Minor Spoiler for Episode #6: Salvation
*actual spoilers appear within ***
75% of the dialogue belongs to JJ, Bad Robot, et al. Vaughn's thoughts and the rest are mine.
SALVATION OF ONE
Quarantined. With Sydney Bristow. Did the bad guys know that by infecting him with some mystery disease they were also fulfilling one of his fondest wishes? Probably not. Yet here they lay, side by side, on matching cots. And she slept.
He didn't mind. It afforded him time to watch her without being observed. Without having to glance at his wingtips whenever it felt as if he'd be looking for too long. Without having to use his peripheral vision.
Even now, when it appeared they might have some godforsaken terminal illness, she was lovely. Her silken hair, fell back across her shoulder, pooling on the uncomfortable mattress behind her. Her breathing was soft, deep, peaceful. How did she manage it?
Had they really gotten so far, survived Taipei, survived the Rimbaldi prophecy, survived the resurrection of his father's killer, just so they could die from some overblown flu? And what now? What if this was the end for both of them? There was so much that had yet to be said.
He was sure his cards were showing as far as Sydney was concerned. Sure that she knew there was more to his concern than that of a colleague. He wasn't the field agent. He hadn't been trained as thoroughly as she in the art of the poker face. Yet he wondered if she questioned his commitment to her. Did she think he harbored reservations over the circumstances of his father's death? If only he could tell her that the shared pain of that loss bound her to him all the more.
Her eyelids flickered. He watched as her pupils focused on the ceiling above and could see the clarity cross her face. Sleep was fading and reality was setting in. She turned in the cot until she was facing him. A smile. Such a smile! Slow, comfortable - no pretenses. Not rushed, or hidden, or nervous. Simply authentic. Simply Sydney.
He returned it. *** "Hey," she said.
"Hey," he offered back.
"Close your eyes at all?" she asked.
"Off and on," he said, knowing she would spot the lie.
Say it. He ordered himself. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he sought levity. "You talk in your sleep."
She wrinkled her forehead. "No." Hard for a seasoned agent to come to grips with talking out of school. "What'd I say?" she asked. He watched the flush spread across her face.
What had she been dreaming about, he wondered? "Don't frost the pie." He smiled. The fleeting image of he and Sydney in her kitchen, her in nothing but a white chef's apron flashed through his admittedly masculine mind. "It seemed very important," he teased.
She shrugged her shoulder and the corner of her mouth lifted. "No idea."
He laughed at her embarrassment and she joined him. They were so close. Inches apart. Her smile remained but he could see the anxiety in her eyes. He wished he could bridge the short gap and sink his hand into her hair, comforting her.taking some of the burden of her worry.
After a long pause, she finally whispered, "Think we're sick?" All of a sudden she's a child and he longs to give her the comfort she's never found in the arms of a parent. The kind of comfort that parents can't give. The comfort of a lover. *** How does he answer and make her believe it? "I don't know." Honesty. Yes, that's what Sydney Bristow needs from him. Not projections, not statistics, not false hope. Honesty.
"Thanks for not sugar coating it," she said.
He laughed softly and slurred, "Maybe that's what you meant about not frosting the pie." Sleep was taking him. Perhaps he should have tried harder to rest while she slept. Now, when he wanted to share this time with her, his eyelids felt incredibly heavy.
"Vaughn?" she asked.
His eyelids popped open.
"I wouldn't wish this uncertainty on anyone," she continued, when she saw he was alert. "But.if we had to go through it - I'm glad we've got each other."
"Nobody I'd rather be quarantined with." he murmured. He was losing consciousness. This wasn't right. This wasn't sleep.
"Vaughn!"
The sound of her voice calling his name echoed in his foggy head. It was the last sound he would hear.
To be continued.
A/N: I'm going to piece together some basic, widely known, Syd/Vaughn spoilers up to and including Episode 9.. Then take it from there with a full-blown Syd/Vaughn encounter. Let me know if you enjoy it.
75% of the dialogue belongs to JJ, Bad Robot, et al. Vaughn's thoughts and the rest are mine.
SALVATION OF ONE
Quarantined. With Sydney Bristow. Did the bad guys know that by infecting him with some mystery disease they were also fulfilling one of his fondest wishes? Probably not. Yet here they lay, side by side, on matching cots. And she slept.
He didn't mind. It afforded him time to watch her without being observed. Without having to glance at his wingtips whenever it felt as if he'd be looking for too long. Without having to use his peripheral vision.
Even now, when it appeared they might have some godforsaken terminal illness, she was lovely. Her silken hair, fell back across her shoulder, pooling on the uncomfortable mattress behind her. Her breathing was soft, deep, peaceful. How did she manage it?
Had they really gotten so far, survived Taipei, survived the Rimbaldi prophecy, survived the resurrection of his father's killer, just so they could die from some overblown flu? And what now? What if this was the end for both of them? There was so much that had yet to be said.
He was sure his cards were showing as far as Sydney was concerned. Sure that she knew there was more to his concern than that of a colleague. He wasn't the field agent. He hadn't been trained as thoroughly as she in the art of the poker face. Yet he wondered if she questioned his commitment to her. Did she think he harbored reservations over the circumstances of his father's death? If only he could tell her that the shared pain of that loss bound her to him all the more.
Her eyelids flickered. He watched as her pupils focused on the ceiling above and could see the clarity cross her face. Sleep was fading and reality was setting in. She turned in the cot until she was facing him. A smile. Such a smile! Slow, comfortable - no pretenses. Not rushed, or hidden, or nervous. Simply authentic. Simply Sydney.
He returned it. *** "Hey," she said.
"Hey," he offered back.
"Close your eyes at all?" she asked.
"Off and on," he said, knowing she would spot the lie.
Say it. He ordered himself. But the words wouldn't come. Instead, he sought levity. "You talk in your sleep."
She wrinkled her forehead. "No." Hard for a seasoned agent to come to grips with talking out of school. "What'd I say?" she asked. He watched the flush spread across her face.
What had she been dreaming about, he wondered? "Don't frost the pie." He smiled. The fleeting image of he and Sydney in her kitchen, her in nothing but a white chef's apron flashed through his admittedly masculine mind. "It seemed very important," he teased.
She shrugged her shoulder and the corner of her mouth lifted. "No idea."
He laughed at her embarrassment and she joined him. They were so close. Inches apart. Her smile remained but he could see the anxiety in her eyes. He wished he could bridge the short gap and sink his hand into her hair, comforting her.taking some of the burden of her worry.
After a long pause, she finally whispered, "Think we're sick?" All of a sudden she's a child and he longs to give her the comfort she's never found in the arms of a parent. The kind of comfort that parents can't give. The comfort of a lover. *** How does he answer and make her believe it? "I don't know." Honesty. Yes, that's what Sydney Bristow needs from him. Not projections, not statistics, not false hope. Honesty.
"Thanks for not sugar coating it," she said.
He laughed softly and slurred, "Maybe that's what you meant about not frosting the pie." Sleep was taking him. Perhaps he should have tried harder to rest while she slept. Now, when he wanted to share this time with her, his eyelids felt incredibly heavy.
"Vaughn?" she asked.
His eyelids popped open.
"I wouldn't wish this uncertainty on anyone," she continued, when she saw he was alert. "But.if we had to go through it - I'm glad we've got each other."
"Nobody I'd rather be quarantined with." he murmured. He was losing consciousness. This wasn't right. This wasn't sleep.
"Vaughn!"
The sound of her voice calling his name echoed in his foggy head. It was the last sound he would hear.
To be continued.
A/N: I'm going to piece together some basic, widely known, Syd/Vaughn spoilers up to and including Episode 9.. Then take it from there with a full-blown Syd/Vaughn encounter. Let me know if you enjoy it.