That Old Feeling (part 1/?)
By: Saskia Mitchell
Rating: PG, for now.
Notes: This is not anywhere close to my first fanfic, but it is the first Alias fic I started, and my first Sweiss fic, to boot! It's more a series of vignettes strung together than anything else. Thanks for reading, hope you like. This is post-Crossings, but Lauren isn't evil because I choose not to believe that JJ had any part in making his own show suck this season.
Ruby and emerald lights gleamed off the dark, slick pavement vividly, made more vibrant by the dark, cold night. Standing water at the curbs and in potholes turned into brilliant pools of too-bright color.
Sydney Bristow sat at the helm of her dark, Agency-issued sedan, restlessly drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. There was something she loved about driving around aimlessly at night, but tonight it just felt like an excuse. Usually driving made her feel like she had to answer to no one or nothing, it felt like she had all the freedom in the world. Ironically, it was the only freedom she did have. Currently her life was locked into the Agency, her mother and father, and in some small way, to Vaughn, though he was married and carrying on in his own life with very little regard to her. It seemed that all that was important these days was tracking down leads on the Covenant, discovering all she could about Julia Thorne and what she was made to do after adopting that persona.
All the things she'd once treasured about her life: her friendships with Will and Francie, the restaurant, school, busting her ass to make good grades while flying off to the four corners of the world at practically a moments notice: those were all part of that hazy history, memories that were spread like ashes across the sea the day they buried her. She had no part of that existence anymore; she had no friends, no social life, no life at all, really. Just the job, an emotionally-stunted father and a serial killer for a mother. Life was dandy.
But yet, even through the pain and the uncertainty, there was hope, a hope she couldn't quite define, one that unfurled low in her stomach like a night-blooming flower that only came alive at its own will. Something was changing, she was starting to feel that wild, dizzy sensation she was sure had been lost to her forever. She'd always been the type to think that love came around once in a lifetime, and that person would be your soulmate: bound to you forever in matrimony, or love, or some intimate something. Yet she'd already been lucky enough to find it twice: true love from two loves in as many years. It seemed improbable, at best, but she'd been so lucky. Danny, then Vaughn, and now that low pinch, that quickness of breath, it was coming again like a wave cresting, rolling slowly but surely towards shore.
She pulled onto the dark freeway, shifting into fifth gear before reaching over to turn the air conditioner on. It was going to be a long night. She usually worked out problems or difficult situations with chronology. If one could pinpoint the moment an event started, one could come closer to understanding it by way of determining a catalyst to said event.
But the problem was, Sydney couldn't be sure when it had started. First, they had just been pals, exchanging jokes at work, sharing stories and laughs, he was her "conduit to Vaughn" after all, and much more fun-loving and upbeat than her oh-so-serious lover. She just assumed his job was less important than Vaughn's, he obviously didn't have the worries and cares that Vaughn did. She didn't overanalyze it. At that time, she took him for exactly what he was: an acquaintance she rarely saw, but enjoyed when she did. During Vaughn's occasional bouts of madness, they'd cling to one another, telling themselves and each other that this was a rational response: they were uniting for the greater good of saving a friend.
When her mother had shot him, Sydney couldn't deny that she'd felt guilty, though, she supposed, it wasn't a very rational response. She hadn't been the one to pull the trigger, after all. But the guilt came, not just because it was her mother that had done it, but also because, ironically, she didn't have the time to feel more guilty—not then—she had her mother to track down, and to kill, if necessary. Despite all of that, he was still only Vaughn's friend, and not withstanding the occasional surreptitious visit to the hospital, she didn't have much contact with him during his recovery. When he came back to work, he had a renewed lease on life, and Sydney saw him out and about more, out with Vaughn, out on missions, out in the Rotunda. When the Alliance was taken down and she was free to be with Vaughn, she suddenly found herself spending a lot more time with and around Weiss, and she was glad to be able to count him in her small circle of friends.
Then Hong Kong happened, and everything changed. It was like she'd lived out an entire lifetime and died in Hong Kong, her blood polluting the streets, her stains littering the sidewalks. She wasn't just Sydney Bristow anymore...she was Sydney Bristow...back from Hell or Death or Torment. For Sydney Bristow, it had been a long, dreamless sleep in Hong Kong, and it was being awake that was the nightmare.
She never wanted to go back, she refused to go back. Any missions that required travel in the East were assigned to other agents, Marshall translated all confidential documents before bringing them to the table in debrief, even Chinese take-out sounded unappetizing. She blocked out the memory and the pain the way she blocked out everything else: with singular determination and a sacrifice of her own emotions. She never wanted to go back to that short, shining moment when the glint of his ring met her eye and she was forced to confront reality: Vaughn hadn't waited.
Slowly, that pain faded with the realization that it hadn't been merely a pleasant nap from which she'd awoken on that cold, dirty street. It was Hell. It was easier to work through something if you knew exactly what it was, and in a strange way, the more Sydney learned, the less hurt she felt. Julia Thorne was someone that Sydney could barely put a face to, and yet, she had her face. Will was gone, Vaughn had his own problems; her father, with all his good intentions, was still distant and curt; and Dixon was her impersonal, all-business boss.
She had no one to turn to, no one to talk to, no one to do the things Will had been so adept at: fixing the cranky garbage disposal in her kitchen, downing tequila shooters, talking far into the night about the cultural differences between Dostoyevsky and Pasternak. She resigned herself to the fact that she deserved this. She'd killed off her two best friends: one to a very real death, and the other to Witness Protection; the lover who would have been the last man she ever loved was married to someone else, and that wasn't even counting Danny. She confronted the fact that her life sucked.
Until in-stepped the person she least expected: the lover's best friend.
If one of her single girlfriends had taken a shine to Vaughn and asked if he had a friend, Sydney certainly wouldn't have rattled off Weiss' name and number as a ticket to happily-ever-after. And it wasn't because Weiss loved the eclairs, or even because he had always given Vaughn a hard time about being with her. It was more because he was just Weiss: ordinary, boring, vanilla Weiss who didn't have a thing to recommend him. He didn't have Vaughn's wit or charm, he didn't have her father's dexterity or grace, and he certainly didn't have Will's enthusiasm or athleticism.
Sometime in the first couple of weeks after she awoke to her new, great life, it hit her like a piano falling from a fourth-story window. Weiss hadn't needed any of those things to be one of the best friends she'd ever ever have. He helped her move a house-full of furniture across town into a home he'd helped her find—a house close to his own—where he kept an eye on her, checking in with her at least once a day. He helped her drown her sorrows and talk out the whole sordid mess of Vaughn and Lauren, not to mention the residual guilt and pain over Will and the Francie-who-wasn't-really-Francie. He saw her immediate need and he stepped in to fill the void in her life, exactly when she needed him to, exactly when it was right for him to be there.
She realized she never would have made it without his calm rationale, his head for numbers, his endless patience. He was a balm to her soul that Vaughn had never been, he quietly bubbled beneath the surface until he was needed. He didn't make jokes that resulted in delicate snickers at the irony of it all, his hilarity produced full belly-laughs that left her breathless, with aching sides. And she found he did have his own inherent grace, she'd just been too oblivious to see it, caught up in the beauty of Vaughn. Vaughn had smooth moves to be certain; he was strong and fast. But Weiss faded into crowds, his innocent countenance put people at ease, and that's when the bad shit really went down. People, evil and terrible human beings even, trusted this dough-faced American kid who would pretend not to understand the native language, or ask for directions from elderly passersby, or walk right into security firms and embassies with the kind of look that said "I'm helpless."
Sydney admired the fact that he didn't try to prove himself on his down time. She'd seen him look all kinds of ridiculous on missions, and he'd never once tried to impress or make up for his seeming utter incompetence. Instead, he brought over beer and food and they'd watch movies or play trivia games and he'd listen to her rant and rave and let go of the day slowly, never asking anything in return.
He'd searched dozens of used bookstores looking for his first gift to her; he had agonized that it was the right thing to do. Vaughn once gave her an all-inclusive pass to a day spa that she'd never used. She explained to Will that after dressing up and pretending to be someone more than half of the time, her free time needed to be spent being herself, not trussed up in some salon with a stylist's fingers up her nose. She almost felt guilty about that. It wasn't the last gift Weiss had given her, either. For Christmas it was a warm down-comforter for her bed, the color that perfectly matched the walls he'd just helped her paint. For her birthday it had been a framed copy of her diploma, the one that had been lost in the fire. God only knew whom he had bribed at the University to get another copy printed for her. Why he was so doting, she didn't know; she could only rejoice in the love and thoughtfulness that he bestowed upon her, she basked in the glory of being adored.
He listened steadfastly, if not sadly, when she explained her trip to Russia with Will, playing Eurotrash in the hotel and playing James Bond under the covers. He didn't comment, didn't judge, didn't act surprised or even scandalized, as Vaughn had. She even came clean about North Korea, and when she mentioned that she told Vaughn about Will and moving on, Weiss didn't even snort his disbelief. What she didn't tell him at the time was that she really was moving on. She couldn't live her life tied to Vaughn and his drama, despite the almost-overwhelming love she still felt for him.
And the more time she spent with Weiss, the more happy she found that she was. With Vaughn there was always something so dark and tragic about everything, even when he had been with her, and happy, there was always that undercurrent of sadness and distrust and she never quite break free and breach the surface. Weiss just gave and gave and gave, and never seemed to run out of love or joy, which he gave in equal measure.
The first inkling that she had, before it was a real feeling, was after the trip to North Korea, once she'd started re-evaluating her relationship with Vaughn. She'd never really thought of him as deceitful before, and she still wasn't sure that was the case. He had always been her constant, her ally—the only one she could ever trust. And now that he was confused about himself, about his marriage, he was, by proxy, confusing her in the process, and things between them had become infinitely more sticky.
It was Weiss who pointed out that she had more than just Vaughn to trust. Despite his more clandestine connections, Jack had always done whatever it took—consorting with the enemy, asking Sloane—her mother—for help—to protect her. Marshall had never once betrayed her trust, never once hurt her or tried her. And then there was Weiss himself, a rock in the stormy sea of her emotions, her confidante, her best friend, ready to be by her side at a moment's notice, and faded into the wallpaper when she was on to bigger and better things. Sydney had been fooling herself for a very long time. She'd idolized and heroized Vaughn for so long that it was hard to let that illusion go. But she was letting it go, slowly...
Then one day, sitting across the coffee table from Weiss, eating Mexican food that was so good she was thinking she might never again eat anything else, the truth dawned on her like the first light from an underground tunnel, speeding towards her as if it were a train. Sydney realized in that moment that she could spend the rest of her life sitting across tables from Weiss and be perfectly happy, just delighted that she had him. Her jaw dropped with this revelation, her gaze coming to fix upon her friend almost reverently.
"What?" he asked, noticing her regard with apprehension. "Have I got sour cream...somewhere?" he gestured at his face generally with the burrito he held in one hand. Sydney cocked her head, not answering, until Weiss realized something more was happening, and he laid his burrito back down on his plate. "Syd, you okay?"
Sydney did the only thing she could think to do: she leaned forward, and kissed him. No ordinary kiss, and no quick peck, no grandmotherly affection. The kiss was hard, and a little desperate, a needy tangle of lips that she hoped to prove herself with. Weiss backed away fast, his head down and his ears burning in shame.
"I won't be the rebound," he said quietly, a little breathlessly.
"You're not," she began to say, but the protest died on her lips when Weiss stood up and with mumbled excuses, retreated out of her front door and across the hedge that separated their residences. She sat stock-still, dumbfounded.
She couldn't believe he'd left her. For the first time in the history of their friendship, she hadn't needed to kick him out at the end of the night, force him to go home. He didn't even give her a chance to explain, which was unusual for patient Weiss. Of course, she admitted, it wasn't like her to leap across tables to lay one on an unsuspecting friend, either. Regardless, Weiss should have at least heard her out on her decision. Being spurned felt like being plunged back into the dark—the utter blackness that did not allow for hope, but only that lonely tickle that told her she would be alone forever. Her guilt told her something altogether different—this wasn't just her choice, her decision; it belonged to Weiss, too.
Once when she was a teenager, Jack had told her that she was the smartest, most beautiful girl in the entire world. The small amount of arrogance that she nurtured over the years had led her, almost unwillingly, to that conclusion: Weiss should thank his lucky stars that she had even chosen him.
But why would he risk his heart on you? You're nothing but a liability.
And that was really when it had all started, Sydney thought as she downshifted into fourth gear and exited the freeway. In the mind, she knew it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours before, but to her heart it felt like days. The amber glow from the streetlight bathed the interior of her car and she could clearly make out her reflection in the rear-view mirror. She looked haunted.
It started the moment she humbled herself to look at the situation from Weiss' point of view. For all their history and hardships and sacrifices for one another, she didn't realize that she might actually be falling in love with Weiss until that moment.
To be continued...