Read Black-Winged Angel before you read this one, that way it'll make more sense
Disclaimer: Alias is not mine.
Title: Acceptance
Author: Ayaren (Abyssinian at All-Alias)
Rating: PG
Timeline: set during my other fic, Black-Winged Angel.
Summary: Vaughn comes to a realisation about Sydney's betrayal.
-----------Michael Vaughn would always remember the day Sydney Bristow bulldozed her way into his life with that shocking head of red hair and a desire for revenge which honestly made him want to cringe and hide away.
That day he had thought she was insane and ill-suited to the task at hand. Their second meeting did little to change his opinion. She was too stubborn to make an effective double agent. She did not respect his position as her handler. She was so damn self-assured and she would not listen to him when he tried to explain that she was in for a long haul. He had hated her for it.
But somewhere during those first months that hate had disappeared until she was all he thought about. As Weiss had kindly reminded him more than once he had a girlfriend. Kind, innocent, shy little Alice, the complete antithesis of Sydney Bristow. It was not Alice who had kept him lying awake at night, staring at the darkened ceiling in dreadful anticipation that something had gone wrong in Paris, Moscow, Lisbon or Stockholm or any number of exotic locations.
At some point in their ritual of wrong numbers and midnight meetings at the warehouse or the pier he had done the unthinkable and thrown the rule book out the window. Because somewhere between the sleepless nights and overwhelming relief when he knew she was safe he had fallen in love with her.
She had trusted him when she had no one else. She turned to him because her father had betrayed her and because Will and Francie were ignorant of the life she led. But he had clung to the normalcy that Alice provided, the escape from this life of international crime and mysterious six hundred year old prophets.
Maybe that was why she had chosen him instead.
Maybe that was why he found himself staring through the glass that separated them with so many questions on his lips but no voice to ask them.
Maybe that was why he still did not understand.
His first thought when he had made the journey down here and caught a glimpse of her rising from the concrete floor was that she looked just like her mother, who resided several cells down. Loose brown hair curling down her back, a knowing glint in her hardened brown gaze and the enigmatic Derevko smile hovering on her lips.
When he first met her she had possessed an air of innocence that had endeared her to him, and that he had hoped she would never lose, despite the world she lived in. But his hope had been in vain. His Sydney Bristow was gone, and in her place stood a copy of the most despicable woman to ever walk the earth. The Derevko blood ran true in their family, he reflected. And never was there a realisation he hated more.
He searched her face for some clue, for some reason why. But she gave away nothing, Jack had taught her well about concealing her emotions. But someone else had added the finishing touches until only ice remained. Vaughn could guess who that someone had been, and he felt an itch in his trigger finger.
Death, and nothing less, would be the punishment for stealing Sydney's innocence.
He cleared his throat and inwardly winced when she arched an eyebrow delicately in amusement. She had learned well how to act in the company of captors.
"Why?" he finally managed to whisper hoarsely.
Silence. And then an innocent, "Why what?" in a soft tone that sent a shiver down his back like a caress. He still wanted her, craved to touch her and hear her whisper his name as he had imagined it before, when she was still his Syd.
He licked his lips nervously, her unblinking stare beginning to unnerve him and reminding him all too well of the woman who had bequeathed it to her. "You," he continued shakily, "and Sark. Why?"
She laughed. Brief, cold, amused. "Is that all, Agent Vaughn?" she murmured, "Me and Sark?" Her eyes mocked him.
"Why?" he repeated in a firmer tone, slightly disappointed at the formality of her address. He did not give a fuck about any of the other questions he was supposed to ask. He had to know what the cocky son of a bitch had that he did not. He had to know why she had chosen to care about such an undeserving creature.
Somehow he had forgotten that he was the one who had balked from a relationship with her. Before she left he had Alice. She had no one.
He felt her considering him, her head tipped to one side and her brown eyes narrowed slightly. The silence dragged on and he suppressed the urge to shift his weight as the soles of his feet protested at staying utterly still for so long. He met her gaze squarely, mustering all the strength he had to match her.
At length her lips quirked into a fleeting smile. "He accepts me," she said quietly, "all of me."
And with that she turned away and knelt gracefully, imitating the meditative position Irina Derevko often took, signalling this interview was over. He remained frozen for several seconds, part of him amazed at how both these women managed to control everything as if they were not the ones held prisoner.
He considered it that evening as Alice fussed in the kitchen, stared at the hockey game on television with unseeing eyes. All he saw was her face in his mind and her words echoing in his ears.
He accepts me, all of me.
Hours later, when Alice had gone to bed and he had muted the game, a glimmer of understanding flickered in his head.
He accepts me, all of me.
Sark was an enemy, an agent who destroyed lives rather than saved them. Sark was a thief, a liar and an assassin. Sark was a killer, but Sydney had killed too in the line of duty.
He accepts me, all of me.
Sark worked for Irina Derevko, and there was every indication that he had been with her for most of his life. He had been carefully groomed to lose whatever conscience he had been born with. His heart had been walled away, leaving a cold detachment in its place. But Sydney had learned the hard way what having a heart meant.
He accepts me, all of me.
Sark had black wings to go with his angelic face. But Sydney had black wings as well. There was a part of her that Jack had ruthlessly tried to suppress over the years, the part that Vaughn had tried to ignore as he found himself becoming more and more enamoured of her. But Sydney Bristow was Irina Derevko's daughter as well as Jack Bristow's.
He accepts me, all of me.
Sark accepted that she was not perfect, that there was a darkness in her soul that craved to be heard. He did not try and scrub away the blood that stained her hands and pretend that it did not exist.
He accepts me, all of me.
The final realisation led Vaughn to the bottle of wine left over from dinner with Alice's parents last week. Sark had broken through the porcelain mask that was Sydney Bristow and found the Sydney Derevko that dwelled beneath it.
Watching the red liquid swirl around in the wineglass he had collected on his way back to the couch, Vaughn's mind lingered on her face as he turned to the most heart-wrenching of questions he had not dared to ask. Did she love Sark?
He did not think he wanted to know.
He accepts me, all of me.
But deep in his heart he knew she did.
END.
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i'd like to thank the lovely people who reviewed my first fic, black-winged angel, it was sooo nice. i've got a prequel to that in the works so watch my name (hopefully i'll finish it)