A/N: Okay, I'm sorry this chapter is so terrible and that it took me so long. Please forgive me, I'm studying for midterms! I know what you're thinking: Who has midterms after Christmas Break? Well I do, and it's TORTURE! I also apologize to all of you that thought there would be some huge sub plot with Sydney's attackers---I'm not that complex of a writer! I wouldn't know who to use, people's positions on the show are always changing and I wouldn't want to put the wrong character in. But if you have any ideas on who it should be then email them to me at divinewren@yahoo.com and maybe I'll put them in!
Chapter One
Not Good Enough
"Sydney!" Francie's voice sounded so urgent she couldn't help responding, cracking one eye laboriously open. With the movement, she lost the blissful numbness of unconsciousness, agony flooded through every fiber of her body. Her arm hurt were it scraped against the pavement and there was a fire burning in her chest as her lungs expanded to knock against her ribs. "Oh my God, Sydney! What's happened? You're bleeding-and-and...What happened?" Francie finished, her voice raised to a painful pitch.
"Mugged..." The lie slipped so easily out of her bruised throat it shocked her for a moment. When did it become so easy, whatever happened to the guilt? It came then, the familiar pang of shame, a little late, a little faked. "I...barely made it home be...before..."
"Oh, Syd, don't worry...I'll-I'll call...and help'll be here soon..." And Francie left her weakly sprawled on the cold front step, footsteps pounding frantically through the house, the phone banging desperately on the hook.
Down the street a car engine rumbled to life. She struggled to change her position so she could see, knowing there was something she needed to see but not quite remembering what. Something to do with hands, and a voice, and a disc. The pain stole any breath she could have used to scream in frustration as her muscles refused to obey her for the first time in her life. She finally flopped down like a fish out of water, the impact throwing her vision out of focus for a second, turning her only just in time to see a car with dark tinted windows glide slowly down the street. A government car. "Vaughn..." she mouthed the word, but it didn't make it off her lips, falling back into her and clinking around before settling into its accustomed niche. The effort sapped the last of her failing strength, and she gladly gave herself back up to oblivion.
* * * * * * * * *
She woke up in the hospital, the muted light filtering through drawn yellow curtains, giving the room a banana-colored tinge, and the glinting metal bedrail presented itself at eye level. She wriggled resolutely until she finally got off her side and settled flat on her back, but the pain took her breath away and shot her vision with odd shapes and colors.
Francie gazed at her from her perch on the end of her bed, feet tucked up Indian-style, pillow clutched to her chest, concern tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How are you feeling?" She winced. "I forgot-your throat...The doctor said not to let you talk much...God, they nearly strangled you! Plus broken ribs and a fractured wrist and all those cuts..." her voice trailed off for a second as she bit her lip in a grimace, then she added hastily, "Nothing that won't heal of course! Also, the police came by for you to file a report, but you were sleeping so I made them go away; you can deal with them later." Police. Sydney fought to keep her eyebrows from shooting up. She didn't believe it was really the police. "Speaking of sleeping...you seemed to be having this really nice dream, and you said something. I know your throat must hurt, but can you tell me something...?" her voice lowered conspiratorially as she leaned in, and Sydney felt her heart quicken. What had she said, what had she given away? "Who's Vaughn?"
Francie must have misread the look that crossed Sydney's face because she looked instantly rueful. "I don't want to intrude, but I just thought..."
Sydney struggled to make her throat work, to keep the color from rising in her cheeks, and to force composure into her feeble voice. "Vaughn? I don't...know a Vaughn."
"Are you sure?" Francie's voice got impossibly, irritatingly cheery when she discovered that her friend would discuss the topic; she never knew what subject she could breech with Sydney anymore. This one particularly delighted her. "Maybe he's a childhood friend or maybe someone you met in the break room once." By the faraway look in her eyes she was already planning a wedding, if it was hers or Sydney's was yet to be seen.
"I don't know, okay?" Panic at the idea that she might have said something devastating in her sleep lent her voice new force and a harsh edge she instantly regretted.
Francie stood, the pillow dropping with a muffled thump back to the bed. The action made the bed move in sickening way. "We-ell, someone needs some more pain medication." And she stalked out, presumably to find a nurse.
A pain twisted in her chest, and she couldn't tell if it was because of her injuries or because she had just hurt her friend. Francie's only fault was that she worried a bit too much, nosed a bit where she shouldn't, only touched a bit too close to things she could never know.
Why?
The thought shook her out of her self-loathing.
Why couldn't Francie know?
Because. Because she was safer, healthier that way. Because she'd seen it destroy people before. Because sometimes the truth hurts more than the lies.
But suddenly that wasn't a good enough reason.
Chapter One
Not Good Enough
"Sydney!" Francie's voice sounded so urgent she couldn't help responding, cracking one eye laboriously open. With the movement, she lost the blissful numbness of unconsciousness, agony flooded through every fiber of her body. Her arm hurt were it scraped against the pavement and there was a fire burning in her chest as her lungs expanded to knock against her ribs. "Oh my God, Sydney! What's happened? You're bleeding-and-and...What happened?" Francie finished, her voice raised to a painful pitch.
"Mugged..." The lie slipped so easily out of her bruised throat it shocked her for a moment. When did it become so easy, whatever happened to the guilt? It came then, the familiar pang of shame, a little late, a little faked. "I...barely made it home be...before..."
"Oh, Syd, don't worry...I'll-I'll call...and help'll be here soon..." And Francie left her weakly sprawled on the cold front step, footsteps pounding frantically through the house, the phone banging desperately on the hook.
Down the street a car engine rumbled to life. She struggled to change her position so she could see, knowing there was something she needed to see but not quite remembering what. Something to do with hands, and a voice, and a disc. The pain stole any breath she could have used to scream in frustration as her muscles refused to obey her for the first time in her life. She finally flopped down like a fish out of water, the impact throwing her vision out of focus for a second, turning her only just in time to see a car with dark tinted windows glide slowly down the street. A government car. "Vaughn..." she mouthed the word, but it didn't make it off her lips, falling back into her and clinking around before settling into its accustomed niche. The effort sapped the last of her failing strength, and she gladly gave herself back up to oblivion.
* * * * * * * * *
She woke up in the hospital, the muted light filtering through drawn yellow curtains, giving the room a banana-colored tinge, and the glinting metal bedrail presented itself at eye level. She wriggled resolutely until she finally got off her side and settled flat on her back, but the pain took her breath away and shot her vision with odd shapes and colors.
Francie gazed at her from her perch on the end of her bed, feet tucked up Indian-style, pillow clutched to her chest, concern tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How are you feeling?" She winced. "I forgot-your throat...The doctor said not to let you talk much...God, they nearly strangled you! Plus broken ribs and a fractured wrist and all those cuts..." her voice trailed off for a second as she bit her lip in a grimace, then she added hastily, "Nothing that won't heal of course! Also, the police came by for you to file a report, but you were sleeping so I made them go away; you can deal with them later." Police. Sydney fought to keep her eyebrows from shooting up. She didn't believe it was really the police. "Speaking of sleeping...you seemed to be having this really nice dream, and you said something. I know your throat must hurt, but can you tell me something...?" her voice lowered conspiratorially as she leaned in, and Sydney felt her heart quicken. What had she said, what had she given away? "Who's Vaughn?"
Francie must have misread the look that crossed Sydney's face because she looked instantly rueful. "I don't want to intrude, but I just thought..."
Sydney struggled to make her throat work, to keep the color from rising in her cheeks, and to force composure into her feeble voice. "Vaughn? I don't...know a Vaughn."
"Are you sure?" Francie's voice got impossibly, irritatingly cheery when she discovered that her friend would discuss the topic; she never knew what subject she could breech with Sydney anymore. This one particularly delighted her. "Maybe he's a childhood friend or maybe someone you met in the break room once." By the faraway look in her eyes she was already planning a wedding, if it was hers or Sydney's was yet to be seen.
"I don't know, okay?" Panic at the idea that she might have said something devastating in her sleep lent her voice new force and a harsh edge she instantly regretted.
Francie stood, the pillow dropping with a muffled thump back to the bed. The action made the bed move in sickening way. "We-ell, someone needs some more pain medication." And she stalked out, presumably to find a nurse.
A pain twisted in her chest, and she couldn't tell if it was because of her injuries or because she had just hurt her friend. Francie's only fault was that she worried a bit too much, nosed a bit where she shouldn't, only touched a bit too close to things she could never know.
Why?
The thought shook her out of her self-loathing.
Why couldn't Francie know?
Because. Because she was safer, healthier that way. Because she'd seen it destroy people before. Because sometimes the truth hurts more than the lies.
But suddenly that wasn't a good enough reason.