Author: Amelia
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ, Bad Robot etc. Anything recognisable
belongs to its owner, and not me.
Rating: PG, I suppose.
Summary: Post SD-6, S/V..2nd person perspective - bare with it.
Notes: for all of you who are thinking the thongs in this piece are
underwear, you are mistaken, they are shoes. I think they're also called
flip-flops or slides.
Feedback: constructive criticism would be lovely, as this was a 30 minute
type thing.
Things in your life have changed, you think as you perch on the railings of the jetty. Today, when you meet him, you will be able to look into his eyes as she squints in the sunshine. Today, when he called you, he didn't fake a wrong number, he asked for you by name. He joked and spoke quietly to you for five full minutes. When you hung up, it wasn't with a heavy, cold heart, but with a skipped beat and a laugh dying on your lips.
The midday lull is hovering over the area and people are lying under trees, having lunch or heading home. It's hot; the humidity is low and instead of sweat pooling on your skin, you feel as though you are being baked dry. You hope he brings water; you don't have time to dart to the shop now. You might miss him, and your job has taught you that all happy moments, all content moments, are precious moments.
The waves are lapping gently against the wooden pylons. A tinnie splutters and dies by the ladder and you watch and smile as a family of four unloads; two children run, screaming and laughing barefooted across the warm wooden planks.
"I want fish and chips!"
"I want ice-cream!" the other whines in response. You smile at the parents who are grinning at each other as they lug eskies and water bottles onto the pier. Too caught up in their everyday adventure, you don't notice him approaching. He grabs you, pretending to push you into the water. You cling to him and let out a surprised shriek. The parents smirk at each other as they walk past. You don't notice; you and your boyfriend/fiancé/lover/friend are too busy delighting in the fact that you don't have to worry about being approached anymore.
"Not paying attention?" he teases, taking your hand and pulling you off the railing. He wraps an arm around your waist and you snuggle into him. He places hot kisses along your hairline.
"You're too sneaky for your own good, Agent Vaughn,"
This makes you both smile. He is still Agent Vaughn. And soon, you will be too. Or Agent Bristow-Vaughn, you haven't decided. But, if you suddenly decide to become a field agent again, you secretly think Bristow-Vaughn is too long. And Vaughn is his name, so maybe- you snap back to attention when he whispers 'you're daydreaming' into your ear.
"Honestly, Syd. Your desk job is making you lazy,"
You chuckle and swing your arms, laughing at him as he looks embarrassed. Along the path, two little girls are doing the same thing. "I could take you anyday,"
Mike raises an eyebrow and his forehead creases. "Is that a challenge?"
"That all depends," you pause, "Are you up to it, Mikey?"
Mikey. He cringes when you call him that; he hates the name. But you use it anyway, because nobody else does. Because it shows everyone within hearing distance that you are together, are close. And, its fun to tease him.
You giggle shamefully as he tickles your ribs and you break free, running ahead. The little girls giggle and point at you. You jump onto the stone wall that protects the path from the water and hope he follows. The plan stands as this: he follows you and before he can balance himself, you will topple him in.
The plan fails, and he holds on tight as he falls into the waist-deep water. You fall with him. As you both clamber back over the wall, hands, feet and clothes slapping wetly against the concrete, you realise you have drawn a lot of attention to yourselves. Vaughn is clearly embarrassed by this. "Beaten by a girl, hey," you whisper under your breath.
He arches an eyebrow. "I took you down with me; it's at least a tie,"
You change the subject. "I'm hungry." You wring out your shirt as he hides you from view in the trees.
"I guess a restaurant is out," he observes dryly as you walk back towards the strip of cafes and takeaways. You walk quietly, with only the rhythmic thwap, scrape, scrape, thwap of your thongs between you. Simple pleasures are what delight you now; you'd rather lie around in his apartment, in his bed, watching bad late night movies and eating Indian food than hitting the latest club to be seen at. You'd rather sitting in broad daylight eating hotdogs and throwing sticks for Donovan than hiding away in a secluded five star restaurant. You know he feels the same way. Because he told you.
A week after the dust had settled from the destruction of SD-6, you rang him up to ask him to dinner. He hadn't called you; he was a lot busier than you, and his stack of papers needing signatures was twice the size of yours; and so you called him. You asked, casually if "maybe you'd like to go to dinner sometime. I know this quiet little-" and he stopped you. He said he'd rather drop what he was doing and go to some crowded, public place to do something mundane and everyday. Do something that you'd never thought you'd be able to do with him.
It hadn't worked out, of course. You'd met in the park and wandered around for awhile. You were standing and throwing the remnants of the hotdog buns to the ducks when a boy and his dog had come running up. Donovan had barked and before either of you knew what was happening, he jerked the leash in Vaughn's hand, ran around you and you tripped and fell into the lake. Not just into the water, but directly into the duckweed and pond slime that fringed the water. You stood up and he helped you out, delicately lifting a lily pad from your shoulder. So you both went back to his apartment. It would have been easier to go to the house you shared with Francie - your clothes were there, after all - but so was Francie. And so you went back to his house and sat in his bed, wrapped in the sheets as he rinsed out your clothes and hung them to dry by the window. He tried to find spare clothes that would fit you, but nothing would stay on your shoulders, so instead you tied yourself in a sheet, valiantly battling the red flush on your cheeks, and sat in the living room staring out the window. From there, things snowballed and suddenly it didn't matter that your clothes were ruined.
You've been 'an item' for nearly eight months now. Francie has gotten used to practically living alone. Sometimes, she rings Michael's house instead of your cell phone to get hold of you. When this happens, you drop hints about how expensive it is to be sharing rent on a house you only sleep at a few nights a week. When you say this, Vaughn, Michael, smiles faintly and changes the subject. You stare at jewellers displays more now, too. Pointedly. The last time you were out at the movies with Will and Francie you spent so long looking at them as you walked past that you accidentally stepped on the back of Will's heel. "Just ask him yourself, Sydney," he'd snapped. You make a point of not looking at jewellery cases around Will now. Too many emotions. Too much hurt.
You realise that Michael has been speaking and you look at him apologetically and blush. He smiles and squeezes your hand. You squeeze his, tightly. Some nights, you just sit on his tiny balcony gripping his hand until he extracts it and holds yours in his. Sometimes, he just lets you cry. Not lately, you think proudly. You're dealing, processing, moving on.
"I was thinking fish and chips out on the jetty, and then-"
You tilt your head and smile warmly at him. He's nervous about something; his forehead has wrinkled up again. It's cute. Cuter now that you can kiss the worries away. "Then what?" you ask gently. Playfully. Curiously.
You've reached the fish and chip shop and he stops to hold back the plastic ribbons so you can walk through the doorway. It always makes you smile. They fall back behind him, slapping softly against each other as they sway into place. There is a queue and once you've agreed on an order, you snuggle into his side and look up at him, your chin on his chest. "And then what, Michael?"
He glances around. He really is nervous, you think. The dark, scared part of you prays it isn't serious. "And then.maybe we could move all your stuff into my place,"
You laugh. You can't help it. You laugh and cry out in glee and surprise. Ecstasy. You jump around a little and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. A few people watch on and he smiles as he blushes. His display of affection in public is usually limited to holding hands and the occasional kiss; he makes it clear you're his without needing to be all over you. You like that.
You don't quite understand why you are reacting like this; you lived with Danny after all. But this is different. This is Vaughn. This is having earned the right to live normally. This is having earned the right to love.
Things in your life have changed, you think as you perch on the railings of the jetty. Today, when you meet him, you will be able to look into his eyes as she squints in the sunshine. Today, when he called you, he didn't fake a wrong number, he asked for you by name. He joked and spoke quietly to you for five full minutes. When you hung up, it wasn't with a heavy, cold heart, but with a skipped beat and a laugh dying on your lips.
The midday lull is hovering over the area and people are lying under trees, having lunch or heading home. It's hot; the humidity is low and instead of sweat pooling on your skin, you feel as though you are being baked dry. You hope he brings water; you don't have time to dart to the shop now. You might miss him, and your job has taught you that all happy moments, all content moments, are precious moments.
The waves are lapping gently against the wooden pylons. A tinnie splutters and dies by the ladder and you watch and smile as a family of four unloads; two children run, screaming and laughing barefooted across the warm wooden planks.
"I want fish and chips!"
"I want ice-cream!" the other whines in response. You smile at the parents who are grinning at each other as they lug eskies and water bottles onto the pier. Too caught up in their everyday adventure, you don't notice him approaching. He grabs you, pretending to push you into the water. You cling to him and let out a surprised shriek. The parents smirk at each other as they walk past. You don't notice; you and your boyfriend/fiancé/lover/friend are too busy delighting in the fact that you don't have to worry about being approached anymore.
"Not paying attention?" he teases, taking your hand and pulling you off the railing. He wraps an arm around your waist and you snuggle into him. He places hot kisses along your hairline.
"You're too sneaky for your own good, Agent Vaughn,"
This makes you both smile. He is still Agent Vaughn. And soon, you will be too. Or Agent Bristow-Vaughn, you haven't decided. But, if you suddenly decide to become a field agent again, you secretly think Bristow-Vaughn is too long. And Vaughn is his name, so maybe- you snap back to attention when he whispers 'you're daydreaming' into your ear.
"Honestly, Syd. Your desk job is making you lazy,"
You chuckle and swing your arms, laughing at him as he looks embarrassed. Along the path, two little girls are doing the same thing. "I could take you anyday,"
Mike raises an eyebrow and his forehead creases. "Is that a challenge?"
"That all depends," you pause, "Are you up to it, Mikey?"
Mikey. He cringes when you call him that; he hates the name. But you use it anyway, because nobody else does. Because it shows everyone within hearing distance that you are together, are close. And, its fun to tease him.
You giggle shamefully as he tickles your ribs and you break free, running ahead. The little girls giggle and point at you. You jump onto the stone wall that protects the path from the water and hope he follows. The plan stands as this: he follows you and before he can balance himself, you will topple him in.
The plan fails, and he holds on tight as he falls into the waist-deep water. You fall with him. As you both clamber back over the wall, hands, feet and clothes slapping wetly against the concrete, you realise you have drawn a lot of attention to yourselves. Vaughn is clearly embarrassed by this. "Beaten by a girl, hey," you whisper under your breath.
He arches an eyebrow. "I took you down with me; it's at least a tie,"
You change the subject. "I'm hungry." You wring out your shirt as he hides you from view in the trees.
"I guess a restaurant is out," he observes dryly as you walk back towards the strip of cafes and takeaways. You walk quietly, with only the rhythmic thwap, scrape, scrape, thwap of your thongs between you. Simple pleasures are what delight you now; you'd rather lie around in his apartment, in his bed, watching bad late night movies and eating Indian food than hitting the latest club to be seen at. You'd rather sitting in broad daylight eating hotdogs and throwing sticks for Donovan than hiding away in a secluded five star restaurant. You know he feels the same way. Because he told you.
A week after the dust had settled from the destruction of SD-6, you rang him up to ask him to dinner. He hadn't called you; he was a lot busier than you, and his stack of papers needing signatures was twice the size of yours; and so you called him. You asked, casually if "maybe you'd like to go to dinner sometime. I know this quiet little-" and he stopped you. He said he'd rather drop what he was doing and go to some crowded, public place to do something mundane and everyday. Do something that you'd never thought you'd be able to do with him.
It hadn't worked out, of course. You'd met in the park and wandered around for awhile. You were standing and throwing the remnants of the hotdog buns to the ducks when a boy and his dog had come running up. Donovan had barked and before either of you knew what was happening, he jerked the leash in Vaughn's hand, ran around you and you tripped and fell into the lake. Not just into the water, but directly into the duckweed and pond slime that fringed the water. You stood up and he helped you out, delicately lifting a lily pad from your shoulder. So you both went back to his apartment. It would have been easier to go to the house you shared with Francie - your clothes were there, after all - but so was Francie. And so you went back to his house and sat in his bed, wrapped in the sheets as he rinsed out your clothes and hung them to dry by the window. He tried to find spare clothes that would fit you, but nothing would stay on your shoulders, so instead you tied yourself in a sheet, valiantly battling the red flush on your cheeks, and sat in the living room staring out the window. From there, things snowballed and suddenly it didn't matter that your clothes were ruined.
You've been 'an item' for nearly eight months now. Francie has gotten used to practically living alone. Sometimes, she rings Michael's house instead of your cell phone to get hold of you. When this happens, you drop hints about how expensive it is to be sharing rent on a house you only sleep at a few nights a week. When you say this, Vaughn, Michael, smiles faintly and changes the subject. You stare at jewellers displays more now, too. Pointedly. The last time you were out at the movies with Will and Francie you spent so long looking at them as you walked past that you accidentally stepped on the back of Will's heel. "Just ask him yourself, Sydney," he'd snapped. You make a point of not looking at jewellery cases around Will now. Too many emotions. Too much hurt.
You realise that Michael has been speaking and you look at him apologetically and blush. He smiles and squeezes your hand. You squeeze his, tightly. Some nights, you just sit on his tiny balcony gripping his hand until he extracts it and holds yours in his. Sometimes, he just lets you cry. Not lately, you think proudly. You're dealing, processing, moving on.
"I was thinking fish and chips out on the jetty, and then-"
You tilt your head and smile warmly at him. He's nervous about something; his forehead has wrinkled up again. It's cute. Cuter now that you can kiss the worries away. "Then what?" you ask gently. Playfully. Curiously.
You've reached the fish and chip shop and he stops to hold back the plastic ribbons so you can walk through the doorway. It always makes you smile. They fall back behind him, slapping softly against each other as they sway into place. There is a queue and once you've agreed on an order, you snuggle into his side and look up at him, your chin on his chest. "And then what, Michael?"
He glances around. He really is nervous, you think. The dark, scared part of you prays it isn't serious. "And then.maybe we could move all your stuff into my place,"
You laugh. You can't help it. You laugh and cry out in glee and surprise. Ecstasy. You jump around a little and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. A few people watch on and he smiles as he blushes. His display of affection in public is usually limited to holding hands and the occasional kiss; he makes it clear you're his without needing to be all over you. You like that.
You don't quite understand why you are reacting like this; you lived with Danny after all. But this is different. This is Vaughn. This is having earned the right to live normally. This is having earned the right to love.