-Before reading this, I feel compelled to warn you that it is long and
contains more angst that I thought possible. I know that this is a little
harsher than Sydney's true reaction, but this is how I would have taken the
news. So be aware that if you are still to fragile to take the screaming
and yelling that is about to occur between everyone's favorite star-crossed
lovers than stay away from this chapter. Basically its just Sydney reacting
to Vaughn about the damned ring the same we did.
-Alright, I am gravely disappointed at the mere two reviews I have received ( Can we try and improve that? Oh, I don't know, at least double digits would be nice . . .
-There may be some weird formating in this but I still havent figured out how to keep things italicized and such as of yet. Bare with me.
-
-
-
I'm frightened by what I see But somehow I know that there's much more to come Immobilized by my fear And soon blinded by my tears I can stop the pain if I will it all away -Whisper, Evanescence
*
Millions of questions are running through her head, and there isn't an answer for any of them. Where she is, why she's here, why her body is so weary with pain . . .none of it makes any sense. Why in the hell would she be lying in the middle of an alley in Hong Kong?
Something's wrong, and she knows it.
Choosing to ignore her gut, she closes her eyes trying to piece things together, but they immediately fly back open at the image that she recalls.
Francie.
*Oh, God. * The tears begin to flow at the reminder of the betrayal, at the pain that had surged through her arm the moment she fired the first shot. It was not the real Francie, it was not her Francie, but it was still her face. She shakes her head at the obviousness of it all; all the facts pointed to her. She *should * have known. Her behavior had been strange for some time now, and she should have acted on that. But she didn't. She was blinded by the comfort of her one last link to normalcy, and she may have killed Will in the process.
It dawns on her that the last two days have been the most emotionally tasking in her life. Francie, Will, Sloane, Sark, her father, her mother. Everything was slowly spiraling downhill, all because of some damned prophecy made nearly 500 years ago.
Vaughn was her only link back to life, her salvation. He had been her rock countless times and she would never be able to repay him for that. Without him, she would have nothing. She was surprised to find that the admittance of this dependency did not make her feel weaker, but instead stronger than she had ever been.
Eventually the tears subside and she notices a tarnished mirror in the corner. When she makes her way over to the broken glass, the figure looking back at her sends a chill down her spine. She recognizes it as herself, the same chocolate eyes and strong jaw line, but somehow it's not her. Something is different, not the same as it was the day before, but she can't but a finger on it. Immediately she looks away, not wanting to consider the possibilities.
Instead she takes a moment to survey the room around her. It's dark, and damp, and looks as if it hasn't been touched in years. Which she knows isn't possible because she was here just a few months ago due to a mission gone awry.
A sudden sharp pain in her stomach interrupts her thoughts after absently running into the side of a bed. Taking a deep breath, she is shocked at the affect it had on her, something so minimal usually does not faze her. Reaching under the heavy sweater she does not remember ever purchasing her hands find a strip of raw, raised skin stretching for about three inches across her stomach. And it hits her.
The scars, the blood from the battle, are all gone. The pain she feels is not from the fight form earlier, they are no where to be found. She rushes to the mirror and her hands run across her face searching for cleaned scars, and she comes up empty. But before she has time to ponder the reasons why the door slowly squeaks open.
He is finally here.
She takes no more time than necessary to make her way across the room and into his arms, allowing him to absorb her pain as always. After staying that way for a moment, she begins to bombard him with questions, ignoring the voice inside her head screaming that there is something wrong.
"Francie was the double."
"I know."
"How are they? Will, Francie . . ."
"Will's ok."
"What? How . . . "
She cannot help but notice that he is avoiding her eyes, something he has never done. As he motions for her to sit she searches in vain for the gentle green she depends on for comfort. Suddenly she can no longer ignore the screaming in her head.
"They asked me to come back to explain . . ."
"Come back from where?"
"They thought you were dead . . ."
"Vaughn?"
What she sees next stops her breathing completely.
There is a *wedding * band on his *ring * finger.
" . . . Why are you wearing that ring?"
"Sydney, you have been missing for two years."
She knows that this should shock her, that it should send her into a fit of fury. She should be screaming at him, telling him how that cannot be true. But she does not. She wants to, but she can't. Because the only question running through her mind at the moment is why he is wearing that ring.
"The RING Vaughn."
"Syd, I don't think that I should . . ."
"What have I *said * about patronizing me!"
"Syd, I . . .I'm . . ."
"Yes?"
"I'm married."
No. Nononononononono.
She shoots up from her spot on the ancient bed and her hands fly to cover her face. It can't be true. It can't. She knows he wouldn't lie to her about this, but she won't believe it.
"No."
He still avoids her eyes, locking in on the battered ground.
"Please . . .*please * tell my you're kidding. Vaughn?"
He gets up and walks towards her, placing a soft hand on her arm, taking the old role of consoling her when her life fell apart. The difference was, this time it was his fault. He had done this to her.
"Sydney, I am . . ."
"Don't TOUCH me."
She violently shakes him off of her, yet his presence still lingers and she despises the feeling of warmth his touch brings to her cold body. She wants to scream, to cry, to yell, but she doesn't. There are no more tears.
"Get OUT."
"Don't do this Sydney . . ."
"Don't do WHAT Vaughn? Do you think you can just pretend that you didn't give up me, that things are the same and that you can hold me a whisper sweet nothings and make it go away?"
He raises his voice at her accusation, matching her fury.
"I did NOT give up on you! How dare you throw that at me!"
"Then why the *hell * is there a wedding band on your finger? You may have tried to tell yourself otherwise, but don't do that to me. Don't pretend to be someone you aren't."
"This is just as hard on me Sydney, do you realize that?"
"Christ, Vaughn, how can you say that? I have been missing for two years, and instead of taking the time to find me you went and got hitched! You of ALL people know that missing is not the same as dead, just look at the circumstances damnit! I would NOT have moved on after you Vaughn, not after only two years, not *ever *. Apparently I was misled on your feelings for me."
At this, he moves his face so it is inches from hers. She knows she struck a cord, she can see the pain and anguish in his eyes behind the growing layers of tears. During all they have been through, she has never seen him cry. And for the briefest of second she regrets her harsh words. And then it passes. His words are choked, but his voice is firm.
"Don't you EVER doubt my feelings for you. I LOVE you Sydney; you cannot deny me of that. I won't *let * you."
While it may be true, the sting of betrayal is still sharp, and she cannot see past her fury.
"I want you to leave, Vaughn."
He lets out a loud, painful sigh, and turns away from her. When he turns back to answer she notices that the tears have finally started to fall.
"Don't do this . . ."
"Vaughn, please. I can't look at you right now."
And that does it. He lets out a sob, the pain and sorrow written across his face. He begins softly, in retreat.
"We need to discuss your extraction."
"Send another agent."
"I flew here from LA, Sydney, we can't just get another agent. It's just me and the pilot."
"Then, just give me some time. I can't do this right now."
Again he sighs, shaking his head. He looks at her one last time, his love and raw passion for her more apparent than she has ever seen. Then, slowly, he exits the room. Leaving her behind was something he never though he would do. The moment he shuts the door, he hears the scream at nothing in particular, and the sound of random pieces of the room hitting the aged walls comes shortly after. His legs can no longer support the weight of his regret and he slumps against the door, drowning himself in the first tears he has cried in nearly two years.
-
-
-
-Yeah I know, I know . . . angry much? But don't lie, you feel the same way, don't you? I thought so. No go and review, I am begging you. To keep this going I need some kind of support . . .
-Alright, I am gravely disappointed at the mere two reviews I have received ( Can we try and improve that? Oh, I don't know, at least double digits would be nice . . .
-There may be some weird formating in this but I still havent figured out how to keep things italicized and such as of yet. Bare with me.
-
-
-
I'm frightened by what I see But somehow I know that there's much more to come Immobilized by my fear And soon blinded by my tears I can stop the pain if I will it all away -Whisper, Evanescence
*
Millions of questions are running through her head, and there isn't an answer for any of them. Where she is, why she's here, why her body is so weary with pain . . .none of it makes any sense. Why in the hell would she be lying in the middle of an alley in Hong Kong?
Something's wrong, and she knows it.
Choosing to ignore her gut, she closes her eyes trying to piece things together, but they immediately fly back open at the image that she recalls.
Francie.
*Oh, God. * The tears begin to flow at the reminder of the betrayal, at the pain that had surged through her arm the moment she fired the first shot. It was not the real Francie, it was not her Francie, but it was still her face. She shakes her head at the obviousness of it all; all the facts pointed to her. She *should * have known. Her behavior had been strange for some time now, and she should have acted on that. But she didn't. She was blinded by the comfort of her one last link to normalcy, and she may have killed Will in the process.
It dawns on her that the last two days have been the most emotionally tasking in her life. Francie, Will, Sloane, Sark, her father, her mother. Everything was slowly spiraling downhill, all because of some damned prophecy made nearly 500 years ago.
Vaughn was her only link back to life, her salvation. He had been her rock countless times and she would never be able to repay him for that. Without him, she would have nothing. She was surprised to find that the admittance of this dependency did not make her feel weaker, but instead stronger than she had ever been.
Eventually the tears subside and she notices a tarnished mirror in the corner. When she makes her way over to the broken glass, the figure looking back at her sends a chill down her spine. She recognizes it as herself, the same chocolate eyes and strong jaw line, but somehow it's not her. Something is different, not the same as it was the day before, but she can't but a finger on it. Immediately she looks away, not wanting to consider the possibilities.
Instead she takes a moment to survey the room around her. It's dark, and damp, and looks as if it hasn't been touched in years. Which she knows isn't possible because she was here just a few months ago due to a mission gone awry.
A sudden sharp pain in her stomach interrupts her thoughts after absently running into the side of a bed. Taking a deep breath, she is shocked at the affect it had on her, something so minimal usually does not faze her. Reaching under the heavy sweater she does not remember ever purchasing her hands find a strip of raw, raised skin stretching for about three inches across her stomach. And it hits her.
The scars, the blood from the battle, are all gone. The pain she feels is not from the fight form earlier, they are no where to be found. She rushes to the mirror and her hands run across her face searching for cleaned scars, and she comes up empty. But before she has time to ponder the reasons why the door slowly squeaks open.
He is finally here.
She takes no more time than necessary to make her way across the room and into his arms, allowing him to absorb her pain as always. After staying that way for a moment, she begins to bombard him with questions, ignoring the voice inside her head screaming that there is something wrong.
"Francie was the double."
"I know."
"How are they? Will, Francie . . ."
"Will's ok."
"What? How . . . "
She cannot help but notice that he is avoiding her eyes, something he has never done. As he motions for her to sit she searches in vain for the gentle green she depends on for comfort. Suddenly she can no longer ignore the screaming in her head.
"They asked me to come back to explain . . ."
"Come back from where?"
"They thought you were dead . . ."
"Vaughn?"
What she sees next stops her breathing completely.
There is a *wedding * band on his *ring * finger.
" . . . Why are you wearing that ring?"
"Sydney, you have been missing for two years."
She knows that this should shock her, that it should send her into a fit of fury. She should be screaming at him, telling him how that cannot be true. But she does not. She wants to, but she can't. Because the only question running through her mind at the moment is why he is wearing that ring.
"The RING Vaughn."
"Syd, I don't think that I should . . ."
"What have I *said * about patronizing me!"
"Syd, I . . .I'm . . ."
"Yes?"
"I'm married."
No. Nononononononono.
She shoots up from her spot on the ancient bed and her hands fly to cover her face. It can't be true. It can't. She knows he wouldn't lie to her about this, but she won't believe it.
"No."
He still avoids her eyes, locking in on the battered ground.
"Please . . .*please * tell my you're kidding. Vaughn?"
He gets up and walks towards her, placing a soft hand on her arm, taking the old role of consoling her when her life fell apart. The difference was, this time it was his fault. He had done this to her.
"Sydney, I am . . ."
"Don't TOUCH me."
She violently shakes him off of her, yet his presence still lingers and she despises the feeling of warmth his touch brings to her cold body. She wants to scream, to cry, to yell, but she doesn't. There are no more tears.
"Get OUT."
"Don't do this Sydney . . ."
"Don't do WHAT Vaughn? Do you think you can just pretend that you didn't give up me, that things are the same and that you can hold me a whisper sweet nothings and make it go away?"
He raises his voice at her accusation, matching her fury.
"I did NOT give up on you! How dare you throw that at me!"
"Then why the *hell * is there a wedding band on your finger? You may have tried to tell yourself otherwise, but don't do that to me. Don't pretend to be someone you aren't."
"This is just as hard on me Sydney, do you realize that?"
"Christ, Vaughn, how can you say that? I have been missing for two years, and instead of taking the time to find me you went and got hitched! You of ALL people know that missing is not the same as dead, just look at the circumstances damnit! I would NOT have moved on after you Vaughn, not after only two years, not *ever *. Apparently I was misled on your feelings for me."
At this, he moves his face so it is inches from hers. She knows she struck a cord, she can see the pain and anguish in his eyes behind the growing layers of tears. During all they have been through, she has never seen him cry. And for the briefest of second she regrets her harsh words. And then it passes. His words are choked, but his voice is firm.
"Don't you EVER doubt my feelings for you. I LOVE you Sydney; you cannot deny me of that. I won't *let * you."
While it may be true, the sting of betrayal is still sharp, and she cannot see past her fury.
"I want you to leave, Vaughn."
He lets out a loud, painful sigh, and turns away from her. When he turns back to answer she notices that the tears have finally started to fall.
"Don't do this . . ."
"Vaughn, please. I can't look at you right now."
And that does it. He lets out a sob, the pain and sorrow written across his face. He begins softly, in retreat.
"We need to discuss your extraction."
"Send another agent."
"I flew here from LA, Sydney, we can't just get another agent. It's just me and the pilot."
"Then, just give me some time. I can't do this right now."
Again he sighs, shaking his head. He looks at her one last time, his love and raw passion for her more apparent than she has ever seen. Then, slowly, he exits the room. Leaving her behind was something he never though he would do. The moment he shuts the door, he hears the scream at nothing in particular, and the sound of random pieces of the room hitting the aged walls comes shortly after. His legs can no longer support the weight of his regret and he slumps against the door, drowning himself in the first tears he has cried in nearly two years.
-
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-
-Yeah I know, I know . . . angry much? But don't lie, you feel the same way, don't you? I thought so. No go and review, I am begging you. To keep this going I need some kind of support . . .
