Title: "My Everything"
Author: Gemini21 (Jessica)
Beta: Kriz-te (Christy)
Rating: Not higher than PG-13
Disclaimer: All I'm going to say is this. If I did own Alias, would I be writing fanfiction?
Author's Note: There are NO spoilers for season 3 here. Just a "What if" idea that popped into my head and wouldn't leave. Also, this is AU-ish.
Ship: It's in the S/V forum for a reason.
Chapter 1
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It wasn't all supposed to turn out this way. Everything he had fought for, everything he had dreamed for, everything he had longed for was gone.
But that everything was only one thing. One person, to be exact.
Sydney Bristow.
It all happened so fast. He had dropped her off with a kiss, telling her that he would be back to take her to Santa Barbara. But just forty-five minutes later when he returned, she was dead.
He didn't know (and probably never would know) if it was the fire or Allison Dorren that killed her. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was neither.
That night wouldn't leave his head. It wouldn't leave. It haunted his thoughts.
Her funeral. That was another day of hell for him. He just wouldn't believe it. He would not believe that Sydney was dead.
So here he was. Two and a half weeks after Sydney's death. And Michael Vaughn was not dealing well. He had turned to alcohol for his problems. In those moments when he was drunk, he could forget his problems, and for once, be at peace.
Vaughn stumbled into Charlie's Bar after work one night and sat down at the bar. He was not in a good mood. The NSC had come into investigate Sydney's death. They seemed to believe that Sydney had been working with Irina Derevko, and that Sydney was alive, and had faked her death to go work with Irina.
That had led to a huge fight between the CIA versus the NSC. Jack and Vaughn wouldn't have that. They began a shouting match with Robert Lindsey and Lauren Reed. It was Dixon who ended up calling the match quits.
Dixon. He was taking Sydney's death hard. The same woman that had murdered his wife had killed Sydney.
The CIA had realized that Francie was not the real Francie a week after Sydney's death. She was the second double. Allison Georgia Dorren had been partially responsible for Sydney's murder.
Will was still in a coma. The doctors said that it was a miracle that he wasn't dead. His stab wound was deep, and his other injuries were severe.
"What will you have?" the bartender asked.
"Jack Daniels," Vaughn answered.
The bartender passed it to him. Vaughn thanked him with a nod.
As the cool liquid slid down his throat, Vaughn's problems began to become more distant. The alcohol began to burn and consumed his thoughts
Vaughn was barely aware that someone had sat down next to him. It was a woman. She ordered a cosmopolitan, and for a moment, she sat there, drinking in silence. Then she turned to Vaughn.
"What's your story?" she asked him.
"Excuse me?" Vaughn replied.
"Your story," the woman repeated. "Everyone in here has a story. What made you come here? And frankly, you don't look like the type of guy that comes in here and gets drunk."
Vaughn turned to look at her, and almost fell off the stool. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or what, but this woman resembled Sydney. Her hair was blonde, and fell directly at her shoulder. She was wearing a green tank top, and blue jeans. She had a leather jacket tied loosely over her shoulders.
"My story?" Vaughn repeated. "It's a long one."
"I'm willing to listen," the woman replied.
"I'll tell you what," Vaughn said. "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."
"Deal," the woman replied. "I come here a lot. My reasons go way back to my childhood. My dad left my mother and I when I was two, and my mother died when I was six. My grandparents didn't want to take me in, so I bounced around foster homes growing up.
"I became the teenager no one wanted. I smoked, cut school, was suspended, and barely graduated. I eventually grew up, went to collage. . So I get depressed, and I turn to alcohol. And I just broke up with my boyfriend. So I have all of these, stupid, mundane problems that get me upset."
"Those aren't stupid problems," Vaughn replied. "Little things can build up to a lot.
The woman smiled. "Okay. Now tell me your story."
Vaughn sighed and took a deep breath. "I was in love with this woman, Sydney. She was my everything. She was perfect. I was crazy about her. We had a perfect relationship, considering the odds were against us. Sydney was an angel on earth. I could be having the worst day in the world, but then I would talk to her and feel so much better."
"Who was this.Sydney?" the woman asked. "Was she your wife?"
Vaughn shook his head. "No. My everything."
The woman nodded. "Continue."
"I wanted her to be my wife though," Vaughn said. "I had it all planned. I dropped her off after work two and half weeks ago. She had always wanted to go to Santa Barbara. So I surprised her with a weekend trip there. I was going to propose to her. But I had to go back to work to take care of some things. And when I came back.her apartment was in flames, and she was dead."
"I'm so sorry," the woman replied. "I can't imagine what it feels like to loose someone like that."
"It feels horrible," Vaughn commented. "There is just this big, empty, void in my heart. And I can't fill it."
The woman nodded and took a sip of her drink. "I didn't get your name."
"It's Michael," Vaughn replied. "Michael Vaughn."
"Well, Michael Vaughn," the woman said with a smile. She took a napkin from the holder and wrote something on it. "It was nice talking to you. It's nice not sit here lonely each time you come in here."
"Yeah," Vaughn agreed. "It is."
"Bye," the woman said. She passed him the napkin.
"Bye," Vaughn replied. He picked up the napkin and looked at what was scribbled on it.
554-9847, Julia Thorne.
Author: Gemini21 (Jessica)
Beta: Kriz-te (Christy)
Rating: Not higher than PG-13
Disclaimer: All I'm going to say is this. If I did own Alias, would I be writing fanfiction?
Author's Note: There are NO spoilers for season 3 here. Just a "What if" idea that popped into my head and wouldn't leave. Also, this is AU-ish.
Ship: It's in the S/V forum for a reason.
Chapter 1
It wasn't supposed to be like this.
It wasn't all supposed to turn out this way. Everything he had fought for, everything he had dreamed for, everything he had longed for was gone.
But that everything was only one thing. One person, to be exact.
Sydney Bristow.
It all happened so fast. He had dropped her off with a kiss, telling her that he would be back to take her to Santa Barbara. But just forty-five minutes later when he returned, she was dead.
He didn't know (and probably never would know) if it was the fire or Allison Dorren that killed her. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it was neither.
That night wouldn't leave his head. It wouldn't leave. It haunted his thoughts.
Her funeral. That was another day of hell for him. He just wouldn't believe it. He would not believe that Sydney was dead.
So here he was. Two and a half weeks after Sydney's death. And Michael Vaughn was not dealing well. He had turned to alcohol for his problems. In those moments when he was drunk, he could forget his problems, and for once, be at peace.
Vaughn stumbled into Charlie's Bar after work one night and sat down at the bar. He was not in a good mood. The NSC had come into investigate Sydney's death. They seemed to believe that Sydney had been working with Irina Derevko, and that Sydney was alive, and had faked her death to go work with Irina.
That had led to a huge fight between the CIA versus the NSC. Jack and Vaughn wouldn't have that. They began a shouting match with Robert Lindsey and Lauren Reed. It was Dixon who ended up calling the match quits.
Dixon. He was taking Sydney's death hard. The same woman that had murdered his wife had killed Sydney.
The CIA had realized that Francie was not the real Francie a week after Sydney's death. She was the second double. Allison Georgia Dorren had been partially responsible for Sydney's murder.
Will was still in a coma. The doctors said that it was a miracle that he wasn't dead. His stab wound was deep, and his other injuries were severe.
"What will you have?" the bartender asked.
"Jack Daniels," Vaughn answered.
The bartender passed it to him. Vaughn thanked him with a nod.
As the cool liquid slid down his throat, Vaughn's problems began to become more distant. The alcohol began to burn and consumed his thoughts
Vaughn was barely aware that someone had sat down next to him. It was a woman. She ordered a cosmopolitan, and for a moment, she sat there, drinking in silence. Then she turned to Vaughn.
"What's your story?" she asked him.
"Excuse me?" Vaughn replied.
"Your story," the woman repeated. "Everyone in here has a story. What made you come here? And frankly, you don't look like the type of guy that comes in here and gets drunk."
Vaughn turned to look at her, and almost fell off the stool. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or what, but this woman resembled Sydney. Her hair was blonde, and fell directly at her shoulder. She was wearing a green tank top, and blue jeans. She had a leather jacket tied loosely over her shoulders.
"My story?" Vaughn repeated. "It's a long one."
"I'm willing to listen," the woman replied.
"I'll tell you what," Vaughn said. "I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours."
"Deal," the woman replied. "I come here a lot. My reasons go way back to my childhood. My dad left my mother and I when I was two, and my mother died when I was six. My grandparents didn't want to take me in, so I bounced around foster homes growing up.
"I became the teenager no one wanted. I smoked, cut school, was suspended, and barely graduated. I eventually grew up, went to collage. . So I get depressed, and I turn to alcohol. And I just broke up with my boyfriend. So I have all of these, stupid, mundane problems that get me upset."
"Those aren't stupid problems," Vaughn replied. "Little things can build up to a lot.
The woman smiled. "Okay. Now tell me your story."
Vaughn sighed and took a deep breath. "I was in love with this woman, Sydney. She was my everything. She was perfect. I was crazy about her. We had a perfect relationship, considering the odds were against us. Sydney was an angel on earth. I could be having the worst day in the world, but then I would talk to her and feel so much better."
"Who was this.Sydney?" the woman asked. "Was she your wife?"
Vaughn shook his head. "No. My everything."
The woman nodded. "Continue."
"I wanted her to be my wife though," Vaughn said. "I had it all planned. I dropped her off after work two and half weeks ago. She had always wanted to go to Santa Barbara. So I surprised her with a weekend trip there. I was going to propose to her. But I had to go back to work to take care of some things. And when I came back.her apartment was in flames, and she was dead."
"I'm so sorry," the woman replied. "I can't imagine what it feels like to loose someone like that."
"It feels horrible," Vaughn commented. "There is just this big, empty, void in my heart. And I can't fill it."
The woman nodded and took a sip of her drink. "I didn't get your name."
"It's Michael," Vaughn replied. "Michael Vaughn."
"Well, Michael Vaughn," the woman said with a smile. She took a napkin from the holder and wrote something on it. "It was nice talking to you. It's nice not sit here lonely each time you come in here."
"Yeah," Vaughn agreed. "It is."
"Bye," the woman said. She passed him the napkin.
"Bye," Vaughn replied. He picked up the napkin and looked at what was scribbled on it.
554-9847, Julia Thorne.