Title: Proof
Author: ReeCee
Feedback: If you'd like to give it, then I'd love to get it. lol No pressure.
E-mail: dangerous_angel@2die4.com
Distribution: Here! lol I'm not sure if my stuff is really up to par with everyone else's so I have no idea WHY you'd want to.. but if you do. Thanks! Just email me and tell me where.
Disclaimer: Do I really need to? (sigh) NOT MINE. Capiche? Besides, JJ Abrams is God to my Alias world.
A/N: My little series is coming to a close.. So the countdown begins!! lol to both the Alias Season 2 Premiere AND the end to my escape from storylines. I'm sorta sad to see the end of this, but excited to be tuned in to my TV every Sunday night. lol
Anyhoo, you're looking at maybe 3 more chapters.. 4, if I feel like it. As a parting gift, help me to 100 reviews. lmao To those of you who helped get me to 50+, thanx so much! Here it is, Chapter 13. Hope you enjoy!
"Answer the question, Vaughn."
He sighed, defeated. "You wouldn't believe if me if my life depended on it."
She nodded, agreeing. "I think you're right." She tossed him the spare key and turned to leave. "My father called me earlier. CIA's got some secret truck thing coming to pick you and a bunch of your things up. They've just about finished writing up your papers and all that jazz." She turned and gave him one last look. "I'll be in touch, Mr. Lewis."
Before he could say a word, she was gone.
//The nerve of that girl!//
He had every right to be angry with her. Yes, it had looked bad. Yes, she must feel like shit. But she hadn't given him a chance to even explain himself.
//This is NOT a good day.//
In an hour, he was ready to go.. From one C.I.A. location, to the next. As he was leaving, someone was coming in. The "real" Michael Vaughn. Someone sent in to play him, just in case someone got a little too curious. He nodded to him, and then climbed into the truck.
His new apartment was wonderful, fully furnished and very modern looking. He spent a few minutes personalizing his new home, then set to work to prepare some dinner. He found some chicken breast in the freezer, and then decided on making Chicken Alfredo. As he set about his kitchen hunting down the rest of the ingredients and necessities, his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mike?" Sydney's voice asked. "Hey, it's me! I was wondering if you wanted company for dinner tonight! I could fill you in and give you some pointers.. It IS your first day tomorrow.." She chuckled for effect.
"Umm, yeah. That's doable. I'm almost done cooking. You can head over now, if you like." He was nervous, but he hoped she didn't notice.
"I'll be ready to leave in an hour," she laughed. "I just left the office and I want to unwind a bit before I come over. I'll see you soon, Mike!" she said, before hanging up the phone. He did the same, sighing deeply as he did.
He had done nothing wrong, he was sure of that. But how would he prove that to Sydney?
//The surveillance tapes.//
He used his Inter-Op issued cell phone to call the office. "Brad, it's Mike. Do me a favor? Yeah, send a copy of surveillance tapes from my house to Sydney Bristow. Make sure she gets it, ok? She's leaving soon, so get it over there A.S.A.P. Make sure you give it to her directly, ok?"
******
3 hours later, he was alone, nursing a vodka on the rocks. She hadn't called. She hadn't shown up.. He was at a loss. He could hear the rain pouring outside. For some reason, he couldn't remember when it had started.
He got up to pour himself another drink and, on the way, stopped to turn on the radio to drown out the depressing rainfall. Soft music poured out through the speakers, washing over him.
//Norah Jones. Not exactly my choice of music, but..//
His thoughts were broken by a knock at the door. His heart sped up, knowing who it would be.
He wobbled over to the door, and unlocked it.. but he didn't open the door. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Sydney had to say. If she would accuse him of lying.. If..
Slowly the door opened, revealing a dripping wet Sydney Bristow.
"Mike? I'm sorry I didn't call.. I got caught up and I -" She spied the empty glass in his left hand, then the bottle of Smirnoff's resting on the coffee table. Her eyes darkened.
"Can I come in and uh.. Speak my mind?"
He blinked his eyes and tried to clear the fog a bit.
"Huh? Yeah, sure. It's clean. Your father checked before I got here, and I checked when I moved my things in." He stumbled away from her and made his way back to the couch, reaching out for the vodka bottle again.
She slammed the door, startling him into dropping his glass. They watched as it clattered around beside the bottle, before her (ominous) voice broke the silence.
"Reach for that bottle again and I will make certain that your arms are.. Immobilized." His hand, which had been sneaking over to the bottle while she was talking, retreated quickly with her blatant threat.
She walked away and to the bathroom, where she disappeared for a few minutes. He was tempted to take a swig from the bottle, but he was almost certain that she'd walk out and catch him.
When she finally came out again, she was dressed in jogging pants and a sweater; her hair somewhat drier and pulled up into a messy bun.
She settled next to him on the couch, watching him try to avoid her eyes.
After sitting there for ages, she finally spoke: "I can't tell you how sorry I am."
He nodded his head, then sighed disbelievingly. "You seem to have said that so many times these past few months."
"I deserve that," she answered. "But it doesn't change the fact that that's how I feel. I always seem to screw things up." She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. They both stared at their hands, just hanging on to each other. But Sydney needed to explain, and he let her.
"I really am sorry, Mike. I can't really explain why I act the way I do. It just happens. Just the thought of you with someone else.. It killed me. It never even crossed my minds that you wouldn't let that happen. I know you love me, Mike. It's just been so long since anyone had."
He turned to her slowly, a sudden clarity shining through his drunken stupor. "I do love you. But shit, I can only take so much. I want to be with you. But things just never seem to work out for us. What if it's a sign? What if we're not supposed to be together?"
She was shaking her head defiantly. "No, our lives wouldn't have been so intertwined if we weren't supposed to be together. If there's one thing I'm sure of, that's it."
"Then you got to trust me when I say that I love you."
"I do.. But my mind just takes what it sees and runs. I trust you. But there are people like Sara I don't trust."
His skin paled a bit at the mention of Sara. "I took care of it," Sydney assured him. "I put a call in to George and they reviewed the tapes. Sara won't be cultivating a job with American Intelligence anytime soon."
"But she knows so much now.." he trailed off.
Sydney smiled tightly. "George thought they'd give her a taste of her own medicine. She's scheduled for some drug-induced memory erasing first thing tomorrow morning."
"So she's in custody now?"
"Yeah." He exhaled.
"And Matt? Was he in on it?"
She answered him with difficulty. "Yeah, he was. But not in the way you think. She had supposedly been through a tough and messy break-up. She had requested to be set up with a 'good guy' for a change. You were the only good guy he could think of." He nodded at her to continue. "Well, Matt's on probation for 3 months, for sharing secret information with an outsider."
"Good," he mumbled bitterly.
"Did you eat?" she asked him a few minutes later. He nodded.
"I wasn't sure if you'd come, but I left you some anyway." She pushed him back against the sofa, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Get some rest."
And he did.
******
He woke up an hour later with an urge to throw up. Jumping up, he ran to the bathroom and let the contents of his stomach empty into the toilet. In an instant, Sydney was at his side, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
He dry heaved for a little while, before slumping tiredly against the cold porcelain.
"Let's get you to bed," he heard her say through his haze. She helped him up off the floor and led him into his bedroom. She undressed him, then tucked him into bed.
At various times throughout the night, he woke up to her singing to him, caressing his face and massaging his head.
The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was her whispering, "I love you, Michael," and him thinking that things were finally looking up.
Finally.
And it only took just under 6 years.
Author: ReeCee
Feedback: If you'd like to give it, then I'd love to get it. lol No pressure.
E-mail: dangerous_angel@2die4.com
Distribution: Here! lol I'm not sure if my stuff is really up to par with everyone else's so I have no idea WHY you'd want to.. but if you do. Thanks! Just email me and tell me where.
Disclaimer: Do I really need to? (sigh) NOT MINE. Capiche? Besides, JJ Abrams is God to my Alias world.
A/N: My little series is coming to a close.. So the countdown begins!! lol to both the Alias Season 2 Premiere AND the end to my escape from storylines. I'm sorta sad to see the end of this, but excited to be tuned in to my TV every Sunday night. lol
Anyhoo, you're looking at maybe 3 more chapters.. 4, if I feel like it. As a parting gift, help me to 100 reviews. lmao To those of you who helped get me to 50+, thanx so much! Here it is, Chapter 13. Hope you enjoy!
"Answer the question, Vaughn."
He sighed, defeated. "You wouldn't believe if me if my life depended on it."
She nodded, agreeing. "I think you're right." She tossed him the spare key and turned to leave. "My father called me earlier. CIA's got some secret truck thing coming to pick you and a bunch of your things up. They've just about finished writing up your papers and all that jazz." She turned and gave him one last look. "I'll be in touch, Mr. Lewis."
Before he could say a word, she was gone.
//The nerve of that girl!//
He had every right to be angry with her. Yes, it had looked bad. Yes, she must feel like shit. But she hadn't given him a chance to even explain himself.
//This is NOT a good day.//
In an hour, he was ready to go.. From one C.I.A. location, to the next. As he was leaving, someone was coming in. The "real" Michael Vaughn. Someone sent in to play him, just in case someone got a little too curious. He nodded to him, and then climbed into the truck.
His new apartment was wonderful, fully furnished and very modern looking. He spent a few minutes personalizing his new home, then set to work to prepare some dinner. He found some chicken breast in the freezer, and then decided on making Chicken Alfredo. As he set about his kitchen hunting down the rest of the ingredients and necessities, his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mike?" Sydney's voice asked. "Hey, it's me! I was wondering if you wanted company for dinner tonight! I could fill you in and give you some pointers.. It IS your first day tomorrow.." She chuckled for effect.
"Umm, yeah. That's doable. I'm almost done cooking. You can head over now, if you like." He was nervous, but he hoped she didn't notice.
"I'll be ready to leave in an hour," she laughed. "I just left the office and I want to unwind a bit before I come over. I'll see you soon, Mike!" she said, before hanging up the phone. He did the same, sighing deeply as he did.
He had done nothing wrong, he was sure of that. But how would he prove that to Sydney?
//The surveillance tapes.//
He used his Inter-Op issued cell phone to call the office. "Brad, it's Mike. Do me a favor? Yeah, send a copy of surveillance tapes from my house to Sydney Bristow. Make sure she gets it, ok? She's leaving soon, so get it over there A.S.A.P. Make sure you give it to her directly, ok?"
******
3 hours later, he was alone, nursing a vodka on the rocks. She hadn't called. She hadn't shown up.. He was at a loss. He could hear the rain pouring outside. For some reason, he couldn't remember when it had started.
He got up to pour himself another drink and, on the way, stopped to turn on the radio to drown out the depressing rainfall. Soft music poured out through the speakers, washing over him.
//Norah Jones. Not exactly my choice of music, but..//
His thoughts were broken by a knock at the door. His heart sped up, knowing who it would be.
He wobbled over to the door, and unlocked it.. but he didn't open the door. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear what Sydney had to say. If she would accuse him of lying.. If..
Slowly the door opened, revealing a dripping wet Sydney Bristow.
"Mike? I'm sorry I didn't call.. I got caught up and I -" She spied the empty glass in his left hand, then the bottle of Smirnoff's resting on the coffee table. Her eyes darkened.
"Can I come in and uh.. Speak my mind?"
He blinked his eyes and tried to clear the fog a bit.
"Huh? Yeah, sure. It's clean. Your father checked before I got here, and I checked when I moved my things in." He stumbled away from her and made his way back to the couch, reaching out for the vodka bottle again.
She slammed the door, startling him into dropping his glass. They watched as it clattered around beside the bottle, before her (ominous) voice broke the silence.
"Reach for that bottle again and I will make certain that your arms are.. Immobilized." His hand, which had been sneaking over to the bottle while she was talking, retreated quickly with her blatant threat.
She walked away and to the bathroom, where she disappeared for a few minutes. He was tempted to take a swig from the bottle, but he was almost certain that she'd walk out and catch him.
When she finally came out again, she was dressed in jogging pants and a sweater; her hair somewhat drier and pulled up into a messy bun.
She settled next to him on the couch, watching him try to avoid her eyes.
After sitting there for ages, she finally spoke: "I can't tell you how sorry I am."
He nodded his head, then sighed disbelievingly. "You seem to have said that so many times these past few months."
"I deserve that," she answered. "But it doesn't change the fact that that's how I feel. I always seem to screw things up." She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. They both stared at their hands, just hanging on to each other. But Sydney needed to explain, and he let her.
"I really am sorry, Mike. I can't really explain why I act the way I do. It just happens. Just the thought of you with someone else.. It killed me. It never even crossed my minds that you wouldn't let that happen. I know you love me, Mike. It's just been so long since anyone had."
He turned to her slowly, a sudden clarity shining through his drunken stupor. "I do love you. But shit, I can only take so much. I want to be with you. But things just never seem to work out for us. What if it's a sign? What if we're not supposed to be together?"
She was shaking her head defiantly. "No, our lives wouldn't have been so intertwined if we weren't supposed to be together. If there's one thing I'm sure of, that's it."
"Then you got to trust me when I say that I love you."
"I do.. But my mind just takes what it sees and runs. I trust you. But there are people like Sara I don't trust."
His skin paled a bit at the mention of Sara. "I took care of it," Sydney assured him. "I put a call in to George and they reviewed the tapes. Sara won't be cultivating a job with American Intelligence anytime soon."
"But she knows so much now.." he trailed off.
Sydney smiled tightly. "George thought they'd give her a taste of her own medicine. She's scheduled for some drug-induced memory erasing first thing tomorrow morning."
"So she's in custody now?"
"Yeah." He exhaled.
"And Matt? Was he in on it?"
She answered him with difficulty. "Yeah, he was. But not in the way you think. She had supposedly been through a tough and messy break-up. She had requested to be set up with a 'good guy' for a change. You were the only good guy he could think of." He nodded at her to continue. "Well, Matt's on probation for 3 months, for sharing secret information with an outsider."
"Good," he mumbled bitterly.
"Did you eat?" she asked him a few minutes later. He nodded.
"I wasn't sure if you'd come, but I left you some anyway." She pushed him back against the sofa, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Get some rest."
And he did.
******
He woke up an hour later with an urge to throw up. Jumping up, he ran to the bathroom and let the contents of his stomach empty into the toilet. In an instant, Sydney was at his side, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
He dry heaved for a little while, before slumping tiredly against the cold porcelain.
"Let's get you to bed," he heard her say through his haze. She helped him up off the floor and led him into his bedroom. She undressed him, then tucked him into bed.
At various times throughout the night, he woke up to her singing to him, caressing his face and massaging his head.
The last thing he remembered before falling asleep was her whispering, "I love you, Michael," and him thinking that things were finally looking up.
Finally.
And it only took just under 6 years.