Title: Disappear
Author: wren
Rating: PG-13 for a little language and some implied stuff
Disclaimer: I'm a high school student...do you really think I own a car, much less anything to do with Alias? But don't worry Michael, I'm saving up!
Summary: 18 years in the future, Vaughn and Sydney have been back home for only a month after rescuing their daughter Laramie from Sark in Taipei, and they are finally having their first date after being divorced for 5 years. But will their one night have unforeseen consequences?
A/N: I'm back due to an overwhelming response from my reviewers! I hope this lives up to your standards, and don't forget to tell me so!
Chapter One---Smiles
Michael Vaughn tipped the picture frame on his desk back so he could get a better look at it as he reclined in his chair, and he watched the bright light of his office slide down the glass's surface to cling to the face of a young woman triumphantly holding her newborn daughter--their daughter, Laramie. He stared down at her frozen image, and all he could see was the long road spreading out behind them; nearly twenty years after that fateful October first, over sixteen years since they were married, fifteen years beyond the day that the picture was taken, five years after the divorce.
And almost a month after they brought Laramie back from Taipei--though it felt longer, like several more untimely years hanging over his shoulders. The three of them had spent those first couple of days home crowded into Sydney's house for the solace of company, while they were interrogated and debriefed by a parade of familiar CIA officers, and maybe a few unfamiliar ones too; it was hard to keep track when all you wanted to do was pull your covers over your head and never come out. But before that week was up, he could see the strain his presence was placing on their already fragile relationships, and to ease the pressure he had moved into his own apartment as soon as possible. After that, they had let their lives fall into such a dangerous thing as a routine; they had spent one restless afternoon creating a cover story for their sudden absence before Sydney had gone back to teaching and Laramie went back to school, and he had settled into his new position at the CIA. He and Sydney spent the hours after her classes here, in his office, pouring over the photographs of internationally known criminals and assassins that Eric Weiss sent them from Los Angeles, searching for the man that had taken the Rambaldi manuscript in Taipei, and as Sydney was still in negotiations for her own job with the Agency, he was once again her supervisor. But despite all the time they'd had, despite the feelings running underneath, they had never once broached the subject of what happened to the two of them now.
The situation between them taken a turn for the worse now that they were back from Taipei; it had been so easy to say words like love when they were standing in the shadow of danger and apprehension; now though, enough time had passed for the doubts and uncertainties to creep back in, staining their original happiness with disbelief that this could still actually happen to them. Their avoidance of the issue had been simple to ignore in the chaos that first resulted from their homecoming, but as things began to calm down it got harder and harder to push through the building tension underlying all of their everyday motions. Either someone said something, or love could cross that thin line into resentment.
That was his mission today, as he had promised Weiss that morning on the phone, he was going to be the one to take that initial, essential step: he was going to ask her to dinner.
The slight squeak of his door gliding open alerted him to her arrival, and he set the picture down with a guilty thump, turning it deftly away from her view, unwilling to be caught staring so obviously at the photo of her. To clear his conscience of that nagging feeling that he had been doing something wrong, he looked straight up at her as she crossed the room to slide into the chair across from him, which was a mistake. In spite of everything, her beauty still had the ability to steal his breath away and fill his chest with an unknowable ache. Faced with this piercing creature, his courage almost failed him, his question paling in comparison to what she deserved from him.
But them he remembered what it felt like without her in his world, ten thousand times worse than his pitiful attempt at being romantic, and he dug his fingers into his desk as he opened his mouth to ask her.
She cut across his words, though, with a question of her own, "Anything new from Weiss?"
He swallowed what he was going to say, the words sticking wretchedly in his throat as he pushed the binder in her direction. She reached to lift the cover, but he stopped her with a gesture. "I already went over it, I don't think you'll find him in there. Honestly, Sydney, I don't think we're going to find him in any of these. He was obviously an underdog, a nobody; no one's going to know of him. What we need to be doing is monitoring the people he could sell the information to."
She nodded in agreement, even as she began to study the faces inside the file, "I know, but..."
But she had already made it her personal responsibility to find the man with the Rambaldi documents. He understood what she meant without her even having to finish her sentence; she couldn't waste any chance she had at catching him. It was just like her to do something like that, taking the world on her shoulders. Despite what she'd seen of humanity, she seemed to have an uncrushable determination that she could take the evil out of it, fix everyone's wounds except her own.
And that's what he believed he was in her life for; he was there to balance her out, share a little of the weight on her, soothe her cuts, and pick up the pieces when her idealism shattered. He hadn't quite figured out why she was in his, though. It was like if someone asked you why you need air; you could go into a complicated description of the complex process, or you could simply answer, "To live." But he thought it might have something to do with the empty space in him that she filled, the hole he hadn't known was there until he found the missing piece sitting in front of him.
If he truly believed that, then why was it so difficult to ask her to become a part of his life again? Because he'd already tried that once, and for some reason it didn't work out. How could this time be any different?
But he didn't let his fears get the best of him this time, he rushed on without even allowing himself time for thought. "Would--would you like to have dinner on Saturday?"
She moved her attention from the pictures she had been studying so ardently to stare up at him, as if she didn't really trust that he'd spoken, that it hadn't been a figment of her imagination, but when she found him where he was supposed to be, looking so earnestly at her, she broke into a grin. He couldn't help but respond in kind, and they sat there for long seconds, smiling at each other more like smitten teenagers--or even twentysomething lovers--than two people in their forties that had been through this all before.
"Saturday sounds great."
Author: wren
Rating: PG-13 for a little language and some implied stuff
Disclaimer: I'm a high school student...do you really think I own a car, much less anything to do with Alias? But don't worry Michael, I'm saving up!
Summary: 18 years in the future, Vaughn and Sydney have been back home for only a month after rescuing their daughter Laramie from Sark in Taipei, and they are finally having their first date after being divorced for 5 years. But will their one night have unforeseen consequences?
A/N: I'm back due to an overwhelming response from my reviewers! I hope this lives up to your standards, and don't forget to tell me so!
Chapter One---Smiles
Michael Vaughn tipped the picture frame on his desk back so he could get a better look at it as he reclined in his chair, and he watched the bright light of his office slide down the glass's surface to cling to the face of a young woman triumphantly holding her newborn daughter--their daughter, Laramie. He stared down at her frozen image, and all he could see was the long road spreading out behind them; nearly twenty years after that fateful October first, over sixteen years since they were married, fifteen years beyond the day that the picture was taken, five years after the divorce.
And almost a month after they brought Laramie back from Taipei--though it felt longer, like several more untimely years hanging over his shoulders. The three of them had spent those first couple of days home crowded into Sydney's house for the solace of company, while they were interrogated and debriefed by a parade of familiar CIA officers, and maybe a few unfamiliar ones too; it was hard to keep track when all you wanted to do was pull your covers over your head and never come out. But before that week was up, he could see the strain his presence was placing on their already fragile relationships, and to ease the pressure he had moved into his own apartment as soon as possible. After that, they had let their lives fall into such a dangerous thing as a routine; they had spent one restless afternoon creating a cover story for their sudden absence before Sydney had gone back to teaching and Laramie went back to school, and he had settled into his new position at the CIA. He and Sydney spent the hours after her classes here, in his office, pouring over the photographs of internationally known criminals and assassins that Eric Weiss sent them from Los Angeles, searching for the man that had taken the Rambaldi manuscript in Taipei, and as Sydney was still in negotiations for her own job with the Agency, he was once again her supervisor. But despite all the time they'd had, despite the feelings running underneath, they had never once broached the subject of what happened to the two of them now.
The situation between them taken a turn for the worse now that they were back from Taipei; it had been so easy to say words like love when they were standing in the shadow of danger and apprehension; now though, enough time had passed for the doubts and uncertainties to creep back in, staining their original happiness with disbelief that this could still actually happen to them. Their avoidance of the issue had been simple to ignore in the chaos that first resulted from their homecoming, but as things began to calm down it got harder and harder to push through the building tension underlying all of their everyday motions. Either someone said something, or love could cross that thin line into resentment.
That was his mission today, as he had promised Weiss that morning on the phone, he was going to be the one to take that initial, essential step: he was going to ask her to dinner.
The slight squeak of his door gliding open alerted him to her arrival, and he set the picture down with a guilty thump, turning it deftly away from her view, unwilling to be caught staring so obviously at the photo of her. To clear his conscience of that nagging feeling that he had been doing something wrong, he looked straight up at her as she crossed the room to slide into the chair across from him, which was a mistake. In spite of everything, her beauty still had the ability to steal his breath away and fill his chest with an unknowable ache. Faced with this piercing creature, his courage almost failed him, his question paling in comparison to what she deserved from him.
But them he remembered what it felt like without her in his world, ten thousand times worse than his pitiful attempt at being romantic, and he dug his fingers into his desk as he opened his mouth to ask her.
She cut across his words, though, with a question of her own, "Anything new from Weiss?"
He swallowed what he was going to say, the words sticking wretchedly in his throat as he pushed the binder in her direction. She reached to lift the cover, but he stopped her with a gesture. "I already went over it, I don't think you'll find him in there. Honestly, Sydney, I don't think we're going to find him in any of these. He was obviously an underdog, a nobody; no one's going to know of him. What we need to be doing is monitoring the people he could sell the information to."
She nodded in agreement, even as she began to study the faces inside the file, "I know, but..."
But she had already made it her personal responsibility to find the man with the Rambaldi documents. He understood what she meant without her even having to finish her sentence; she couldn't waste any chance she had at catching him. It was just like her to do something like that, taking the world on her shoulders. Despite what she'd seen of humanity, she seemed to have an uncrushable determination that she could take the evil out of it, fix everyone's wounds except her own.
And that's what he believed he was in her life for; he was there to balance her out, share a little of the weight on her, soothe her cuts, and pick up the pieces when her idealism shattered. He hadn't quite figured out why she was in his, though. It was like if someone asked you why you need air; you could go into a complicated description of the complex process, or you could simply answer, "To live." But he thought it might have something to do with the empty space in him that she filled, the hole he hadn't known was there until he found the missing piece sitting in front of him.
If he truly believed that, then why was it so difficult to ask her to become a part of his life again? Because he'd already tried that once, and for some reason it didn't work out. How could this time be any different?
But he didn't let his fears get the best of him this time, he rushed on without even allowing himself time for thought. "Would--would you like to have dinner on Saturday?"
She moved her attention from the pictures she had been studying so ardently to stare up at him, as if she didn't really trust that he'd spoken, that it hadn't been a figment of her imagination, but when she found him where he was supposed to be, looking so earnestly at her, she broke into a grin. He couldn't help but respond in kind, and they sat there for long seconds, smiling at each other more like smitten teenagers--or even twentysomething lovers--than two people in their forties that had been through this all before.
"Saturday sounds great."