Title: In Between
Rating: PG-13 for some language
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Summary: Sydney's and Vaughn's struggles during the holiday season.
A/N: This was written for the December challenge over at SD-1. Feedback is welcomed, actually more like a necessity to fill my unbearably dull life. Wow, I haven't been here at ff.net for a looong time! This takes place after Remnants but isn't really spoilery.
Part 1/1
It's December 16th. There's nothing special about that day. It's left untouched by the world, lost between the rush of after-thanksgiving sales, and the last minute shopping scramble for all those who waited for the last minute. It's not Christmas, or Christmas Eve. It's nothing. Absolutely nothing. And this is what he feels as he sits in a leather barca lounger as he stares off into space, his only company the empty glass that is being gripped in his hands so tightly. This is his favorite part, the part between when you're still coherent enough think and the part when you're so sloshed everything turns to emotion. This is the break, the respite, the resting point.
He cherishes it slowly, but he can't help reaching for the bottle and pouring himself another glass, which he knows will send him flying over to the emotional stage where he lets his delusions become reality and reality become a sin. The sound of clinking glass echoes lightly through the still room as his hands shake, trying to hold the bottle steady. He leans back into the chair, letting it envelope him as he sets the near empty bottle on the stand next to him. He watches an escaped droplet race down the side of the glass, breaking as it hits the wood, shattering into tiny fragments. He knows Lauren will be mad if there is a ring, but he doesn't care as he lifts his glass to his lips.
Her footsteps make thumping noises as she walks up the gangway to the terminal, almost as if the world were hollow. The thumping stops as she finds herself on solid ground, her footsteps now almost as silent as the carry-on that she's wheeling behind her. She doesn't bother looking up; she doesn't take in her surroundings as she's engulfed by a throng of people, each absorbed into their own distinct realities. She doesn't notice the cheerful displays of holiday gifts towering in the shops that line the terminal or the pictures of a truly white Christmas, complete with a snowman and kids in a snowball fight that is emblazed on the bags of those dense enough to purchase insanely overpriced items at the airport.
It's all lost on her, because like most other people, she too is enraptured into her own world, walking a line between reality and her thoughts. The in between. The path is too familiar to her as she makes her way out to her car. Her face is blank, and it isn't until she is seated in the driver's seat that she allows herself to break free and collapse, resting her forehead on the steering wheel.
He hasn't visited here for approximately a year. It seems foreign to him at first but sip by sip he feels it welcoming him with open arms. Oblivion, emotional release, escape. His thoughts are directed on her but they start to wander. To work, to the CIA, to Christmas. Suddenly he remembers an office party he once went to when he was working at a bank while in grad school. It was Christmas, the entire staff overdressed and slightly intoxicated while they mingled at the boss's spacious apartment. Sharing jokes, dancing horribly, singing old Christmas carols and pretending not to notice when coworkers would hit on each other's spouses. The witty flirtations of the young crowd, trying to score extra points with the boss. He even remembers how the boss had shown up dressed as Santa, but with a formal tie on, he had claimed it was his 'suit' and tie.
Now he can't even fathom the normalcy and suddenly the image of Jack Bristow in a Santa suit singing Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer pops into his head and he's thrown into a fit of laughter. He hasn't laughed for so damn long and it feels good. He continues on, before suddenly the humor is lost on him and he can only think of her.
She's driving down interstate 710. The night is dark but the sky is illuminated with the lights of Los Angeles that create a blanket of reddish haze that cuts the pristine darkness, making the stars invisible, masking their brilliance. It's quiet in the car. Only the slight sound of her breath and the soft mechanical rhythm of the car fill her ears.
She had turned on the radio but only Christmas music was playing. She had shut it off quickly as a memory of Francie and Will having a flour fight in the kitchen while baking Christmas cookies enters her tired mind. She misses them so badly it hurts in her chest as her eyes well up with tears but she quickly banishes them. She's tired of crying, tired of feeling sorry for herself. She just wants to go home. Back home, to the way things should be. Her hands suddenly slam down in the steering wheel in anger as she lets out a stifled scream. Why couldn't she go home? She finds herself about two miles away from her house, not home. Her house is unwelcoming. There would be no eggnog before a burning fire, and the scent of gingerbread would not permeate the air. Instead she would be greeted by the solitude of silence, marred only by the faint humming of traffic that was perceivable throughout all of LA. She makes a right turn at the next traffic light. She's not going to her house.
His steps are slightly askew as he makes his way to the bedroom. He just wants to go to sleep, to not see, hear or feel anymore. He walks down the hallway, bumping into a small end table nestled in the corner. His eyes catch on a small object. Lauren had decorated. He didn't know when the hell she had time to do it but she had. Tiny reminders of the holidays were scattered throughout the house, jingle bells looped on a door handle that rattled every time someone entered, a tiny nativity scene made of ivory displayed on the bookshelf, a snowman made of a sock and an old toilet paper roll, constructed carefully by Lauren's niece Candace, adorned the entertainment center, its lopsided grin smiled back him while it's black button eyes stared straight ahead. A snow globe perched on the end table quivers slightly from the impact of his body.
His eyes pass over the object again. It was Lauren's. They had bought it together while they were in London. She loved it there. He picked up the globe, eying the innards intently. Figurines of three angels sitting on a cloud were surrounded by a blanket of snow. He suddenly shakes the globe violently, which sends the snow flying. It floats back down gently, as if it hadn't a care in the world, despite the fierce shaking it had just undergone. This seems to enrage him more; it's not reacting to his anger, why didn't the snow flare up in a whirlwind of confusion and shock? Its placidity makes him want to hurl it to the ground and smash it in to pieces. To watch it, as it's vulnerable insides seep out from the former encasement, it's shattered body, and spill helplessly on to the white carpet. Instead he sets it down gently on the end table and turns to his bedroom.
She slides into a stool and lays her head in her hands after quickly ordering a scotch on the rocks. The bartender glances her way and dismisses her as just one of them. She notices him and briefly surveys her surroundings, finding alcoholics and underage girls that had had way too much to drink. Her thoughts immediately turned to her father. She didn't want to become him. The heavy sound of a glass barely fazes her and she looks at the drink that appeared in front of her. She didn't want to become her father, but more importantly, she doesn't want to remember. So she takes a drink.
Weiss approached his desk, slapping his back with a hearty grin plastered on his face. "Hey Vaughny!" He exclaimed loudly, causing agents littered around the rotunda to turn as smirk at him. He looked up at his friend sporting a stupid grin, giving him a glare of death. It doesn't faze Weiss at all though as he playfully perches on the corner of his desk and starts dangling a yo-yo up and down. He doesn't answer right away, just rests his elbows on his desk momentarily and cradles his forehead with his thumb and forefinger, and sighs. His head hurts and he curses himself for his actions last night. "What's up?" Weiss inquires.
He shakes his head a bit before bringing himself upright. "Nothing…just stuff." He offers and he watches as one of Weiss's eyebrows rises.
"Stuff?" He questions incredulously. "C'mon spill."
Vaughn sighs loudly as he tries not to think of her. "Lauren's coming home tonight." He answers. Weiss doesn't really respond, just makes a noise that a cross between a grunt and a sigh. Vaughn looks up at him with his own eyebrows raised, even though he's not genuinely interested.
"Good luck with that." Weiss answers before he spots Dixon which sends him scurrying back to his desk while trying to wrap up his yo-yo inconspicuously. The sight makes Vaughn smirk a little before realizing he should actually get to work. He tries averting his attention to his computer screen but he can't help his gaze from wandering towards the direction of her desk. He taps a pen on his desk out of restlessness as he spots her walking with her father. The tapping immediately stops and his eyes follow her form until she disappears down a hallway, not even glancing his way.
She's breathing hard, her eyes are glued to the track in front of her as she rounds the corner. She never looks up until she reaches the straightaway, the last 100 meters. She concentrates on the pounding of her feet, the soft noise forming a rhythm with her breaths as she feels a bead of sweat trickle down from her temple and rest dangerously on the corner of her eye. She wipes it away clumsily with the back of her hand and she rounds the curve and reaches the last 100 meters. She looks up.
The sun is setting and the brightness shines almost painfully in her eyes. The lines stretch before her and at first the finish line feels so far away, but she finds her legs carrying her swiftly, and her heart pushing her faster and faster. She crosses the finish line and feels immediate relief as she gives her limbs permission to relax as she slows down to a stop. She gulps down selfish amounts of air as she bends over, resting her hands on her knees when she notices a movement out of the corner of her eye. She turns her head and looks at him, wondering why he is here but says nothing as she pulls herself into a standing position.
He uncomfortably looks down at his shoes for a moment, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. "Hey."
"Hey." She replies softly back as she tries to calm her heart from beating wildly in her chest, which she tells herself is from the sprinting, not from seeing him here. She catches herself and reminds herself of their situation, but she feels pulled, in between her old devotion and the new betrayal she feels. She's in between two different realities, and two different Vaughns. She pulls herself out of the moment and reminds herself that she's dealing with the new Vaughn. She notices he hasn't spoke for a while so she turns her voice cold. "What are you doing here?"
His eyes pull up from the track and she sees the surprise in them, but it seems to slip away as he remembers how things are now. He's frozen by her, her look, her tone, her words but he understands and he wants to say a million things to her. I'm sorry. I love you. Thoughts rush through his mind and he finds himself unable to speak and awkwardly nervous.
She waits before letting out a sigh of frustration and walks in a quick circle, cooling down her muscles. "What do you want from me?" She questions him piercingly, her back turned to him, as she stretches out her quad muscle. She's trying to sound unaffected but she failing miserably and she knows he knows.
"I," he stumbles, "nothing. I just wanted to see, to talk to you." He manages to say hoping to cut the tension that seems to drench them but instead he watches as she turns around to face him.
"Typical." She mutters under her breath and she's hoping he doesn't catch it.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He demands, irritation quickly replacing his anxiety as his brow furrows and his famous forehead wrinkles make an appearance, drawing her attention away from his green eyes. The same wrinkles she had used to say were endearing and that she had traced gently with her finger whenever she'd catch him worrying about her, all while laughing and calling him an old man.
She doesn't answer, but he catches her rolling her eyes slightly when she thought he had glanced away.
"Syd, don't shut me out."
She laughs bitterly. He doesn't like the way it sounds coming from her and he gives her and expectant look, waiting for an explanation. She notices and looks down at the track as she places her hands on her hips before she speaks.
"You're the one pushing me away, you're the one who came here so unless it's for a good reason, so if you just came to talk," she pauses, her voice dripping with emotion as she looks up into his eyes, "I really don't think you should be here at all, that's what your wife is for."
"Do not bring Lauren into this." He warns her as she notices his jaw clenching.
"I think you did that." She answers simply. She turns her head away from him and stares up at the scoreboard as she feels the beginning of tears fighting their way into her eyes and her throat constrict. She sighs loudly in attempt to hide her distress and she knows her words were impressed upon him severely.
"Look, I just came here to talk to you and wish you a Merry Christmas." He states vehemently, "But obviously I was foolish to attempt such a thing."
She shakes her head and he can tell by the way she snatches up her water bottle that she's furious. Not annoyed and hurt like before, but in a painful state of utter emotional torture. She purses her lips tightly as she tells herself to focus on her breathing, attempting to calm herself.
"Syd, say something." He half begs and half commands as his temper rises.
"Well what do you want me to say?" She spits out, her voice rising in pitch and the tears are begging to return. She stands up straight but can't bring herself to look him in the eye. She refuses to break in front of him now, no matter how much life throws at her, and she forces placidity upon her features. Its guise is needed more than ever as she desperately wants, rather needs, to appear strong. Every fiber of her heart and soul aches to escape into his being, but every rational thought in her head knows she is doing what is right, what is correct, even though it feels so wrong.
"I don't know," he counters forcefully, "maybe Merry Christmas?" His eyes study her in wonderment as she turns her face to stone and her voice is steely.
"Well Merry f***ing Christmas, Vaughn." She replies in a low tone before she turns away from him. Walking away forcefully she hastily grabs her keys, leaving him listening for her disappearance.
She slams the front door of her apartment. The force of it rattles the wall slightly as she haplessly tosses her keys on an end table in the front hall. She paces through her apartment furiously for a moment before she makes her way to her bathroom and turns on the water as she draws a bath. The noise of rushing water drowns out her thoughts and she looks in the mirror. She's still sweaty from her workout, wearing a tank and jogging pants, stray hairs from her ponytail are matted against her face with sweat and her cheeks are still flushed, either from the eight 400's she did or her anger that seemed to swell up inside of her. She sits on the edge of the tub as she waits for it to fill. Head in her hands she breathes deeply, and tries to forestall her thoughts.
She's still shaken a bit from their argument. She had never spoken to him like that before, and he had never criticized her so scathingly. She stands and peels off the layers of sweaty clothing and turns the water off before stepping into the tub. She lets the water immerse her with its warmth as she dunks completely under. She can't help but think of Danny. Every time she's in a bathtub she finds herself powerless in fending off the image of him. His death made her realize what she could and can lose, and now, what little she has left. She surfaces among the water, droplets cascade down her face and her wet hair sticks to her back. She wipes her face with her hands, sending the wandering droplets back into the tub, and she vows to keep what she has left.
It's December 18th. He had to force himself to come to work. He literally rolled out of his bed this morning. That was of course after he threw his alarm clock brashly against the wall and Lauren had came in to check what all the racket was. He trudges down the familiar path that his feet know so well as he tries to tune out the grayness of the office. He's concentrating on his footsteps as he walks to his desk, a cup of bitter coffee in one hand, and file folder in his other. Everything seems to be gray today, the sky outside, the fluorescent lights that dimly illuminate the ops center, the gray speckled floor that appears to be granite but he know is probably just a cheap linoleum. An agent passes by, "Hey Vaughn." But he barely acknowledges him with a slight nod as he continues walking.
His thoughts are still on her and on their conversation last night. He tries not to think of it because whenever he does he's overcome with a sense of guilt that is inevitably followed by a stab of pain. He's too absorbed in his thoughts to notice the splash of red that pierces the grayness standing on his desk until he's sitting down behind it. He stares in quizzical wonderment a moment before ruffling through the leaves of the poinsettia plant in search of the card. It's plain and bears a simple message. He reads it quickly and a small smile is brought forth to the corners of his lips.
V,
Merry Christmas
-S
FIN
Review please!