Part One of a new series centering on the so-called "normal" futures of Syd and Vaughn. Lots of humour and fluff, but also the stuff that makes live interesting. Hope you enjoy!
Title: Spy Bride
Series: Different Shade of Normal
Author: Dream Writer 4 Life
Rating: PG-13 (subject to change) for language, sexual innuendo, violence, and situations
Genre: Romance/Humour
Archived: FanFiction.Net, Cover Me, and SD-1. Anywhere else, just ask and you shall receive!
'Shippers' Paradise: S/V, F/Weiss, allusion to F/Will
Spoilers/Timeline: AU; no Evil!Francie, and Weiss and Francie are dating and Will, and Francie have dated, but everything from Season 2 is pretty much fair game (last two minutes of "Telling" excluded). Sloane, Sark, and Irina are on the loose, SD-6 is gone, and S/V are together.
Summary: "How many times do we have to try to get married before it actually happens?" Syd and Vaughn's numerous attempts at marriage. First in the Different Shade of Normal series. A Dream Writer Experience.
Suggested Soundtrack: Any love song ever written, which should include: "A Day Without Rain" by Enya, "Slumber my Darling" by Allison Kraus and Yo-Yo Ma, "What's Simple is True" by Jewel, "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette, "Best of Me" by Starting Line, "Memphis Soul Song" by Uncle Kracker, and "I Shall Believe" by Sheryl Crow
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it. Alias stuffs belong to JJ and Bad Robot. Things I do own: the poems in Syd's journal, Wally's Wacky Wedding World, Betty's Bridal Boutique, and a pack of gum. I am not, nor have I ever been, married, therefore things may be a bit off.
Author's Note: The poems are actually excerpts from songs that I wrote: "Lover's Scat", "True Love", and "Miracle". For full lyrics, contact me. Enjoy! And I seriously hope that you all listen to at least one of these songs while reading: they really set the tone.
Spy Bride
Chapter One: The First Attempt
'"Yes."
'It's been almost a year since I said that word, and I still can't believe this is happening.
'I'm getting married.
'Not just to anyone, either; to my one, my love, my life, my guardian angel: Michael C. Vaughn. Every time I even think about him, my stomach does this funny little dance/flip-flop thing and this stupid grin threatens to introduce my lips to my ears. I love him so much.
'I've never felt this way about anyone before: with Danny, it was more of an infatuation, puppy love, even; and Noah…yeah, I just wanted his body. No one could ever compare to Michael — Vaughn — no wait a second; I had it right the first time. (See, I've slowly been introducing his first name into my vocabulary, despite his incessant insisting that I call him whatever the hell comes out first; I think he's tired of me stumbling over myself and back tracking to make sure I said the right name.)
'And I miss him so much. Ever since we announced our engagement, we haven't seen each other for more than three days in a row. For some reason, I can't help but blame my father for that in some capacity. Every single mission to a far-off land that has come in to the Ops Centre, my father has suggested one or the other of us, but never both together. He made a mistake once, though. He had sent me on a simple grab-and-run in Naples, Italy, while forgetting that Vaughn — Michael! — and Weiss were doing reconnaissance in Rome. Needless to say, I didn't come home with my operation's team. I honestly think that my father is single-handedly responsible for our yearlong engagement. Kendall is even starting to feel sorry for us.
'Francie is beginning to be particularly persistent that we just pick a date and get on with it. On one of my rare days alone with Vaughn — Michael! — she dragged me out of bed to start choosing a gown. She's got so many lists scattered throughout the house that it's a wonder we have any paper left at all! Florists (their specialty flowers, prices, numbers, addresses, and how nice they are), reception halls (capacities, prices, numbers, addresses, and the quality of the paint job), and even DJ's! I don't think I get to plan my honeymoon with the man; she's probably got a list for that somewhere. She told me that I better hurry up: the wedding cake in the freezer at her restaurant is getting stale. Only half of me believes she is joking.
'Boy, is she going to be surprised when she sees how Eric is handling the Best Man duties. After being appointed to the position, he spent five minutes planning the bachelor party and declared himself done, flopping down on my couch with a beer to watch football. I had left the room before Francie could claw out his eyes or beat him to a bloody pulp.
'I'm just so tired of all this — this messing around. Sometimes I find myself wondering why we just can't skip the actual wedding and go straight to being newlyweds who spend twelve hours out of the day in bed. Ah, that would be the life.'
She smiled and giggled aloud as she re-read her entry. It had been Vaughn's idea to keep "wedding journals" during their engagement so that they wouldn't go completely crazy. Love letters were impractical, phone calls expensive, and emails impersonal. They shared the same beat-up blue journal, writing in it whenever they were at home for more than five seconds. And when the blue moon came and the couple was in the same city at the same time, they would look over what they wrote and laugh for hours.
But this wasn't one of those rare days. He was in Paris doing…something for her father while she had been home alone, laying on his side of the bed most of the day to immerse herself in his scent and looking through their crazy journal. Francie had dragged Weiss off his ass and to every single tux rental place within a hundred-mile radius. And Will…well, Syd thought that he said he was out with his new girlfriend, but he could have also said that his new girlfriend was out and he was going to work. Either way, he wasn't there, and Syd was home alone with her thoughts.
Reading it over for a second time, her pen hovered over two words, hesitating to strike them through. She had called him her guardian angel so often that he had eventually become so self-conscious that he asked her to stop. To appease him she complied, much to his relief. But little did he know that she had shortened the saying to "G.A." whenever he was around, and it elongated the moment he was out of earshot. Though she believed Weiss might have told him once, Vaughn never broached the subject again. Sydney secretly thought that he considered it endearing.
Not bothering to be neat, she signed her name and fastened the journal's covers together with a red ribbon, a stripe of passion running through a sea of the mundane. Both it and the pen slid from her slim fingers and to the hardwood floor underneath her chair. She was sitting in her bedroom upon a chair that she had dragged in front of her window from the kitchen. Her feet were propped up on the windowsill, knees poking up under her chin. Loose hair spilled over them, occasionally brushed back by the breeze through the open window in front of her; the same one that gently played with the filmy white curtains, undulating around her hunched form. When they flittered across her bare arms they tickled, but that wasn't the reason a contented smile had strung itself upon her lips. The fairy-light touches were reminiscent of Michael's caresses as they had lain together in bed so many times before.
Her spectacular view included a brick wall, a dirty alleyway, and a dumpster, but to her it couldn't have been more perfect. The shadows that the late afternoon light always produced at this time of day never ceased to hold her breath captive. At this time, the sun's rays really were that fabled golden-yellow and bathed everything within its reach in an ethereal ambrosia of light. It flowed through the panes of glass and onto her toes; she curled and uncurled them, manipulating the shadows for her imagination's benefit. She hugged her knees and clasped her hands over her shins; she would usually reside in that same position until the last remnants of twilight had played out.
This small window of time was the one she loved the best. People were just getting out of work and heading to their homes, their lovers, their families. After an entire eight hours of keeping a straight face, smiles would allow dimples and imperfect teeth to display themselves for the world to gawk at. Before — when Michael hadn't been officially hers to keep in her heart — she'd despised this time of day, even went so far as to hole herself up in her closet under the pretense of reorganizing it. But now…Now no one could keep her away form her Window of Observation. It was only a matter of time until she'd be one of those smiling people, grinning like someone had stapled her cheeks as she met her husband on their doorstep. To be able to even think those words — let alone the prospect of ever living them — was enough to send a thrill of dreamy delight throughout her veins. It was all a matter of time.
She could see it all so clearly.
Somehow she'd get home before him, practically speeding to pull into their driveway first. No matter how long they would be married, she knew she'd always feel the need to beautify herself for him, and he'd always insist that no matter what she looked like, she'd always be the most beautiful creature he ever saw. So she'd strip off all her make-up, throw on a pair of worn jeans and one of his shirts, and station herself outside their front door. It didn't matter if they had a deck or not, although she knew they each wanted a large house with a porch; it would serve as an incentive to fill it with children. So she'd sit on their front stoop or porch steps, leaning in the entryway or against a banister respectively, and wait in her beloved afternoon light for her beloved husband to come home. And when he did, she'd pounce on him before he even had a chance to close his car door. Then they'd walk into their house hand in hand, make and eat dinner side by side, and then she'd reclaim her spot on their stoop/porch with him opposite her to watch the sun slip into the Land of Dreams like a twig into quicksand. And as the first stars began their nightly vigil, he would lead her into their bedroom and make love to her until they were both utterly spent.
Sydney sighed happily at the wonderful prospect, the sound almost startling her in the near stillness that hung about her like a warm blanket. It suddenly dawned on her that she had about a million other things that she should be doing at that moment, but not one of them seemed as important as lightly sketching out her Castle in the Sky. The picture was in pencil, of course; she didn't want any thing but one to be carved in stone. 'Michael' was tattooed all over her future in the most permanent marker to be found; everything else could change a mile a minute, but as long as he was constant, it simply didn't matter. Not in the slightest.
This was what she should have written in the journal, she realized too late. It wouldn't have made either of them laugh particularly hard, but it would have evoked that sense of peace each of them maintained whenever the puzzle pieces of their lives slipped from their hands and simply pulled themselves together. The same sense of peace that was weaving itself into her blanket of silence.
Suddenly a flurry of activity began buzzing in her brain: words were forming, sentences gluing together, stanzas tearing themselves apart. Instinctively, she reached down to the journal, hurriedly untied the ribbon, threw away the cap, and penned these words:
'People say a perfect love
Has no place in the world
That it doesn't exist in the way that
You and I know it to be
'Objects may block our way
People, places, things
All that the world has to bring
'But I know one thing to be true
In my heart and yours
Everything is gonna be all right
'Mountains may be high
And the way might be hard
Rivers may be wide
With their shores far away
The road might be long
And your feet are tired and blue
But it will always lead me back to you
'It's been a long, hard relationship
Things haven't turned out the way we planned
But we roll with the punches, I have another hunch
It is downhill from here
'We've been together so long,
No chance that this could be wrong
And it feels so right
'No matter what people say
We will never stray from
Each other's side
'I knew at once
We were meant to be
You and me forever
It's our destiny
When trouble blocks our way
We'll wait another day
And we'll get through
Because our love is true
'I'm not weak
I can hold my own against anyone
But sometimes even the strong need someone
To lean on
'When it's dark
You're the only ray that lights my way
The only one who's not afraid
Of skeletons
'When it's bleak
You stand tall and brave to fight against it all
To back me up as my second
Standing in my corner
'I need a miracle
To save me from this world
I need a miracle
To help me be the girl I wanna be
I need a miracle
'Cause everywhere I turn there's someone
Knocking down my door
And they won't go away
I need a miracle today
'You're my miracle.'
Her pen stilled and she smoothed the paper with a cramping hand. Boy, would she have a job of explaining that one to Michael when it was his turn to pick up the journal. The rhyme schemes were disjointed, the flow and pattern jumbled, and some of the phrases were cheesy clichés that were rich enough to spread on a Triscuit, but she didn't care; the emotion and sincerity was there, and that was all that counted in the end.
She had refastened the covers of the journal and was searching the floor in the waning light for her poor pen's cap when a sharp rap on the doorframe was heard. Looking up sharply in shock, she blushed when she saw Francie bracing herself in the entryway. Sydney straightened up and covertly slid the notebook into its hiding place under the mattress. "Hey Fran. What's up?"
Her friend smiled from her position and jabbed her thumb towards the kitchen. "Eric wanted a beer, but he was too cheap to stop at a bar and actually buy one. He's raiding the fridge right now. What were you doing?" She added, narrowing her eyes playfully at the uncapped pen still clutched in Sydney's hand.
Tossing it onto her nightstand she shrugged indifferently. "Oh, nothing. I found this under the bed and thought it was Mike's."
"Alright. Oh hey!" Francie's eyes glowed as they lit upon one of her friend's favourite sweaters. "Can I borrow that? Eric and I are heading back out when he finishes his beer. We'll be back late, maybe not at all. Don't wait up. And it's your turn to do laundry this week." Grabbing the article of clothing, she winked and blew out of the room without letting Sydney say another word.
Shrugging to herself, Syd headed towards her closet to gather her dirty laundry from the hamper. She was still trying to get accustomed to her best friend and Michael's best friend actually, seriously dating. For the moment, though, she decided to leave the enigma alone and just complete her task at hand. Dragging out the hamper, she lugged it down the hall to the laundry room.
It was a room small enough to be almost classified as a closet that she and Francie hadn't known what to do with. After deciding against a large walk-in closet (which would have prompted a fight), they opted to turn it into a laundry/sewing/ironing room — not that either of them did much sewing or ironing. The major reason for the uncertainty was the fact that there was a large bay window with a plush window seat. It was just an all-around odd space, but Sydney was grateful for its uniqueness for it gave her yet another niche to sit and think in.
Francie's belongings were already sorted; all Sydney needed to do was throw hers into the fray. Switching on the washer, she haphazardly tossed in a load of whites and some detergent before letting the lid slide from her fingertips. Her backside gradually found the padded window seat and nestled into it. She leaned back against a panel of panes and folded her legs into the small space, settling her hands onto her stomach softly. From this vantage point, she could see the alley on the opposite side of the apartment building. This one held little more to ogle at: a discarded tire was propped up against an almost identical dumpster and more garbage was being tossed about in the amplified wind. But the same golden glaze was airbrushed over everything, allowing her mind to slip back into the mode it was in before she had been so rudely interrupted.
Tilting her head back, it slid of its own accord across the slick surface until it came to rest against a wooden divider. She sighed heavily in content as the warm light hit her face; the intensity wasn't as blinding as the midday sun, so she was able to let her eyes adjust and keep staring unseeingly up the alley. As the machine groaned to life her mind wandered, not really devoting itself to any particular issue, but idly wondering about this or that. She though about whether their kids would have his eyes, her dimples, and his disposition; her skills, his loyalty, and her stubbornness. She imagined her father walking her down the aisle, her Prince Charming at its pinnacle, and her father shedding the first tear she'd ever seen him conjure. In her mind's eye, she could see the two newlyweds arriving at a house — their house — and he would carry her over the threshold like they only did in movies and cheesy romance novels. She would laugh loudly and slap his arm, saying that it would be the last time he would carry her anywhere, even if she had no legs and had to drag herself around on her knuckles.
Sydney was so lost in her fantasy world that she was barely aware of the shadow that had blocked her precious light, lingering a fraction of a second longer than would a passerby. It registered too late, and by the time that her eyes locked onto the head of the alley, the shape had passed, leaving her to glare openly at the orange orb half-hidden by gaping high-rises. Thinking nothing more of the disturbance, her imagination slipped into overdrive yet again, the blueprints of her castle pulled from their temporary file.
Her brain had calmed long enough to pick a topic to commit to. She was sketching out their wedding night when the washing machine ground to a halt before the cycle was complete. Sydney groaned: this was the single reason that she hated doing their laundry. She absentmindedly thought that they needed a new set of appliances, but remembered a fraction of a second later that she wouldn't be living there for much longer (hopefully). Rising from her comfortable position she crossed to the uncooperative contraption.
"Why won't you work, you stupid piece of crap?" She demanded of the inanimate object, kicking the side of it and hitting the control panel at the same time. Frowning at it she added, "You never do this for anyone else! Why aren't you as nice to me as you are to Michael? I bought you, damn it!"
"You know, they say talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity."
"They also say that about watching FOX, but does that seem to stop anybody?" She shot back without thinking. Syd was still half in her dream state, so it took her a few seconds to realize that she'd just had a verbal exchange with someone and the washer hadn't been talking back to her. Whipping around to face the doorway, her eyes widened and she gasped in disbelief. "Michael?" She managed to croak; her throat had suddenly gone as dry as Death Valley.
He was leaning nonchalantly against the wooden doorframe in his casual-yet-dressy clothes, admittedly worn for her benefit and her benefit alone: her favourite black leather jacket, frayed jeans, threadbare t-shirt, and yes, there was the holster going up around his shoulder. An arm that had been hidden in the hallway appeared and brandished a bouquet of long-stemmed…lollipops? She tripped over herself in her rush to reach him and flung her arms around his neck in a grip akin to a chokehold. The force of the length of her body colliding with his sent him stumbling backwards into the wall of the hallway. She began a savage assault on his lips, neck, throat, any patch of exposed skin that she could reach, and he laughed as she let her tongue trail along his jawbone.
"Miss me much?"
Pausing in her attack, she took his head in her hands and looked him square in the eyes. "You have no idea."
He laughed again and regretfully stopped her roving lips and hands. Offering her the bouquet, she merely tossed the novelty items onto the floor, and they shattered as they clattered to the hard wood. She hesitated for a moment, her dreamy mind captivated by the way the candy pieces glittered like broken crystal in the lake of light they had been cast into. Taking advantage of her momentary disillusionment, Michael steered her into their bedroom and to their bed, still grinning like a madman. His travel bag was sitting neatly next to the dresser, shoes standing guard in front of them.
Her disbelief melted away as he tugged the journal out from under the mattress, and she asked the question that had been nagging in the back of her mind since she first saw him in the doorway. "Why are you here? I though you were still supposed to be in Paris."
"What, you don't want me here? 'Cause if you don't, I could always hitchhike my way back. Somehow."
Wrapping her arms about his middle, Sydney pulled herself closer as he began to read her most recent entry. "I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world. But how the hell did you manage it? I mean, my father couldn't exactly have been the most compliant person to work around."
He sniggered quietly as he read over the mention of her father. "Well," He answered, slightly preoccupied, "let's just say that Will is awesome, Weiss is a god, and we owe Dixon big-time."
Sydney couldn't help but laugh, muffling her sound with his chest. "And why might that be? I hope you didn't promise him our first-born child, Michael, because I already did to Francie; retribution for putting up with us all these years."
Michael chuckled shortly, breezing through her mess of muddled rhymes and securing the covers yet again. "No, nothing like that; just a good, home-cooked meal for him and his family. I suggest you call on Francie for another cuisine-related favour; we still have our second-born's life to bargain with, you know." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for a real explanation as to his presence. "Alright! Weiss was getting annoyed at me for incessantly complaining about missing you, so he asked Will to concoct a phony mission for Dixon and me to go on. Dixon actually flew to Paris while I…flew somewhere else."
"Where?" She pried warily.
Blushing slightly, he looked away. "Montana." She laughed and wrinkled her nose, dimples practically concaving her cheeks. "What? I've never been! And I never will go again. Do you know how incredibly boring it is to sit in an airport for five hours, entertaining yourself with only a straw wrapper and the lid of a Snapple jar?"
She gestured flatly to her barren room. "I can imagine."
He exhaled sharply through his nose and wrapped his arms around her spooned form. "Well, at least you have Will, Francie, and Weiss to keep you company. I had said Snapple cap and wrapper."
Syd sighed wistfully as a watered-down film of sorrow slid over her eyes. "Not really. They've all been avoiding me like the plague. Weiss is following Francie around like a lost puppy; Will's either been working or forcing Weiss to a bar to help him pick up chicks; and Fran…All she talks about is the wedding. It's amazing: after an entire year of engagement she still hasn't run out of things to plan or organize or beat me over the head with repeatedly."
"Are you kidding me? She's still going on about our wedding?"
"Like a dog after a bone! Her enthusiasm has not diminished in the slightest." She sighed once again and laid her head back down on his chest. Opening her mouth to say something, she suddenly froze; a lock and a catch had clicked once respectively from the front of the apartment. Her last breath burned in her lungs for a solid minute after the noise ceased as she listened for any signs of an intruder. Michael was oblivious to everything, adding to her growing doubt about the actuality of the noise; maybe it was just her overactive imagination providing a reality check for their perfection. She mentally shrugged it off as his hand traveled up her bare arm to cup her shoulder. "Sometimes I just wish we could skip the wedding, do away with all of this mess. Get right to the honeymoon, you know?"
Syd's smiling eyes met Michael's serious face. She could practically see the wheels turning inside his head, his thought process evolving and hatching a plan right before her. "What if we could?"
"What are you talking about?" She asked circumspectly, her eyes narrowed to slits.
His eyes were ablaze with excitement, joy, and passion. He sat up on the bed and turned to face his fiancée, who was still lying down, façade a mix of confusion and caution. "Just think! We can get away from all of this crap and just…be together."
"No, Vaughn!" She exclaimed, ignoring his involuntary wince as she used his last name. Also sitting up she continued, "No! Whatever you're thinking about doing, I'm not going to help you."
He sighed and shook his head dismissively. "It's nothing bad, Syd. Completely the opposite, even." Michael took her hands in his, clasping them together into a mass of flesh, bones, and muscle. He gazed directly into her brown orbs, using the same stare he used on their first date in France, a small smile lilting the corner of his mouth. "Let's go to Las Vegas. Let's go to Vegas and get married."
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and she blinked in disbelief. "What?"
"Vegas, Syd! Let's go to Vegas and get married in one of those little chapels."
"Are you on something?"
"I am completely clean. Not even a trace of jetlag."
"Are you sick? Do you have a fever? You feel a little warm, I think you have a fever."
"I'm not sick, Sydney! This is a completely plausible idea. And an attractive one, if I do say so myself."
"We are not getting married at the Bedrock Wedding Chapel dressed as Fred and Wilma Flinstone."
"There are other places to get married besides cheap, themed circuses."
"We can't just go without telling everyone! We need to make plans, call for reservations, research the best chapel…"
"Why hello, Francie. Since when did your spirit inhabit my fiancée's body?"
"But—" Sydney started, turning her back to him as she thought of a tenable argument. Why was she fighting this so valiantly? Wasn't she the one who hinted at doing something like that in the first place? The more she thought about it, turned it over and over in her brain, the more the idea was starting to grow on her. Francie wouldn't be there to obsess over the exact position of every flower or the song list of the DJ; Weiss wouldn't be lounging around, tossing out his characteristically blunt sarcastic and withering comments at the most inopportune times. Her father wouldn't be glaring the Death Glare at Michael from his seat; and her mother couldn't feel any more proscribed than anyone else. The part of her that was protesting at the picket lines was slowly dissolving, giving way to Michael and the fire hoses. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea…
"So? What to you say?"
She shifted to face him, her breath coming in deep, slow drags as she affirmed and reaffirmed her decision in her head. "All right. Let's go."
* * *
Driving through the desert during the hours of twilight and dusk only served to jumpstart Sydney's imagination again. After hastily throwing a change of clothes each into a single overnight bag, the pair flew to Vaughn's pick-up truck (they were planning to drive back into the desert, park on the side of the road, and enjoy their wedding night to the fullest extent) and took off in the general direction of Las Vegas. They'd only actually driven to the gambling capitol of the world once: on a road trip with Will and Francie when they were still going out. Fran had been driving, and neither of them had been paying particularly close attention to their route…This time, though, she was soaking up her surroundings while the soft jazz/blues of B.B. King, Ella Fitzgerald, and even Kenny G. floated through the speakers on the dashboard.
The sun was only a finger's width above the smooth horizon, barely a sliver of orange peeking out from under the sandy covers. It was the time of day when staring at the sun sent a thrill of warmth around one's eyeballs instead of the stinging sensation one would receive from the midday sun. The windows were rolled all the way down, allowing the rapidly cooling air to whip around inside, warming itself before careening back out as if from a slingshot. The serene sand acted as a mirror, reflecting the picturesque artwork of the sky back up into the heavens, doubling the joy it gave off. Stratums of yellow, pink, orange, blue, purple, and black were layered one upon another, blended as if on an artist's palate so that no meeting or parting was obvious. It gave a sense of seamless transitioning, calm, and overall peace.
But soon the last ray of natural light flickered out over the horizon and died, giving way to the barrage of stars that dotted the sky like the headlights of galactic cars. They twinkled and winked at her through the windshield, open windows, back of the cab…all around. The night fell upon them so slowly that when it reached its totality, neither of them noticed; each was too absorbed in the other to care much about anything else.
They were holding hands. It was the simplest of gestures, but yet a few years ago neither of them would have dared to try. Now there they were, snuggling in his car, dressed as themselves, on their way to elope in Las Vegas. They were light-years away from the agent-handler partnership that had aided greatly in the takedown of all the SD cells across the world. And, God, was she glad that they were.
She sighed happily as she shifted to stretch out across the bench, laying her head down on his right thigh and looking out of the windshield at the stars, feeding off of their camaraderie and romance. "I love you."
Syd could sense his grin as his hand alighted upon her brow, stroking back her hair gently. "I love you too, baby, but I don't know how long I can stand you laying like that"
It was her turn to grin stupidly. She grabbed their duffel bag from under the seat and placed it between her head and his lap. Settling back down she chided, "Is that better, you horn ball?"
"No," He answered honestly, risking a glance downwards. "You're so beautiful. Do I tell you that enough?"
Her cheeks burned as she averted her eyes back up to the sky. She never knew just how to respond to his blunt and frequent compliments; perhaps that was why he'd asked her to hold off on the guardian angel thing. Chuckling inwardly, she shook her head: neither of them could take a compliment.
"What?"
Michael had noticed her silent musings. The shake of her head was more pronounced this time as she dismissed his question. Her eyes gravitated back towards the ever-increasing amount of stars, beginning to compete with an artificial glow on the horizon in front of them. "We're not drunk, are we?"
"No." His voice held a twinge of amusement, but she didn't care.
"And we're not drugged?"
"I hope not."
"There's no gun to my head?"
"If there is, it's invisible. Or really, really small."
"Neither of us is dying from some disease?"
"Unless you know something that I don't, no."
"My dad isn't planning on sending you to Tibet for a year?"
"Not to my knowledge. Look, Syd…" Michael tore his eyes away from the road in front of him to gaze into the face he wanted to spend the rest of his life waking up next to. "Are you have second thoughts about this?"
"No!" She answered, a bit too quickly and inflected for his taste. He frowned at her, prompting a more honest response. "I just — I always envisioned my wedding day when I was a little girl, and it looked nothing like this."
"You were the one who wanted a way out!" He cried. "But if you really don't want to do this, we can turn around and head back to LA, or we could go to Vegas, get a room for the night, and call everyone to make sure they haven't all gone into cardiac arrest—"
"I know I was the one who wanted this," She interrupted, gluing her eyes to his brow. His wrinkles had broken out again — ones she hadn't seen in at least a year — and she reached up to smooth them with her thumb. "Which is why I want to keep going. We can have a real wedding later. Right now…all I want is to be introduced to the world as Mrs. Michael Vaughn."
He smiled in relief. "There's nothing more I'd love than to make you Mrs. Michael Vaughn."
They simmered into amiable silence as the last tremulous note of the CD waned and turned off, automatically switching to the radio. A familiar and ironic tune met their ears.
"I'm goin' to the chapel and I'm gonna get married…"
Almost instantaneously, laughter filled the cab of the pick-up as the old song continued, the knobs of the radio untouched by its convulsing tenants. After a minute or so, Sydney had the presence of mind to switch it off, as they were entering the city, and the last thing they needed was to get into an accident on account of Michael laughing so hard he cried.
As Sydney sat upright, an onslaught of sights and sounds invaded her senses. The harsh neon and artificial lights stung her eyes and made them tear; they were a stark contrast from the soft, candle-like luminescence in the desert. It was definitely louder: all the sounds a car could make (from clunking to screeching to honking), snippets of lounge acts through open doors, and many, many conversations. The change was disconcerting and overwhelming, making Sydney feel as if she were an ant in the middle of a large family reunion picnic. She subconsciously shrunk back against Michael, who simply smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, bringing her even closer to him.
The first wedding chapel that looked as if it didn't have a crazy theme (or involved Elvis at some point) was granted their service. Wally's Wacky Wedding World was a small — but respectable — add-on to one of the larger hotel/casinos near the outskirts where they had entered. Shifting the pick-up into park Michael sighed heavily, letting his hands fall into his lap. "Well…This is it. Are you sure you want to go through with this?"
Sydney met his eyes and covered his hands with hers. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life."
Neither knew who smiled first, but their combined wattage was almost as powerful as the many spotlights beaming into the well-lit sky. He pocketed the keys, scooped up their bag, slid out his side, and raced around the front of the car to open her door for her. The blush crept back into her cheeks as she took his hand and stepped out of the taller vehicle. Together, they walked hand in hand to the chapel's entrance. Michael opened the door for her, but when she stepped inside, she saw something that made her stop in her tracks, causing him to run smack into her.
There, in the reception/lobby area, were Eric Weiss, Francine Calfo, and Will Tippin sitting in chairs with cheap, moldy cushions.
Weiss stood up as soon as they entered. "Well, well, well! Fancy meeting you two here! What brings you to these parts?"
The couple's jaws dropped simultaneously. (Michael's grip on the duffel bag weakened as well, and gravity did the rest.) Neither could believe their eyes, and Sydney even blinked stupidly a few times to make sure that hers were working properly. She was the first to dust off her voice box. "What the hell…How did you…Why did you…Huh?"
Francie laughed as she, too, rose. "Nice to see that after eight years of college, you still have the vocabulary of a five-year-old with the mouth of Eric." Her boyfriend shot her a look but she ignored him.
Michael reclaimed the bag, clasping his fiancée's hand tighter as Will stood up as well. "What she meant to ask was what the hell are you guys doing here?"
"We found you out!" Weiss replied in a singsong voice. Will quickly stuck out his tongue.
"How?" Syd and Michael inquired together.
"Let's just say that, unfortunately for us, your bedroom is not soundproof." Weiss raised his eyebrows, ensuring that they understood the double entendre. When neither of them looked particularly enlightened he continued, "Fran got tired of literally dragging me to all the tux rentals in the state of California, so we went back to your place again. When I saw that Mike's old beater was in your driveway, I figured he'd gotten back from his 'mission', but Fran insisted on grabbing a different pair of shoes before heading out again. That's when we heard you talking about your little eloping excursion. And subsequently decided to follow you; you know, keep you two crazy kids from doing something you'll regret later."
As if on cue, Francie stepped closer to her best friend. "How dare you try to skip out on your own wedding? I've spent a year — a year — planning and organizing everything for you, and this is how you repay me?! Some kind of friend you are, not allowing the most important friend in her life the pleasure of seeing her marry the guy of her dreams, and — best of all — be the over-bearing best friend who obsesses over everything! Please, Syd, don't go through with this. Come home so we can do it right."
Syd sighed heavily and leaned her body against Michael's for support. He squeezed her hand and she felt him smile down at the top of her head, infusing thoughts into her brains: thoughts of mirth, sarcasm, and most of all love. She took a deep, cleansing breath before she answered. "Fine. Let's go home. If all of you are so dead-set again our wedding at Wally's Wacky Wedding World—"
"Yes!"
"—Then let's go."
They all made a move for the door but Michael still stood in its metal frame, blocking it. "You still never fully explained how you found us. How did you know we'd go here?"
Weiss and Francie both looked at Will. "Your father," He answered simply, shrugging his shoulders. "He's got one huge-ass collection of connections."
"Otherwise he wouldn't be my father," Syd muttered under her breath. Raising her voice she added, "And where is he now? Please don't tell me he's in the actual chapel waiting to see if you couldn't stop us."
"Nope. He's waiting in the car."
The duffel bag dropped again, but Michael made no move to pick it up. "You're kidding. I guess this rules out staying in Vegas for the night."
Weiss rolled his eyes. "No really. Like Mister I've-Got-A-Stick-So-Far-Up-My-Ass-That-It's-Poking-My-Brain is going to give us a day off just because we had to stop his daughter from eloping! And anyway," He added, looking directly at his best friend, "if we had to drive three hours through rush hour traffic with Sydney Bristow's father, I think we deserve some nice, calming, asleep-at-the-wheel action. Now I know where she got her crazy driving skills from, Mike."
"But not all of us can fit in my truck, Eric—"
"Oh we'll fit, all right. We'll fit if I have to sit on your lap while you drive. I am not riding with Spy Daddy for one more minute!"
"Fine!" Michael snapped, snatching the bag and throwing it roughly at his friend. "Get in the damn car!" All three of the intruders filed eagerly out of the door, Eric already on his cell phone telling Jack that their 'mission' was accomplished. He turned to Sydney with a mixture of sadness and disappointment in his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby. I know you wanted this just as much as I do."
She shrugged dismissively, leading him out of the chapel and towards his vehicle. "Ah, it's okay. Maybe it's better this way; maybe we weren't supposed to get married like this. Maybe every major milestone in our lives together is supposed to include fanfare and pomp and circumstance." He laughed shortly as he dug his keys out of his pocket. "Oh, and by the way," She added slyly. "I'll take up Weiss's offer of sitting on your lap. I'm sure you'd enjoy me much more, anyway."
Somehow they all fit in the small cab; well, Will was forced into the truck's bed, then Syd felt sorry for him and followed, and Francie joined them, then Michael kicked Eric into the back for messing with the radio stations too much. From the back, Syd could see an insignificant black shape tailing them down the desert road at a distance. And in her heart, she was comforted.
