouth and then to her side as she turned and was kissing him, the distance separating them having been covered by several long strides. She want to be near him so badly that she would forget the poison and just lie a little while, just a little while, whilst she worked up the nerve to explain to him that she couldn't. His hands were on her body and her hands were on his and he was going to rip her dress if he wasn't careful with the way he lifted it.

Then he was hooking a thumb in the waistband of her panties and she was trying to undo his zipper while keeping him as close as possible to her, afraid to break the contact, afraid to let go of the claim her mouth had on his. Somehow she found herself against the wall, her legs around his waist, her dress billowing around them imperiously, reminding herself of a queen in court.

Sydney broke to gasp for air. She could feel the world around her like a volcano erupting inside. "We shouldn't be doing this."

"I know," he said, positioning her against him in his boxers so that the warmth in her body traveled to the pit of her stomach; Syd couldn't breath for the ache of it all. This was perfect; this was now. Sydney knew it was wrong for perfect. She tried to lean back but found herself unbuttoning the top of his shirt so she could run her hand down his chest.

"I mean, I'm in my wedding dress." It was her punishment, the way she could mold her body so easily against his.

He was working on her collarbone with his tongue and so did not answer for several seconds. "I know."

"I can't leave him, Vaughn." There, it was said.

"I'm not asking you to." And that was it and she waited while he managed to somehow hold her upright and still remove his boxers. Then they were together and she could forget everything, forget Francie and her father, forget the flower girl waiting not twenty paces outside the door in her very first black shiny shoes, forget the man waiting to marry her, forget who she was and just let herself become another part of Michael Vaughn.

She was arching, pushing herself closer to him. Syd wanted to melt into his embrace and become his second skin. She wished that she could stay this way forever, with no memory and no feeling inside her except this total and brilliant need for this man who was softly kissing the tip of her nose and her ears and running his fingers through her hair. And then there was color and all the hot energy that had been steadily growing within her suddenly burst and she couldn't see anything except his eyes staring at her from beneath the hurt and shame.

When they were done, he helped her dress, finding the things they had knocked down while working their way to the wall. He straightened his shirt and then left out a window. Syd watched him leave with her own eyes pensive, and picked up a tissue and her mascara. Francie knocked on the door then, and by the time she entered the room, Sydney looked no different than before she'd left.

She could still taste the sweet poison of his lips.

THE END