Title- Shakespeare and Shadows
Author- J.Turenne
Disclaimer- Syd, Vaughn, Jack, Irina, anybody else who comes up here all belong to JJ Abrams and ABC. Several of Syd's lines in this belong to Lady Macbeth (Sydney an English major with an amazing memory. She would know these things off the top of her head. Whether or not Vaughn would recognize them isn't as important.)
Distribution- Not that anyone would want to. But if you actually did, just ask and it's yours.
A/N- This takes place where counteragent left off. Syd, Irina and Jack have gone on that mysterious mission that the mission in Passage. Spoiler- less, as I hate them.
Sydney knew that she should be crying. It was what any sane person in her position would be doing right now. But she was past the point of sane by now, she thought with the ghost of a smile. Funny that it was not Sloane, or Sark, or any of the bad guys who had don't this to her now. It was her father, who said that he loved her. How quickly her outlook had changed.
She walked deliberately towards the docks, where he had said that he'd meet her. It was three in the morning, and she wore a dark trench coat, high high heels, and a completely hardened expression. Her hair was a mess, chunks hanging out from beneath the curly wig. Anyone who chanced to meet her would have been quick to walk the other way, and their fears would have been quickly justified by just one glance at the violently bloodstained blue dress beneath and the gun in the pocket. Her stride was quick and purposeful, and her gaze never wavered.
She was there before he was, for once, and stood staring out to sea, cold and emotionless as a statue's shadow. He drove up and rushed out of the car and towards her. But five feet away he paused, and realized what he was looking at, and froze as still as she.
"Syd?" His tone was uncertain at best. He stepped forward, and took her hand. Then he looked, his mouth dropped, and so did the hand.
"Yet here's a spot," her words were familiar even if the tone was not. "What, will these hands ne'er be clean?"
"Sydney, what happened? Your comms. they turned off, we couldn't hear."
"Vaughn, I want you to promise me something. Promise me that you'll do just one more thing for me, and I swear that I'll never ask for anything again."
The both the use of his name and the request itself startled him. She was a million miles away from him now, and he was scared. She still hadn't even looked at him. But then, he thought, sarcastic humor taking an edge, she's not supposed to...
"Promise!" It was a whisper, a hiss, but to him it was as loud as a scream. Louder, maybe.
"I promise," he agreed, knowing he shouldn't but completely unable to deny her right now.
She smiled then, and he let out a gasp that was just barely audible. This wasn't her smile. But he had seen it on another face, a face that meant fear and anger and just wanting to run. A face that was very much like Sydney's and completely unlike her.
Her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun. It was the first time she'd moved since he'd gotten there, and was hardly reassuring. She turned to hand the gun to him and he finally saw her eyes. Another gasp escaped him. Her eyes were so cold.
"Please tell me what's wrong," he begged with eyes and voice. "Sydney, tell me what happened."
"Take the gun, Vaughn," she said simply. It was not a question, and she knew that he would obey. He always did.
"Now, step back three paces, aim it at my heart, and pull the trigger."
The gun fell from his hands. Had couldn't have heard her right.
"Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard?" There was a cold taunt in her voice, and for the third time that night he mentally compared her to her mother. Who was this woman and what had she done to Sydney?
"Dammit, Vaughn, you promised."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "I promised. Syd, I never promised to let you die."
"Hyperion, the Greek sun god, promised anything to his son and the boy chose a chance to drive the chariot of the son. His father tried to talk him out of it, but in the end stuck to his promise. The boy flew too close to the sun, got burned up and fell back to earth where the nymphs buried him."
Her voice cracked for an instant, and for half a moment he saw the woman he knew. Then the mask returned, the high chin and the empty eyes, and she was no one again.
"Speaking of fathers."
"This has something to do with your father, doesn't it? I thought so."
"Actually, the father that I was thinking of was yours." These words came in a tone just as void of emotion, just as empty, as any of the others, but they hurt him and she knew it.
"My mother killed him, you know. And now you have a chance to take revenge, to make up for his death. I'm giving you a chance."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. What in the hell had happened to her?! She would never, ever even think of saying such a thing.
"If I ever thought of taking revenge on anybody, it was your mother, not you." He had to play her game. He couldn't let her see his fear.
But she could smell fear, and he knew it.
"Too bad that you've been beaten to the chase."
And it clicked.
"Oh my God Syd. He shot her! Your father, of course! That's how the comms got turned off, that's why no one called, I." His mind was racing.
"It's her blood on your hands."
"Here's the smell of blood still," she was lost to him again. "All the perfumes of Arabia would not sweeten this little hand."
And then clearer than anything else, "You promised, Vaughn."
He ran. He ran from the nightmare he was in, from the woman who wasn't, from the shadows and the Shakespeare and the blinding fear.
She didn't let him get far. She was faster and stronger, and she fought better. She caught him and pinned him to the ground. Her voice was a shriek now, the wail of a banshee predicting his doom.
"You promised, you promised, you promised." The deadly refrain continued, a plea and a command and a threat. But his shaking head kept time to his own refrain, first thought and then spoken. "No, no, no."
It invaded her head, and turned into the screams of so many, the dying and dead, the tortured and the fearing and the hurt. She was all of these, and took up the chant herself, screaming it to the night. "No, no, no.."
The strength drained slowly from her and she collapsed in his arms.
A/N- This is not the end. It will be continued, if you all like it and tell me so. Did you catch all of that? While they were out on the mysterious mission of the next episode, Jack ends up shooting (and killing) Irina (on purpose, mind you). .
Author- J.Turenne
Disclaimer- Syd, Vaughn, Jack, Irina, anybody else who comes up here all belong to JJ Abrams and ABC. Several of Syd's lines in this belong to Lady Macbeth (Sydney an English major with an amazing memory. She would know these things off the top of her head. Whether or not Vaughn would recognize them isn't as important.)
Distribution- Not that anyone would want to. But if you actually did, just ask and it's yours.
A/N- This takes place where counteragent left off. Syd, Irina and Jack have gone on that mysterious mission that the mission in Passage. Spoiler- less, as I hate them.
Sydney knew that she should be crying. It was what any sane person in her position would be doing right now. But she was past the point of sane by now, she thought with the ghost of a smile. Funny that it was not Sloane, or Sark, or any of the bad guys who had don't this to her now. It was her father, who said that he loved her. How quickly her outlook had changed.
She walked deliberately towards the docks, where he had said that he'd meet her. It was three in the morning, and she wore a dark trench coat, high high heels, and a completely hardened expression. Her hair was a mess, chunks hanging out from beneath the curly wig. Anyone who chanced to meet her would have been quick to walk the other way, and their fears would have been quickly justified by just one glance at the violently bloodstained blue dress beneath and the gun in the pocket. Her stride was quick and purposeful, and her gaze never wavered.
She was there before he was, for once, and stood staring out to sea, cold and emotionless as a statue's shadow. He drove up and rushed out of the car and towards her. But five feet away he paused, and realized what he was looking at, and froze as still as she.
"Syd?" His tone was uncertain at best. He stepped forward, and took her hand. Then he looked, his mouth dropped, and so did the hand.
"Yet here's a spot," her words were familiar even if the tone was not. "What, will these hands ne'er be clean?"
"Sydney, what happened? Your comms. they turned off, we couldn't hear."
"Vaughn, I want you to promise me something. Promise me that you'll do just one more thing for me, and I swear that I'll never ask for anything again."
The both the use of his name and the request itself startled him. She was a million miles away from him now, and he was scared. She still hadn't even looked at him. But then, he thought, sarcastic humor taking an edge, she's not supposed to...
"Promise!" It was a whisper, a hiss, but to him it was as loud as a scream. Louder, maybe.
"I promise," he agreed, knowing he shouldn't but completely unable to deny her right now.
She smiled then, and he let out a gasp that was just barely audible. This wasn't her smile. But he had seen it on another face, a face that meant fear and anger and just wanting to run. A face that was very much like Sydney's and completely unlike her.
Her hand reached into her pocket and pulled out the gun. It was the first time she'd moved since he'd gotten there, and was hardly reassuring. She turned to hand the gun to him and he finally saw her eyes. Another gasp escaped him. Her eyes were so cold.
"Please tell me what's wrong," he begged with eyes and voice. "Sydney, tell me what happened."
"Take the gun, Vaughn," she said simply. It was not a question, and she knew that he would obey. He always did.
"Now, step back three paces, aim it at my heart, and pull the trigger."
The gun fell from his hands. Had couldn't have heard her right.
"Fie, my lord, fie! A soldier, and afeard?" There was a cold taunt in her voice, and for the third time that night he mentally compared her to her mother. Who was this woman and what had she done to Sydney?
"Dammit, Vaughn, you promised."
He ran his fingers through his hair. "I promised. Syd, I never promised to let you die."
"Hyperion, the Greek sun god, promised anything to his son and the boy chose a chance to drive the chariot of the son. His father tried to talk him out of it, but in the end stuck to his promise. The boy flew too close to the sun, got burned up and fell back to earth where the nymphs buried him."
Her voice cracked for an instant, and for half a moment he saw the woman he knew. Then the mask returned, the high chin and the empty eyes, and she was no one again.
"Speaking of fathers."
"This has something to do with your father, doesn't it? I thought so."
"Actually, the father that I was thinking of was yours." These words came in a tone just as void of emotion, just as empty, as any of the others, but they hurt him and she knew it.
"My mother killed him, you know. And now you have a chance to take revenge, to make up for his death. I'm giving you a chance."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. What in the hell had happened to her?! She would never, ever even think of saying such a thing.
"If I ever thought of taking revenge on anybody, it was your mother, not you." He had to play her game. He couldn't let her see his fear.
But she could smell fear, and he knew it.
"Too bad that you've been beaten to the chase."
And it clicked.
"Oh my God Syd. He shot her! Your father, of course! That's how the comms got turned off, that's why no one called, I." His mind was racing.
"It's her blood on your hands."
"Here's the smell of blood still," she was lost to him again. "All the perfumes of Arabia would not sweeten this little hand."
And then clearer than anything else, "You promised, Vaughn."
He ran. He ran from the nightmare he was in, from the woman who wasn't, from the shadows and the Shakespeare and the blinding fear.
She didn't let him get far. She was faster and stronger, and she fought better. She caught him and pinned him to the ground. Her voice was a shriek now, the wail of a banshee predicting his doom.
"You promised, you promised, you promised." The deadly refrain continued, a plea and a command and a threat. But his shaking head kept time to his own refrain, first thought and then spoken. "No, no, no."
It invaded her head, and turned into the screams of so many, the dying and dead, the tortured and the fearing and the hurt. She was all of these, and took up the chant herself, screaming it to the night. "No, no, no.."
The strength drained slowly from her and she collapsed in his arms.
A/N- This is not the end. It will be continued, if you all like it and tell me so. Did you catch all of that? While they were out on the mysterious mission of the next episode, Jack ends up shooting (and killing) Irina (on purpose, mind you). .