Title: "the elements"
Chapter: {earth}
Summary: After an angry separation, Vaughn and Sydney's lives come crashing together again.
Category: Sydney/Vaughn angst
Author: Bella (bella@bellalumina.net)
Rating: PG-13; future chapters will be R/NC-17
Timeline: AU, takes place after "The Solution."
Thanks: to Souris for the beta-read, and to the reviewers for their kind words.
Disclaimer: Alias is not mine.
Note: Chapters will be posted weekly; the next update will be Monday, May 20.
{earth}
She decides that it's some sort of cosmic joke that she somehow manages to find the only mud to step into in the whole parched city. She lifts her shoe out of the ground and makes a face, staring at the caked sole. Her apartment seems a million miles away as she awkwardly hops up the walk with a muddy shoe carefully lifted off the pavement; she's already inside before she remembers what she looks like.
"Oh, my God," Francie breathes, looking up from whatever she's cooking in the kitchen. Her mouth drops open, and she squeaks. "Oh, my God, Sydney...."
"Hang on, I'm all muddy," she mutters, hanging onto the door frame for support as she pulls off the muddy shoe and drops it just outside the door.
"Muddy? Oh, my God," she says again. "You're covered in blood! Where the hell have you been? Will's been looking all over the place...."
"He shouldn't have done that," Sydney answers, her voice a little too sharp. She sighs, moving to sit on the couch. "Just ... don't ask me to tell you, okay? I can't...."
Francie's crying, and that makes tears start running down Sydney's face, too. "Sydney...."
"Stop it," she says futilely, hiccupping. She never knew how many tears she had stored up in her body. Her whole face hurts, and her throat is raw from crying, she's sure of it.
Francie comes around to the front of the couch and sits beside her, pulling her into a maternal hug. "I'm so sorry," she says automatically, the kind of canned sympathy that would usually make Sydney a little uncomfortable and a lot angry. Tonight, though, she just rests her head on Francie's shoulder and lets the tears come.
They sit there for a while, and then Sydney disentangles herself from the hug and stands, scrubbing her face with her open palms. "I need a shower."
Francie nods. "I'm making dinner, if you're hungry."
"I'm not."
She nods again. "I figured you wouldn't be."
"Yeah." She walks into the bathroom and stares at her reflection. Suddenly, she strips off the bloody clothing angrily, throwing it forcefully to the tile floor. Fuck Vaughn. Fuck the CIA. Fuck everyone. Maybe she should just get in her car and drive into the desert and stay there. She could try Will's suggestion from a long-ago drunken night that they should go digging through the desert sand to find the soil deep below. He'd figured at the time that they might get into the Guinness Book of World Records with that stunt. She thinks maybe it would be a good way to occupy her time now.
If he doesn't need her, then she definitely doesn't need him. She thinks on this as she steps into the shower and turns on the faucet. The water dribbles down on her at first, then forms into a well-developed spray. She sighs, letting the shower of drops wipe away the earth and blood that she's accumulated. If the bastard doesn't need her help, she won't help him. She grabs the shampoo -- her stomach flips a little when she remembers how he loved the way her hair smelled -- and squirts a dollop of gel into her hand. If he doesn't love her, then she won't love him. It's as simple as that.
Right.
She showers quickly, changing into a tank top and a pair of well-worn flannel shorts with her college's logo emblazoned on one leg. Grabbing the comforter off her bed, she trudges out to the couch and constructs the kind of little cocoon she loved to make when she was small. She burrows inside, poking her head out and resting it on one of the couch pillows, and falls asleep.
She dreams of him -- dreams of them together. They're in the desert, and it's as hot there as it was in the park on her last meeting with Weiss. He's got a shovel, bizarrely, and he's not digging through to find the earth, but he's planting flowers in a desert-oasis-garden that's already green and colorful with blooms and foliage. Azaleas, she thinks as she watches him turn over mounds of chocolate-colored soil, though Francie's the one with the green thumb, not her. He looks up at her, and she's a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. He smiles, though, an expression she hasn't seen from him in so long. Putting his shovel on the ground, he steps slowly toward her. And then her breath catches in her throat; and then his hands come up to her arms and slide down them slowly; and then he's kissing her deeply, and they're on the ground and he's pushing their clothes out of the way and they're making love again. The sand is somehow gone; the ground beneath her back feels smooth, not gritty or scratchy. His eyes are brilliantly green as he moves above her, watching her face carefully, and the slow, deliberate way he touches her makes her arch and laugh and smile. Just as she's right there, feeling so wonderful....
"Sydney?"
She opens her eyes lazily and sits up quickly. It's Will; she prays that she didn't say anything out loud. She knows that her cheeks are red. "Yeah?" she asks softly.
His eyes are so full of concern that she just wants to sink back into her cocoon. She doesn't want his concern. She got out of the SD-6 mess just fine, no scratches. "Francie said you'd come home."
"She called you?" she questions, closing her eyes. "She shouldn't have done that."
He starts to say something, but she shakes her head, cutting him off. "I'm fine. You shouldn't have come over here, she shouldn't have called, you shouldn't have gone looking for me. I'm fine. Fine."
She starts to burrow back under the covers, but he stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Look at me."
She won't, and he sighs, continuing, "You want us to pretend like we don't care about you? You know, sometimes we think that maybe you don't really care all that much for us, but that doesn't change the fact that we care for you."
Francie appears out of nowhere. "Stop it, Will...."
"No," he says stubbornly. "This is a long time in coming and you know it. I don't know what the hell your problem is, but if you don't want to see us anymore, you should tell us to go. We'll go."
"Will...."
"I'm serious, Francie," he interrupts angrily. "Sydney, we've lived with your shitty excuses and your broken promises long enough. Either you're straight with us, or we don't need to be friends anymore."
She stares at him.
Francie looks at the floor, then says something under her breath and turns to flee from the kitchen. "Wait," Will says, his voice calmer. "You need to hear this, too."
Sydney shifts in her pile of blankets, the feeling of Vaughn's hands gripping her thighs playing over and over in her mind. "What exactly do you want me to say?"
"I want to know ... we want to know what you've been up to," he says, meeting her eyes defiantly. "Stop lying to us right now."
She stands, untangling herself from her blankets, and hugs herself protectively. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth."
And then, almost imperceptibly, Will's face changes. There's a look in his eyes that she's never seen before. "Try me," he says, and his voice is lower and suddenly older.
She opens her mouth and then closes it, looking over at Francie, who's watching the scene with wide, startled eyes. "I work for the CIA," she says, and Will's body tenses completely. He knows, she thinks. He knows something, anyway. She continues. "I worked as a double agent infiltrating another agency until yesterday. The man that I worked with ... my CIA handler ... was shot during a raid on the rogue agency."
Will's eyes are incredibly wide; she thinks she sees the wheels racing in his mind. Francie laughs. "Good one, Syd. Now tell us what really--"
"--SD-6," Will says flatly.
She looks at him. "Yes."
Now Francie's watching both of them, her face both frightened and uncertain. "Wait...."
"Francie, I'm a spy," she repeats clearly, softly.
"No, you're not," Francie argues, grabbing the edge of a table to steady herself. "You work for a bank."
"I don't work for a bank."
"Yes, you do! You work for a bank. I've seen the building. I've put money in that bank."
"I know. It's a front operation for the rogue agency, for SD-6," she says quietly. Her stomach is doing flip-flops.
"This can't be happening," Francie says, her hands coming up to rub her face.
"Your father said you weren't a part of this," Will states suddenly.
She panics. "What?"
"After Danny died, I investigated," he says.
"I know that," she argues. "You stopped."
He shakes his head. "You don't know how much I wish that I had." He stands and paces. "I found out about SD-6, and your father threatened me. He told me you knew nothing about it."
"Will--"
"--what, did you know that they were going to kill Danny?" he accuses suddenly and loudly, stepping into her personal space. "Did you help plan it?"
"Stop it," she says angrily, covering her face with her hands.
"So, did you screw over this other guy, too? He knew too much, so you and SD-6 had him targeted, too?" he presses, his eyes wild.
A crack resounds through the room, and Francie gasps. Sydney watches as Will clutches his face, and she rubs her stinging palm.
"Stop it," she says again, quieter, fleeing to her room. "Now do you know why I didn't tell you?" she calls over her shoulder before slamming the door.
She puts on a pair of shoes and crawls out the window. Yes, she feels like a coward; she also doesn't care. Her actions all feel automatic, like she's in mission-mode: get in the car, turn the key, and pull onto the street. She doesn't realize she's driven to the hospital until she pulls into the parking lot. Her face falls into her open palms, and she feels like she can't breathe.
He's the only one that knows what it was like. He's the only one who can understand why she's done the things she's done.
That would have worked a few months ago, she muses, but not anymore. She betrayed their trust, and now she has to deal with it. The chance she had with him is gone; she's certain they can't even be friends anymore, let alone lovers, or whatever it is they were.
She has to try. She opens the car door, takes a deep breath, and plants her feet on the dirty pavement. She has to try because no one else could possibly understand her at this moment. She has to try because, damn it, she still loves him, and she knows that if he can only forgive her, then maybe they have a chance.
The hospital smells distinctly medical as she hurries through the doors and onto the elevator, praying that Alex is still there to let her into the room. He is, and he murmurs not to stay too long as he opens the door for her.
He's awake. He looks at her, his eyes weary and confused and angry. A deep breath, then, "I thought I told you--"
"--I heard you," she replies. "But I had to see you."
"What could you possibly want?" he asks, his voice low and slightly perturbed.
"I can't leave things this way with you."
His hands move restlessly over the blankets. "You left things with me three months ago in Paris. Don't try to change that now."
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair," he replies coolly. "Now get out."
"No," she challenges. "You've got to listen to me."
"I don't have to listen to you."
"What, are you going to get up and leave?"
His eyes are suddenly sharp and cutting. "That's low, Sydney."
"Whatever you think," she says dismissively. She pauses, watching his heart monitor. "You had us all pretty scared, you know."
"I'm fine," he says irritably.
"You're better than yesterday," she acquiesces. "Vaughn, you almost bled to death in the back seat of my father's car."
His brow furrows. "I remember it, Sydney."
"I thought you were going to die," she says softly.
"I thought I was going to die, too," he answers, his voice even and a little flippant.
She wants to strangle him for acting so aloof. "SD-6 is gone."
"Devlin told me."
"I told Francie and Will," she offers. "They didn't take it well."
"So you came here?" he asks. "Why the hell would you do that? I'm not going to try to make you feel better, Sydney. I played that part far too long. And after all those years of reassuring you, of worrying about you, you stepped on me. You absolutely betrayed me."
"I know," she says shakily, looking down at her hands.
"So why in the world are you here?"
"I don't know."
"I don't buy that." He coughs, suddenly, and she looks around quickly.
"Should I get someone? Vaughn...?"
He holds out a hand, wincing as the action disturbs an IV line. "I'm okay."
"I needed to talk to you. I needed to talk to someone who understands me."
"I'm not that person anymore."
"You were the only one," she says, her eyes pleading with him. "There isn't anyone else who even came close to knowing what my life is like."
"Was like," he corrects. "You're free to do whatever you want now."
"You know that's not true," she disagrees. "Nothing's ever going to be the same for me."
"Well," he begins, "I suppose that's something you'll have to think about." He pauses. "I'm tired. You'd better go."
She nods. "I'm ... I'm so sorry, Vaughn."
He shakes his head. "Too late for that."
"I am, anyway."
He looks at her, and then turns his face away. She walks out of the door and starts to head toward the exit before changing her mind; she heads back to the waiting room instead. There's no one in the room except Devlin, and he simply nods at her over his copy of the Times when she walks in. She nods in return, curls up in one of the chairs, and falls asleep.
Posted: Monday, May 13, 2002
Next week: {wind}
Chapter: {earth}
Summary: After an angry separation, Vaughn and Sydney's lives come crashing together again.
Category: Sydney/Vaughn angst
Author: Bella (bella@bellalumina.net)
Rating: PG-13; future chapters will be R/NC-17
Timeline: AU, takes place after "The Solution."
Thanks: to Souris for the beta-read, and to the reviewers for their kind words.
Disclaimer: Alias is not mine.
Note: Chapters will be posted weekly; the next update will be Monday, May 20.
{earth}
She decides that it's some sort of cosmic joke that she somehow manages to find the only mud to step into in the whole parched city. She lifts her shoe out of the ground and makes a face, staring at the caked sole. Her apartment seems a million miles away as she awkwardly hops up the walk with a muddy shoe carefully lifted off the pavement; she's already inside before she remembers what she looks like.
"Oh, my God," Francie breathes, looking up from whatever she's cooking in the kitchen. Her mouth drops open, and she squeaks. "Oh, my God, Sydney...."
"Hang on, I'm all muddy," she mutters, hanging onto the door frame for support as she pulls off the muddy shoe and drops it just outside the door.
"Muddy? Oh, my God," she says again. "You're covered in blood! Where the hell have you been? Will's been looking all over the place...."
"He shouldn't have done that," Sydney answers, her voice a little too sharp. She sighs, moving to sit on the couch. "Just ... don't ask me to tell you, okay? I can't...."
Francie's crying, and that makes tears start running down Sydney's face, too. "Sydney...."
"Stop it," she says futilely, hiccupping. She never knew how many tears she had stored up in her body. Her whole face hurts, and her throat is raw from crying, she's sure of it.
Francie comes around to the front of the couch and sits beside her, pulling her into a maternal hug. "I'm so sorry," she says automatically, the kind of canned sympathy that would usually make Sydney a little uncomfortable and a lot angry. Tonight, though, she just rests her head on Francie's shoulder and lets the tears come.
They sit there for a while, and then Sydney disentangles herself from the hug and stands, scrubbing her face with her open palms. "I need a shower."
Francie nods. "I'm making dinner, if you're hungry."
"I'm not."
She nods again. "I figured you wouldn't be."
"Yeah." She walks into the bathroom and stares at her reflection. Suddenly, she strips off the bloody clothing angrily, throwing it forcefully to the tile floor. Fuck Vaughn. Fuck the CIA. Fuck everyone. Maybe she should just get in her car and drive into the desert and stay there. She could try Will's suggestion from a long-ago drunken night that they should go digging through the desert sand to find the soil deep below. He'd figured at the time that they might get into the Guinness Book of World Records with that stunt. She thinks maybe it would be a good way to occupy her time now.
If he doesn't need her, then she definitely doesn't need him. She thinks on this as she steps into the shower and turns on the faucet. The water dribbles down on her at first, then forms into a well-developed spray. She sighs, letting the shower of drops wipe away the earth and blood that she's accumulated. If the bastard doesn't need her help, she won't help him. She grabs the shampoo -- her stomach flips a little when she remembers how he loved the way her hair smelled -- and squirts a dollop of gel into her hand. If he doesn't love her, then she won't love him. It's as simple as that.
Right.
She showers quickly, changing into a tank top and a pair of well-worn flannel shorts with her college's logo emblazoned on one leg. Grabbing the comforter off her bed, she trudges out to the couch and constructs the kind of little cocoon she loved to make when she was small. She burrows inside, poking her head out and resting it on one of the couch pillows, and falls asleep.
She dreams of him -- dreams of them together. They're in the desert, and it's as hot there as it was in the park on her last meeting with Weiss. He's got a shovel, bizarrely, and he's not digging through to find the earth, but he's planting flowers in a desert-oasis-garden that's already green and colorful with blooms and foliage. Azaleas, she thinks as she watches him turn over mounds of chocolate-colored soil, though Francie's the one with the green thumb, not her. He looks up at her, and she's a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. He smiles, though, an expression she hasn't seen from him in so long. Putting his shovel on the ground, he steps slowly toward her. And then her breath catches in her throat; and then his hands come up to her arms and slide down them slowly; and then he's kissing her deeply, and they're on the ground and he's pushing their clothes out of the way and they're making love again. The sand is somehow gone; the ground beneath her back feels smooth, not gritty or scratchy. His eyes are brilliantly green as he moves above her, watching her face carefully, and the slow, deliberate way he touches her makes her arch and laugh and smile. Just as she's right there, feeling so wonderful....
"Sydney?"
She opens her eyes lazily and sits up quickly. It's Will; she prays that she didn't say anything out loud. She knows that her cheeks are red. "Yeah?" she asks softly.
His eyes are so full of concern that she just wants to sink back into her cocoon. She doesn't want his concern. She got out of the SD-6 mess just fine, no scratches. "Francie said you'd come home."
"She called you?" she questions, closing her eyes. "She shouldn't have done that."
He starts to say something, but she shakes her head, cutting him off. "I'm fine. You shouldn't have come over here, she shouldn't have called, you shouldn't have gone looking for me. I'm fine. Fine."
She starts to burrow back under the covers, but he stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Look at me."
She won't, and he sighs, continuing, "You want us to pretend like we don't care about you? You know, sometimes we think that maybe you don't really care all that much for us, but that doesn't change the fact that we care for you."
Francie appears out of nowhere. "Stop it, Will...."
"No," he says stubbornly. "This is a long time in coming and you know it. I don't know what the hell your problem is, but if you don't want to see us anymore, you should tell us to go. We'll go."
"Will...."
"I'm serious, Francie," he interrupts angrily. "Sydney, we've lived with your shitty excuses and your broken promises long enough. Either you're straight with us, or we don't need to be friends anymore."
She stares at him.
Francie looks at the floor, then says something under her breath and turns to flee from the kitchen. "Wait," Will says, his voice calmer. "You need to hear this, too."
Sydney shifts in her pile of blankets, the feeling of Vaughn's hands gripping her thighs playing over and over in her mind. "What exactly do you want me to say?"
"I want to know ... we want to know what you've been up to," he says, meeting her eyes defiantly. "Stop lying to us right now."
She stands, untangling herself from her blankets, and hugs herself protectively. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth."
And then, almost imperceptibly, Will's face changes. There's a look in his eyes that she's never seen before. "Try me," he says, and his voice is lower and suddenly older.
She opens her mouth and then closes it, looking over at Francie, who's watching the scene with wide, startled eyes. "I work for the CIA," she says, and Will's body tenses completely. He knows, she thinks. He knows something, anyway. She continues. "I worked as a double agent infiltrating another agency until yesterday. The man that I worked with ... my CIA handler ... was shot during a raid on the rogue agency."
Will's eyes are incredibly wide; she thinks she sees the wheels racing in his mind. Francie laughs. "Good one, Syd. Now tell us what really--"
"--SD-6," Will says flatly.
She looks at him. "Yes."
Now Francie's watching both of them, her face both frightened and uncertain. "Wait...."
"Francie, I'm a spy," she repeats clearly, softly.
"No, you're not," Francie argues, grabbing the edge of a table to steady herself. "You work for a bank."
"I don't work for a bank."
"Yes, you do! You work for a bank. I've seen the building. I've put money in that bank."
"I know. It's a front operation for the rogue agency, for SD-6," she says quietly. Her stomach is doing flip-flops.
"This can't be happening," Francie says, her hands coming up to rub her face.
"Your father said you weren't a part of this," Will states suddenly.
She panics. "What?"
"After Danny died, I investigated," he says.
"I know that," she argues. "You stopped."
He shakes his head. "You don't know how much I wish that I had." He stands and paces. "I found out about SD-6, and your father threatened me. He told me you knew nothing about it."
"Will--"
"--what, did you know that they were going to kill Danny?" he accuses suddenly and loudly, stepping into her personal space. "Did you help plan it?"
"Stop it," she says angrily, covering her face with her hands.
"So, did you screw over this other guy, too? He knew too much, so you and SD-6 had him targeted, too?" he presses, his eyes wild.
A crack resounds through the room, and Francie gasps. Sydney watches as Will clutches his face, and she rubs her stinging palm.
"Stop it," she says again, quieter, fleeing to her room. "Now do you know why I didn't tell you?" she calls over her shoulder before slamming the door.
She puts on a pair of shoes and crawls out the window. Yes, she feels like a coward; she also doesn't care. Her actions all feel automatic, like she's in mission-mode: get in the car, turn the key, and pull onto the street. She doesn't realize she's driven to the hospital until she pulls into the parking lot. Her face falls into her open palms, and she feels like she can't breathe.
He's the only one that knows what it was like. He's the only one who can understand why she's done the things she's done.
That would have worked a few months ago, she muses, but not anymore. She betrayed their trust, and now she has to deal with it. The chance she had with him is gone; she's certain they can't even be friends anymore, let alone lovers, or whatever it is they were.
She has to try. She opens the car door, takes a deep breath, and plants her feet on the dirty pavement. She has to try because no one else could possibly understand her at this moment. She has to try because, damn it, she still loves him, and she knows that if he can only forgive her, then maybe they have a chance.
The hospital smells distinctly medical as she hurries through the doors and onto the elevator, praying that Alex is still there to let her into the room. He is, and he murmurs not to stay too long as he opens the door for her.
He's awake. He looks at her, his eyes weary and confused and angry. A deep breath, then, "I thought I told you--"
"--I heard you," she replies. "But I had to see you."
"What could you possibly want?" he asks, his voice low and slightly perturbed.
"I can't leave things this way with you."
His hands move restlessly over the blankets. "You left things with me three months ago in Paris. Don't try to change that now."
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair," he replies coolly. "Now get out."
"No," she challenges. "You've got to listen to me."
"I don't have to listen to you."
"What, are you going to get up and leave?"
His eyes are suddenly sharp and cutting. "That's low, Sydney."
"Whatever you think," she says dismissively. She pauses, watching his heart monitor. "You had us all pretty scared, you know."
"I'm fine," he says irritably.
"You're better than yesterday," she acquiesces. "Vaughn, you almost bled to death in the back seat of my father's car."
His brow furrows. "I remember it, Sydney."
"I thought you were going to die," she says softly.
"I thought I was going to die, too," he answers, his voice even and a little flippant.
She wants to strangle him for acting so aloof. "SD-6 is gone."
"Devlin told me."
"I told Francie and Will," she offers. "They didn't take it well."
"So you came here?" he asks. "Why the hell would you do that? I'm not going to try to make you feel better, Sydney. I played that part far too long. And after all those years of reassuring you, of worrying about you, you stepped on me. You absolutely betrayed me."
"I know," she says shakily, looking down at her hands.
"So why in the world are you here?"
"I don't know."
"I don't buy that." He coughs, suddenly, and she looks around quickly.
"Should I get someone? Vaughn...?"
He holds out a hand, wincing as the action disturbs an IV line. "I'm okay."
"I needed to talk to you. I needed to talk to someone who understands me."
"I'm not that person anymore."
"You were the only one," she says, her eyes pleading with him. "There isn't anyone else who even came close to knowing what my life is like."
"Was like," he corrects. "You're free to do whatever you want now."
"You know that's not true," she disagrees. "Nothing's ever going to be the same for me."
"Well," he begins, "I suppose that's something you'll have to think about." He pauses. "I'm tired. You'd better go."
She nods. "I'm ... I'm so sorry, Vaughn."
He shakes his head. "Too late for that."
"I am, anyway."
He looks at her, and then turns his face away. She walks out of the door and starts to head toward the exit before changing her mind; she heads back to the waiting room instead. There's no one in the room except Devlin, and he simply nods at her over his copy of the Times when she walks in. She nods in return, curls up in one of the chairs, and falls asleep.
Posted: Monday, May 13, 2002
Next week: {wind}