Title: Laramie
Author: wren
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Obviously none of it's mine...
Summary: 18 years in the future, SD-6 is gone, and an emotionally unstable Vaughn and embittered Sydney are divorced...but Fate's not done with them yet. When an old enemy kidnaps their teenage daughter, they have to remember what brought them together in the first place, or lose what they love most.
A/N: I know you've seen this idea before, so thank you for having enough interest to come this far. I hope it'll at least be entertaining for you!
Please Read and Review!!!
Chapter One---Hell
Michael Vaughn picked the picture up off his desk, the last personal object left in his office to place in his sadly small cardboard box. He brushed his fingers across the barrier of glass, wishing he could touch the actual person, tracing the lines of her face with his fingernail. The first thing that always hit him when he saw this photo was how radiant she looked, holding their newborn baby; she was exhausted after nearly 26 hours of labor, but she absolutely glowed with pride and love that made her the most beautiful woman he would ever see. She had given him the most perfect gift ever that year: a little girl named Laramie, partly perfect because she resembled the woman he loved to the point she was almost an exact replica, and partly because she was his.
He placed the frame face down on top of his pile of possessions with a customary twinge of sorrow, and turned to survey the empty room. All the shelves were bare, the desk was cleared of all his pens and papers and calendars, only the furniture was left. He dropped despondently into his beaten leather chair and pushed back, swinging his feet up so they were on top the desk, ankles crossed, like some private eye in an old movie; he had always wanted to do that, and now that it no longer belonged to him, he finally felt he could. He took in the deserted look of his workplace and his pitifully undersized pile of belongings, and decided that it wasn't completely empty after all.
No, the memories still clung to this place, cluttered ghosts that hung over every space she had touched, all changed irrevocably simply by her presence. There, in that chair, she had sat in her angry red wig and argued about his instinct. That led him inevitably to all those hours in the warehouse with her, where they inhabited their own gray world set separate from the rest, where anything could have happened--and it did. All the secret meetings, the times she'd cried on his shoulder, whispered her secrets, every precious smile, every treasured laugh, and every covetous glance.
Then came the evening they raided SD-6, so fresh in his mind, he could still see her across the room from him in her heavy black clothes, separated by wires and debris. She had looked at him with so much pain, a pleading glance for understanding, and at that moment there had been no Agent Vaughn or Agent Bristow, only Michael and Sydney, a man and a woman just like Irina had told him. No rules, no protocol, only air between them and that hadn't been enough to keep them apart. Their lips had molded together in their first kiss, and they could have been the only two people in the world, the only two people who appreciated the true meaning of love. That had been far from the end of their trials, but they made it work somehow because they knew today was the best day of their lives, since tomorrow might never dawn.
They had been married almost two years later when she had finally given up espionage; he had proposed on the pier where he had met her the night her father stood her up for dinner, where he had told her she could always call him. She said yes without any hesitation.
Over there in the corner, that was the phone he had answered when she had called him to tell him she was pregnant, the same one that had rung to inform him she was at the hospital delivering their child.
Laramie meant 'tears of love' in French, and they'd certainly had enough of those. Five years, he'd had five years to think about it, and he still couldn't understand why she had left. He just knew that one dawn he had rolled over to kiss her good morning and her part of the bed had been cold, the sheets smooth with no impression of her left, not even her lingering smell. The actual fight that they had separated over was stupid in his opinion; he had mentioned a project he was involved in at work, at which she had informed him that it was far too dangerous. He'd reminded her of how dangerous her job had been, and she'd mentioned how his father had never come home and she was worried that the same thing would happen again, and he'd dropped in a comment about her mother. The thing about married couples is that after so long together they learn everything there is to know about the other, know what buttons to push, know the exact spots to touch that will wound each other the most. So, she'd packed up her stuff and Laramie that night while he was sleeping and gotten as far away as she could from him, eleven years of good marriage and it was suddenly gone.
Sometimes, when he went to her house to visit his daughter, he wished he could just ask her what he had done wrong, fall on his knees in front of her and beg her forgiveness for all his faults and flaws, but he had too much damn pride.
But that didn't mean he didn't miss her, because he did, with every breath.
A polite noise at the door sliced through his reflections, and he swiveled the chair to face the entrance to his office. Eric Weiss had one hand propped on the doorframe, watching him. Weiss knew him too well, and it worried him that the other man might have caught the direction of his thoughts.
Weiss ambled into the room, turning in a circle to survey the whole thing. "Look's like you've packed up everything...You know I'm really sorry to see you go, Mike..."
"Yeah, you've told me that before. I'm gonna miss you too." And he would, Weiss had been his best friend, his best man at his wedding, and his solace when it had crumbled out from underneath him.
"You sure you don't want to go out drinking with me one last time, you know-for old time's sake?" He smiled broadly with invitation; it was really Weiss who got the benefit of their late night indulgences since Michael attracted the attention of more women than he got on his own. The only thing Michael got out of it was a couple of hours of forgetfulness, but it was all still there waiting for him when he woke up the next day.
"Nah, Eric, I've got to start driving this afternoon if I want to make it there before tomorrow night." All of his possessions that he was taking with him where already neatly packed in his car, ready to leave when he finished in here. He didn't have any furniture to take with him because he didn't have an apartment to move it into; he planned to stay in a hotel until he could find one.
"Speaking of making it there...have you told her yet?" There was no need to specify whom he was talking about. Any other woman they referred to by her name, but Weiss knew it was unhealthy for both of them to mention his ex-wife's.
"No, I haven't gotten around to yet." He felt guilty about that fact, but he found when picked up the phone to call her his fingers shook too much to dial the numbers
"Haven't gotten around to it? Mike, you're moving into her town, this is the kind of information she needs to know!"
"Hey, I didn't ask to be transferred! I even pleaded to be moved somewhere else, anywhere else, but they didn't listen to me...It's not like I want to move in there and interrupt her life!" He had done a lot more than just plead, but they were obdurate that he would fill this position.
"Don't lie to me, I know you want to, you haven't gotten over her! Didn't I tell you the first time you walked in here with that look on your face that this woman was more trouble than she was worth, that she'd be the ruin of a good man? And here it is, the man on the street corner with the sign is right, the end is near!" His head drooped to rest against his chest as Weiss's reproaches went on, no one would ever understand what he felt about 'that woman.' Weiss's voice softened a little as he noticed his friend's appearance. "Don't look like that...C'mon, I know you, and you can pull this together. You march right in her door, tell her you're gonna be living in that town whether she likes or not, and you give her hell!"
"Yeah, give her hell..." he laughed, unnerved by the whole idea. He'd never seen anyone give Sydney hell, never once seen her come out of anything more than mildly upset and little ruffled. No one gave her hell, ever, so how could he be the first?
"That's it!" Weiss congratulated him, mistaking his remark. He shook his hand and said his goodbyes, promising to be in touch.
He watched Weiss's receding back, thinking he was right on at least one point: hell. They were sending him straight into hell.
With a groan of protesting muscles, he propelled himself out of his seat, and bent to grab up his box. Settling it against his hip, he walked outside of the office one last time, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He turned around and locked the door on a part of his life he was going to miss; but he couldn't lock the memories, the ghosts, inside with the rest, they would always follow him in a tragic procession wherever he went.
Author: wren
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Obviously none of it's mine...
Summary: 18 years in the future, SD-6 is gone, and an emotionally unstable Vaughn and embittered Sydney are divorced...but Fate's not done with them yet. When an old enemy kidnaps their teenage daughter, they have to remember what brought them together in the first place, or lose what they love most.
A/N: I know you've seen this idea before, so thank you for having enough interest to come this far. I hope it'll at least be entertaining for you!
Please Read and Review!!!
Chapter One---Hell
Michael Vaughn picked the picture up off his desk, the last personal object left in his office to place in his sadly small cardboard box. He brushed his fingers across the barrier of glass, wishing he could touch the actual person, tracing the lines of her face with his fingernail. The first thing that always hit him when he saw this photo was how radiant she looked, holding their newborn baby; she was exhausted after nearly 26 hours of labor, but she absolutely glowed with pride and love that made her the most beautiful woman he would ever see. She had given him the most perfect gift ever that year: a little girl named Laramie, partly perfect because she resembled the woman he loved to the point she was almost an exact replica, and partly because she was his.
He placed the frame face down on top of his pile of possessions with a customary twinge of sorrow, and turned to survey the empty room. All the shelves were bare, the desk was cleared of all his pens and papers and calendars, only the furniture was left. He dropped despondently into his beaten leather chair and pushed back, swinging his feet up so they were on top the desk, ankles crossed, like some private eye in an old movie; he had always wanted to do that, and now that it no longer belonged to him, he finally felt he could. He took in the deserted look of his workplace and his pitifully undersized pile of belongings, and decided that it wasn't completely empty after all.
No, the memories still clung to this place, cluttered ghosts that hung over every space she had touched, all changed irrevocably simply by her presence. There, in that chair, she had sat in her angry red wig and argued about his instinct. That led him inevitably to all those hours in the warehouse with her, where they inhabited their own gray world set separate from the rest, where anything could have happened--and it did. All the secret meetings, the times she'd cried on his shoulder, whispered her secrets, every precious smile, every treasured laugh, and every covetous glance.
Then came the evening they raided SD-6, so fresh in his mind, he could still see her across the room from him in her heavy black clothes, separated by wires and debris. She had looked at him with so much pain, a pleading glance for understanding, and at that moment there had been no Agent Vaughn or Agent Bristow, only Michael and Sydney, a man and a woman just like Irina had told him. No rules, no protocol, only air between them and that hadn't been enough to keep them apart. Their lips had molded together in their first kiss, and they could have been the only two people in the world, the only two people who appreciated the true meaning of love. That had been far from the end of their trials, but they made it work somehow because they knew today was the best day of their lives, since tomorrow might never dawn.
They had been married almost two years later when she had finally given up espionage; he had proposed on the pier where he had met her the night her father stood her up for dinner, where he had told her she could always call him. She said yes without any hesitation.
Over there in the corner, that was the phone he had answered when she had called him to tell him she was pregnant, the same one that had rung to inform him she was at the hospital delivering their child.
Laramie meant 'tears of love' in French, and they'd certainly had enough of those. Five years, he'd had five years to think about it, and he still couldn't understand why she had left. He just knew that one dawn he had rolled over to kiss her good morning and her part of the bed had been cold, the sheets smooth with no impression of her left, not even her lingering smell. The actual fight that they had separated over was stupid in his opinion; he had mentioned a project he was involved in at work, at which she had informed him that it was far too dangerous. He'd reminded her of how dangerous her job had been, and she'd mentioned how his father had never come home and she was worried that the same thing would happen again, and he'd dropped in a comment about her mother. The thing about married couples is that after so long together they learn everything there is to know about the other, know what buttons to push, know the exact spots to touch that will wound each other the most. So, she'd packed up her stuff and Laramie that night while he was sleeping and gotten as far away as she could from him, eleven years of good marriage and it was suddenly gone.
Sometimes, when he went to her house to visit his daughter, he wished he could just ask her what he had done wrong, fall on his knees in front of her and beg her forgiveness for all his faults and flaws, but he had too much damn pride.
But that didn't mean he didn't miss her, because he did, with every breath.
A polite noise at the door sliced through his reflections, and he swiveled the chair to face the entrance to his office. Eric Weiss had one hand propped on the doorframe, watching him. Weiss knew him too well, and it worried him that the other man might have caught the direction of his thoughts.
Weiss ambled into the room, turning in a circle to survey the whole thing. "Look's like you've packed up everything...You know I'm really sorry to see you go, Mike..."
"Yeah, you've told me that before. I'm gonna miss you too." And he would, Weiss had been his best friend, his best man at his wedding, and his solace when it had crumbled out from underneath him.
"You sure you don't want to go out drinking with me one last time, you know-for old time's sake?" He smiled broadly with invitation; it was really Weiss who got the benefit of their late night indulgences since Michael attracted the attention of more women than he got on his own. The only thing Michael got out of it was a couple of hours of forgetfulness, but it was all still there waiting for him when he woke up the next day.
"Nah, Eric, I've got to start driving this afternoon if I want to make it there before tomorrow night." All of his possessions that he was taking with him where already neatly packed in his car, ready to leave when he finished in here. He didn't have any furniture to take with him because he didn't have an apartment to move it into; he planned to stay in a hotel until he could find one.
"Speaking of making it there...have you told her yet?" There was no need to specify whom he was talking about. Any other woman they referred to by her name, but Weiss knew it was unhealthy for both of them to mention his ex-wife's.
"No, I haven't gotten around to yet." He felt guilty about that fact, but he found when picked up the phone to call her his fingers shook too much to dial the numbers
"Haven't gotten around to it? Mike, you're moving into her town, this is the kind of information she needs to know!"
"Hey, I didn't ask to be transferred! I even pleaded to be moved somewhere else, anywhere else, but they didn't listen to me...It's not like I want to move in there and interrupt her life!" He had done a lot more than just plead, but they were obdurate that he would fill this position.
"Don't lie to me, I know you want to, you haven't gotten over her! Didn't I tell you the first time you walked in here with that look on your face that this woman was more trouble than she was worth, that she'd be the ruin of a good man? And here it is, the man on the street corner with the sign is right, the end is near!" His head drooped to rest against his chest as Weiss's reproaches went on, no one would ever understand what he felt about 'that woman.' Weiss's voice softened a little as he noticed his friend's appearance. "Don't look like that...C'mon, I know you, and you can pull this together. You march right in her door, tell her you're gonna be living in that town whether she likes or not, and you give her hell!"
"Yeah, give her hell..." he laughed, unnerved by the whole idea. He'd never seen anyone give Sydney hell, never once seen her come out of anything more than mildly upset and little ruffled. No one gave her hell, ever, so how could he be the first?
"That's it!" Weiss congratulated him, mistaking his remark. He shook his hand and said his goodbyes, promising to be in touch.
He watched Weiss's receding back, thinking he was right on at least one point: hell. They were sending him straight into hell.
With a groan of protesting muscles, he propelled himself out of his seat, and bent to grab up his box. Settling it against his hip, he walked outside of the office one last time, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. He turned around and locked the door on a part of his life he was going to miss; but he couldn't lock the memories, the ghosts, inside with the rest, they would always follow him in a tragic procession wherever he went.