Author : Amelie (user Iselia)
Email: amelia_aurora(AT)hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Anything Alias is not mine, never will be.
Distribution: Want it? Take it! Just let me know! (
Rating: PG13
Notes: This is for Alicia, for submitting such a great review! *Thankyou*.
The title comes from the following lyrics: "There's no point pointing pistols at me now, I'll just go I never should have asked you to be kind, but I'm slow, And I'm sorry but how can I get to you, Stuck in my fifty pound lead boots Stuck in my deep sea diving suit" Deep Sea Diving Suit - Magnetic Fields (with a great cover by The Lucksmiths)
The title may change, however..
-o-0-o-
PART THREE
"Having fun?"
Sydney sighed. She was surrounded by mountains of files, hidden behind a barricade of papers. She looked up and smiled, pen still in hand.
"Vaughn, hey,"
He walked around and leant against the desk beside her. For a few seconds, she let herself just look; his suit was well-tailored, but comfortable, the jacket undone and hair slightly damp from the shower. He was smiling. He looked relaxed.
"It's barely seven thirty, Syd. When did you get here?"
She glanced at her watch. It had been just past six when she'd slipped out the door, a note left on the fridge. "About an hour ago," she watched his expression change to concern. "I really want to get this done quickly. I was talking to Francie last night, and once this is done I'm going to take time off, probably go on holidays for awhile,"
Vaughn smiled sadly. "No more annoying Joey's Pizza calls, hey?"
"They were never that annoying, Vaughn," Sydney said softly, smiling a little. "Inconvenient, maybe, but not annoying,"
For a moment, time was suspended. It was just Sydney and Vaughn, finally able to just relax and not worry about glances over their shoulders and appearing indifferent to one another. Finally, he looked away. "Have you eaten breakfast?"
"No," Nor dinner, she thought. Once again, her own life was taking a backseat to her work. "Why?"
"CIA officers are either here at seven or don't crawl in until eight thirty," he held out his hand, "Which gives us exactly enough time to go downstairs and patronise the disgustingly overpriced excuse for a café,"
Sydney found protestations spilling from her mouth before she registered how much she wanted to have breakfast with him. "I really should get to-" she cut herself off and frowned. "I've waited three years for this. The CIA can wait a few days for some stupid reports,"
"Stupid reports?" Vaughn repeated, grinning in disbelief. "This from the woman who was here at six in the morning to get started on them," she blushed faintly, "You need to eat, Syd,"
"I said yes, didn't I?"
"A few crappy pastries are hardly breakfast. I should be cooking you a big old fashioned bacon, eggs, sausages and tomato breakfast," he considered his words. "Uh, I didn't mean-"
Sydney took his hand gently as they walked out of her makeshift office. "It sounds really good," she snuck a glance and felt a thrill at the look of pure awe on his face. "If you make me breakfast, the least I can do is have Francie make you dinner," she smiled brightly. "Hey, you can finally meet her now. She's been dying to meet you; she thinks I've been having an affair with some guy at work,"
"An affair?"
"Clandestine meetings," she explained with a smirk. "Getting ideas, Agent Vaughn?" she laughed lightly as his cheek coloured. They stepped into the sunlight and she stopped to look directly at him. "This is nice,"
"We've waited long enough. I think we deserve the right to look at each other,"
Sydney followed him to the café on the corner. For thirty minutes, they sat and ate, chatting mainly about work.
"Do you know what you're going to do now?"
He watched helplessly as she clammed up. "I- wow, we should be getting back, Vaughn, it's-"
"Syd,"
"Nearly eight thirty. I should-"
He grabbed her hands and held them pinned to the table. "What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not-"
"Syd. Please, tell me," he implored. She looked into his eyes. In the bright morning light, they seemed such a lovely greeny grey, something she could stare at forever, to just watch the colours constantly change. The trust and emotion she saw there unsettled her. For so long, so so long, they had had to ignore what they saw in each other, had to struggle to keep emotions in check. It was strange and almost surreal to suddenly be able to let it all out.
She looked around anxiously. There were so many people in dark suits, sitting alone, eating alone, or just with one other person. Was this normal? Did she strive to be a part of a black-suited sombre world?
"Not here," she whispered, "Not now."
Then when? The question loomed between them. "Here," she took the napkin from her lap and grabbed the pen from his pocket. On it, she wrote the name of Francie's restaurant, its address and the time. Seven. She didn't like the way people started dinner at eight; she was starving by eight, not ready to sit down and wait. Besides, it left so much time wasted; people who spent all their time on appearances weren't really living. From when the sun went down to eight (or in her case seven) was plenty of time to wriggle into a PVC dress and shove on stiletto heels ready to commit an act of international espionage. She did it all the time. Dinner at her friend's joint was nothing compared to that.
He took it, creases forming in his forehead as he read her words. "Isn't this-"
"Francie's place," she asserted as she got to her feet. She dropped her sunglasses down on her nose. "I've gotta go. I'll, I don't know, see you inside,"
As she walked into the sunlight, she felt light layers of sweat spring from her pores. It was twenty past eight. She had files surrounding her desk like a brick barricade and more waiting in cells beneath her feet. As she walked into the comparative comfort of the offices, she noted that she hadn't left any money for breakfast. The thought was buried when she opened the first file. A black and white identity photo of one Marcus Dixon stared back at her. In the middle of the maze that was the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, Sydney Bristow felt the familiar weight begin to settle.
"take me out tonight
oh take me anywhere, I don't care
and in the darken underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
(but then a strange fear gripped me and I
just couldn't ask) take me out tonight" - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths (The Queen Is Dead)
At three thirty, Agent Bristow closed the last file of the day. Whoever's statement lay next could handle one more night in custody; she'd spent four years an unwilling hostage of SD-6, a few nights held by the CIA was nothing in comparison. It wasn't Dixon, Marshall or anyone else she had been close to. Her father had told her earlier that Dixon had been granted bail. There were further interrogations and questionings pending, but that was expected. Marshall, however, was being held for longer. His intimate knowledge of SD-6 tech gear meant he had been deemed a potential threat, not to mention the danger he could be placed in should he be targeted by the Alliance.
"Sydney, are you ready?"
She grabbed her bag and smiled brightly at Eric. "Sure am Weiss,"
They waited for the lift in awkward silence. The doors slid open. One other agent was waiting. Sydney managed to sustain the silence until they departed a floor later.
"Nice little stunt you pulled this morning, Syd," Weiss commented dryly.
"Excuse me?"
He took in the expression on her face. For a spy, she was completely naïve. "Mike loves you. I know this. You know this. Seems a bit crass to finally reach the end of all this and decide that he's reached his use-by date," he glanced sideways. "Is that all he was? Someone to lean on when no-one else was around?"
"[i]What[/i]?" She stopped walking and pressed her hand over her eyes. "Are you suggesting that I was using Vaughn?"
Weiss snorted. "Oh, come on Sydney. You risk your lives for each other, spend four years meeting in secret and calling each other at four a.m and suddenly talking about the future is some difficult issue?" he shook his head. "I'd like to believe its something else, but this is you and Mike. He goes through hell here for you, Sydney. Don't play him," he swiped his card through the access scanner. "Through here."
'Through her'e led to the CIA's on-site correctional cells. There were at least one hundred. The guard stood and nodded as he saw them enter. An agent, a middle aged woman, her skin still soft from a life indoors, walked to the Perspex grate.
"Yes?"
"Weiss and Bristow. We're here to speak with Marcus Dixon,"
The woman tapped at an unseen keyboard. "Release forms will be at the door. Are you his escorts?" Weiss nodded. Sydney looked on in confusion.
"I thought we were just visiting," she whispered as the woman made her way into the adjoining corridor.
"Yeah," Weiss shrugged. "I guess someone pulled a few strings," he shook his head, obviously angered by Sydney's actions. "Look. You're a good person. You're probably scared of something, but can I give you some advice?" she nodded. "Whatever you're planning on doing, do it soon. He's pulling his hair out up there, thinks something's wrong, I don't know. Reckons you always tell him what you're thinking," he stopped as the agent pointed to a door. "Talk to him tonight, or."
She grabbed his elbow before he entered the room. The woman had left, secure in the knowledge that they were about to enter. "Eric. I honestly intended to," she forced a smile, content with the grimace she got instead. "We've got a good man to free,"
The full extent of her statement did not escape them.
TBC.
-- Again.reviews would be lovely, thanks!
Posts may slow down somewhat soon.just an advanced warning!
Notes: This is for Alicia, for submitting such a great review! *Thankyou*.
The title comes from the following lyrics: "There's no point pointing pistols at me now, I'll just go I never should have asked you to be kind, but I'm slow, And I'm sorry but how can I get to you, Stuck in my fifty pound lead boots Stuck in my deep sea diving suit" Deep Sea Diving Suit - Magnetic Fields (with a great cover by The Lucksmiths)
The title may change, however..
-o-0-o-
PART THREE
"Having fun?"
Sydney sighed. She was surrounded by mountains of files, hidden behind a barricade of papers. She looked up and smiled, pen still in hand.
"Vaughn, hey,"
He walked around and leant against the desk beside her. For a few seconds, she let herself just look; his suit was well-tailored, but comfortable, the jacket undone and hair slightly damp from the shower. He was smiling. He looked relaxed.
"It's barely seven thirty, Syd. When did you get here?"
She glanced at her watch. It had been just past six when she'd slipped out the door, a note left on the fridge. "About an hour ago," she watched his expression change to concern. "I really want to get this done quickly. I was talking to Francie last night, and once this is done I'm going to take time off, probably go on holidays for awhile,"
Vaughn smiled sadly. "No more annoying Joey's Pizza calls, hey?"
"They were never that annoying, Vaughn," Sydney said softly, smiling a little. "Inconvenient, maybe, but not annoying,"
For a moment, time was suspended. It was just Sydney and Vaughn, finally able to just relax and not worry about glances over their shoulders and appearing indifferent to one another. Finally, he looked away. "Have you eaten breakfast?"
"No," Nor dinner, she thought. Once again, her own life was taking a backseat to her work. "Why?"
"CIA officers are either here at seven or don't crawl in until eight thirty," he held out his hand, "Which gives us exactly enough time to go downstairs and patronise the disgustingly overpriced excuse for a café,"
Sydney found protestations spilling from her mouth before she registered how much she wanted to have breakfast with him. "I really should get to-" she cut herself off and frowned. "I've waited three years for this. The CIA can wait a few days for some stupid reports,"
"Stupid reports?" Vaughn repeated, grinning in disbelief. "This from the woman who was here at six in the morning to get started on them," she blushed faintly, "You need to eat, Syd,"
"I said yes, didn't I?"
"A few crappy pastries are hardly breakfast. I should be cooking you a big old fashioned bacon, eggs, sausages and tomato breakfast," he considered his words. "Uh, I didn't mean-"
Sydney took his hand gently as they walked out of her makeshift office. "It sounds really good," she snuck a glance and felt a thrill at the look of pure awe on his face. "If you make me breakfast, the least I can do is have Francie make you dinner," she smiled brightly. "Hey, you can finally meet her now. She's been dying to meet you; she thinks I've been having an affair with some guy at work,"
"An affair?"
"Clandestine meetings," she explained with a smirk. "Getting ideas, Agent Vaughn?" she laughed lightly as his cheek coloured. They stepped into the sunlight and she stopped to look directly at him. "This is nice,"
"We've waited long enough. I think we deserve the right to look at each other,"
Sydney followed him to the café on the corner. For thirty minutes, they sat and ate, chatting mainly about work.
"Do you know what you're going to do now?"
He watched helplessly as she clammed up. "I- wow, we should be getting back, Vaughn, it's-"
"Syd,"
"Nearly eight thirty. I should-"
He grabbed her hands and held them pinned to the table. "What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not-"
"Syd. Please, tell me," he implored. She looked into his eyes. In the bright morning light, they seemed such a lovely greeny grey, something she could stare at forever, to just watch the colours constantly change. The trust and emotion she saw there unsettled her. For so long, so so long, they had had to ignore what they saw in each other, had to struggle to keep emotions in check. It was strange and almost surreal to suddenly be able to let it all out.
She looked around anxiously. There were so many people in dark suits, sitting alone, eating alone, or just with one other person. Was this normal? Did she strive to be a part of a black-suited sombre world?
"Not here," she whispered, "Not now."
Then when? The question loomed between them. "Here," she took the napkin from her lap and grabbed the pen from his pocket. On it, she wrote the name of Francie's restaurant, its address and the time. Seven. She didn't like the way people started dinner at eight; she was starving by eight, not ready to sit down and wait. Besides, it left so much time wasted; people who spent all their time on appearances weren't really living. From when the sun went down to eight (or in her case seven) was plenty of time to wriggle into a PVC dress and shove on stiletto heels ready to commit an act of international espionage. She did it all the time. Dinner at her friend's joint was nothing compared to that.
He took it, creases forming in his forehead as he read her words. "Isn't this-"
"Francie's place," she asserted as she got to her feet. She dropped her sunglasses down on her nose. "I've gotta go. I'll, I don't know, see you inside,"
As she walked into the sunlight, she felt light layers of sweat spring from her pores. It was twenty past eight. She had files surrounding her desk like a brick barricade and more waiting in cells beneath her feet. As she walked into the comparative comfort of the offices, she noted that she hadn't left any money for breakfast. The thought was buried when she opened the first file. A black and white identity photo of one Marcus Dixon stared back at her. In the middle of the maze that was the Los Angeles CIA headquarters, Sydney Bristow felt the familiar weight begin to settle.
"take me out tonight
oh take me anywhere, I don't care
and in the darken underpass
I thought Oh God, my chance has come at last
(but then a strange fear gripped me and I
just couldn't ask) take me out tonight" - There Is A Light That Never Goes Out - The Smiths (The Queen Is Dead)
At three thirty, Agent Bristow closed the last file of the day. Whoever's statement lay next could handle one more night in custody; she'd spent four years an unwilling hostage of SD-6, a few nights held by the CIA was nothing in comparison. It wasn't Dixon, Marshall or anyone else she had been close to. Her father had told her earlier that Dixon had been granted bail. There were further interrogations and questionings pending, but that was expected. Marshall, however, was being held for longer. His intimate knowledge of SD-6 tech gear meant he had been deemed a potential threat, not to mention the danger he could be placed in should he be targeted by the Alliance.
"Sydney, are you ready?"
She grabbed her bag and smiled brightly at Eric. "Sure am Weiss,"
They waited for the lift in awkward silence. The doors slid open. One other agent was waiting. Sydney managed to sustain the silence until they departed a floor later.
"Nice little stunt you pulled this morning, Syd," Weiss commented dryly.
"Excuse me?"
He took in the expression on her face. For a spy, she was completely naïve. "Mike loves you. I know this. You know this. Seems a bit crass to finally reach the end of all this and decide that he's reached his use-by date," he glanced sideways. "Is that all he was? Someone to lean on when no-one else was around?"
"[i]What[/i]?" She stopped walking and pressed her hand over her eyes. "Are you suggesting that I was using Vaughn?"
Weiss snorted. "Oh, come on Sydney. You risk your lives for each other, spend four years meeting in secret and calling each other at four a.m and suddenly talking about the future is some difficult issue?" he shook his head. "I'd like to believe its something else, but this is you and Mike. He goes through hell here for you, Sydney. Don't play him," he swiped his card through the access scanner. "Through here."
'Through her'e led to the CIA's on-site correctional cells. There were at least one hundred. The guard stood and nodded as he saw them enter. An agent, a middle aged woman, her skin still soft from a life indoors, walked to the Perspex grate.
"Yes?"
"Weiss and Bristow. We're here to speak with Marcus Dixon,"
The woman tapped at an unseen keyboard. "Release forms will be at the door. Are you his escorts?" Weiss nodded. Sydney looked on in confusion.
"I thought we were just visiting," she whispered as the woman made her way into the adjoining corridor.
"Yeah," Weiss shrugged. "I guess someone pulled a few strings," he shook his head, obviously angered by Sydney's actions. "Look. You're a good person. You're probably scared of something, but can I give you some advice?" she nodded. "Whatever you're planning on doing, do it soon. He's pulling his hair out up there, thinks something's wrong, I don't know. Reckons you always tell him what you're thinking," he stopped as the agent pointed to a door. "Talk to him tonight, or."
She grabbed his elbow before he entered the room. The woman had left, secure in the knowledge that they were about to enter. "Eric. I honestly intended to," she forced a smile, content with the grimace she got instead. "We've got a good man to free,"
The full extent of her statement did not escape them.
TBC.
-- Again.reviews would be lovely, thanks!
Posts may slow down somewhat soon.just an advanced warning!