Chronic Vertigo

Chapter 1: Imperfections (Part A)

Vertigo: sensation as if the external world is revolving around the patient or as if they are revolving in space.
Chronic Vertigo: often not serious but - with small flare ups - permanently present. Lasts for months without any change.


1 Week Earlier

It had been 25 minutes and she had yet to come out from the bedroom. While most men grew up with the knowledge that women take long amounts of time to get ready for any occasion, 35 minutes to select a single outfit was a long enough time to gnaw at the edges of Michael Vaughn's patience. His only saving grace was the fact that his now-girlfriend (and subsequently the one still locked in her bedroom) Sydney Bristow, had cable.

Cable had saved many a man since its invention, giving waiting males something to occupy their time on the other side of the closed door. It had eliminated the random ambling through the apartment, staring at old pictures and week-old magazines. Cable had taken away this 'getting to know you through your things' stage in most relationships. The boyfriends were more likely to stick around for longer since they missed the opportunity to find the objects that would act as warning signs that things might not be as they seem, all because they were too busy watching TV. And, in Vaughn's case, it was a pre-season hockey special recapping the previous season. It was an exciting time of year - pre-season games, while fun in of themselves, were nothing compared to the thrill of the regular game. And he had to be up to date on all the stats of his favorite team, the Kings, before the season started.

A commercial came onto the screen. Vaughn checked his watch. At this rate, they were going to be late and then whatever outfit Sydney finally decided on wouldn't matter. He sighed and ran a hand through his permanently bed-head styled, ash blond hair. He was going to have to sacrifice the end of the program for her sake. He leaned his head back on the couch and looked in the direction of the still-closed door.

"We're going to be late. What's taking so long?" he yelled in the door's direction. He had seen this woman change outfits in under a minute, and *now* was the time she decided to take forever? There was a crash on the other side, followed by Sydney mumbling something. The door opened a crack a moment later, her head peaking out at him. Vaughn turned his head to face her.

"Hey," she smiled, albeit somewhat hesitantly.

"Hey. You ready?" he asked, hopeful. She bit her bottom lip and shifted nervously.

"Umm, not exactly," she admitted. Vaughn groaned and ran a hand down his face. At this rate, even he wouldn't be able to save her.

"What's taking so long?" he repeated himself, his hand still resting on his face.

"Vaughn, you have no idea how much pressure I'm under to look perfect," she commented, defending herself. Vaughn's hand fell from his face back to his side, his eyes now focused on the ceiling above him.

"What are you *talking* about?" he whined. Pressure? This was the same Sydney who went on clandestine missions for the CIA, who risked her life on a daily basis? This - no, he wasn't even going to *go* there. There was no way he would be able to figure out what was so hard about this simple meeting. To him, it was nothing. Of course, he should have seen this coming. It seemed as if all women, not just his girlfriend, were infected with this bug of an odd sense of - something. He wasn't going to attempt to figure it all out. Not enough time, even with Sydney still in a state of undress.

"Vaughn!" she yelled, "I've got to make a good first impression!" He would have gotten up, really, he would have, to tell her she was perfect (which she was) and there was nothing to worry about, but the door slammed shut before he could even lift his head. Great. Just great. Vaughn shook his head and rocked to launch himself to his feet. He made his way over to the door, leaning against the wall next to it on his side, and wrapped his knuckles on the wooden door.

"Sydney, if you're late, your outfit won't matter," he sing-songed, waiting.

"What time is it?" she called from inside, pulling pantyhose on quickly. Oh no! He was right! Vaughn was always such a prompt, on time man. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time he was late for anything. He knocked on the door again.

"4:47, now open up. I might be able to help you," he called through to her. She slipped on a skirt and stumbled to the door while she struggled with putting on a shoe. She propped it open and walked back to the other shoe as he entered the room behind her. The room, he observed, was in a moderate state of disarray, with discarded outfits draped on the end of her bed. The closet was wide open and half-empty. Vaughn laughed as he took in the scene, causing Sydney to pause during her search for a blouse and turn to glare at him.

"What are you laughing at?" she inquired, putting a hand on her hip. Vaughn shut his mouth quickly, his eyes wide, yet sparkling with humor.

"This. Sydney, you're perfect they way you are. I don't understand why you're so worried," he said to her, smiling.

"You men have it so easy," she gaffed, returning to the closet in search of a blouse to go with her conservative black skirt.

"Oh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat on the edge of her bed, careful not to disturb any of the clothes already sitting there.

Sydney pulled a shirt from the closet and held it up, examining it before finally placing it back in the closet. If she could do that for the shirt, why did she have a huge pile on the bed - a pile made up of carelessly tossed clothing items? Vaughn frowned and carefully pushed some clothes out of the way and scooted into a more comfortable position on the bed. She plucked another shirt from the closet, causing him to sigh, slightly annoyed. He had never seen her like this, and instantly re-thought the evening's activities. Sydney whirled to face him.

"Look at all this I have to choose from! I'm sure you just pulled out something and threw it on before coming over here," she said, scowling a bit as she noticed he'd moved some of her clothes.

"What was wrong with the outfit you were wearing when I got here?"

"It was too warm for the weather," she promptly answered. She fell silent as Vaughn distractedly traced the faint ivory pattern on the bedspread. Sydney pulled on the classy yet casual blouse she'd been holding in her hand and sat down slightly behind him before putting a reassuring hand on his should. The tracing stopped, but he didn't look up.

"Is there something bothering you?" she asked quietly. He shrugged like a 10-year-old, her hand slipping off his shoulder from the movement.

A cheer emitted from the TV in the other room.

The pair appeared as a moment frozen in time, showing joy and sadness in the same poignant frame. How those two emotions could be shown equally at the same time was a mystery held in their own hearts. For a moment, they questioned this joy they'd felt in the last month - was it real, or had they been longing for this time for so long they found themselves acting to fulfill this dream? The freed mind was no place for doubtful thoughts, and Sydney, tired of dwelling on the sadness her life had brought her, patted Vaughn on the back and stood. This was her happiness, her normality, and complication only made life more interesting, worth living.

"We're going to be late, or have you forgotten?" she smiled. Vaughn smirked and fell on his back, atop her clothes.

"I'm resigned to my fate," he remarked, his arms lying out on the bed. He was quite cute when that playful smirk played across his face, and had she not been worried about wrinkling her outfit, she would have pounced on him in a minute. He was wide open and knew she could do nothing. Perhaps he understood her more than she'd originally surmised - or wished he didn't. sounds awkward

"Oh, well I guess we could just cancel - "

"No! That would mean death!" Vaughn exclaimed, sitting up on the bed. He immediately stood up and grabbed her hand, whisking her out of the room and past the living room. She laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand, looking towards the TV.

"Vaughn! The TV!" she exclaimed, but he was already out the door. He was certainly rushed, pushed to be on time (something she was constantly thankful for) by this unseen force with equally unseen consequences. Her apprehension returned.

At least she had a 30 minute care ride to calm herself down. Vaughn's mother *couldn't* be as difficult as her own.

Could she?