LaurenRachael
Mommy, can I please have a snow plough?
Title: Moments
Author: <span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'>Carolina</span>
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams but all the characters you don’t recognize from alias are indeed my own.
Summary: If only a moment would bring back what you gave up on…
Author’s note: This is alternate universe. NO CIA!
Note from Laur: Okay, so this fic is by, in my opinion, the best writer on AA. She gets barely any readers, and is discouraged from posting over here. I offered to post it for her, to see if more people would read because it is under my name. I really hope that is not the case, but I do hope that she gets the reviews she deserves.
Anyways, I hope you give this a chance, because it is so amazing.
I am PMing anyone on my No More Lonely Nights list.
Thanks--and quoted reviews are appreciated!!!
Much love,
Lauren
**
Chapter One
You walk away from the rain thinking that somehow, if you run fast enough, the water drops won’t get to you. You smile at the thought of what days like these mean to you. Restlessly you make your way to the apartment and allow yourself a little silence.
The streets hold no name, nor strangers to your heart, there’s just no one there, you sigh, knowing that just a few weeks ago you were just a college graduate with no friends and certainly no inspiration to do whatever needed to be done.
Grabbing your book you make your way to the bed, hoping that if you read, the pain will go away, the sorrow will be neglected and you’ll feel nothing, you’ll be alone as you wish to be.
You are amazed at Charlotte Bronte’s antics to make Mr. Rochester realize he’s rather very much in love with Jane, and you have to grin realizing what this young but not naïve girl had to been put through to find a place where she felt like she belonged.
You can already see the memories fading as you look at the window watching the rain as it falls each time more intensely. This reminds you of the time you have spent wanting to forget; wanting to wish it never happened, but you can’t. You can’t or won’t? You question yourself and you know it isn’t tonight that the answer will come through.
Pulling the covers up to your neck you feel suddenly cold. Throwing a glance at the vacant pillow next to you, you know exactly what is missing.
He’s missing.
That ‘who’ who makes your breath hitch and your heart swell. This isn’t right and you know it. You were always a rational kind of girl, never once you were fooled for a situation nor twice rejected by not having an answer at the tip of your tongue, now isn’t the time to remember that someone who decided to play you or even fool you.
‘No’ you say, you will allow yourself a good night of sleep without memoirs or nuances of what you could have had.
***
The next day a huge headache greets you and you have to put your hand to your head to stop the dizziness. Unwell or not you will not arrive late for work again.
Your editor has been put up to date on what has been going on with you. Maybe the fact that she is now one of your most dependent friends helps her case but still, she knows you might have a hard time waking up each morning.
Yet, you make yourself get out of the bed and onto the bathroom, you feel, you just know, that a quick shower will work wonders on your mood.
A toast and a cup of coffee later you are ready to go.
Once again you walk on the now busy streets with no name and on to the next block, where the paper is located.
‘It’s like a dream came true.’ You force your mind to remember that it has always been your dream to be a journalist and to write.
It’s been two months since you moved out of your parents’ house to work and earn money on your own, and although for a few, the separation would be terrifying, you found it relieving that you were getting your so-much wanted independence now.
“Hey!” Tom, the receptionist of the paper ‘‘Morning Manhattan’, where you work, greets you giddily, just like he has been doing for the last month and a half.
“Hi.” You barely whisper, inaudible to the others surrounding you.
You get to your desk and you are surprised to see a bouquet of tulips sitting on your table next to the computer. This is unexpected to you but surely brings a new joy to your day.
“They got here this morning, just as we opened; secret admirer?” Your boss, not that she likes to be called that, asks mischievously.
“Not that I know.” You smile; whoever it is who sent the flowers knew you love tulips. Secretly, you know who sent them but you don’t want to even think about that possibility.
“Either way, I’ll tell Martin he should be prepared for some competition.” She jokes. You have to blush at the thought of the crush that little ten year old Martin, son of Marianne, your editor, has on you.
“Tell him he doesn’t have to worry.” He doesn’t. At least you know that one pure ten year old heart holds dearly your love.
Marianne laughs and leaves patting her hand on your back on her way out. Sighing you remind yourself that you should get some work done on that column you own at this paper.
Unbeknown to the world, you start writing what will be next week's article, ‘Because things happen’, by Sydney Bristow.
As you type the rest of the sentence that will mark the end of the chapter, you realize it is already three o’clock and you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast at nine.
You pick up your purse and your case full of drafts, and leave to get your cappuccino and your Caesar salad over at ‘Frank’s Cup’.
A million thoughts assault you as you are inserting your sugar into your coffee. This is your thing. He used to tease you at the quantity of sugar you’d put in your coffee and you’d simply smile and say that it would make you sweeter; he would contradict that it was impossible to get even better or sweeter than what you already were.
These are the moments, the little things you had with Vaughn that either you want it or not won’t disappear.
Again, you refuse yourself to go back to that blissful happiness you possessed two months ago, so you go back to the paper to work on the last minute details of your column.
Tiredness comes over you and you know it’s time to go, but there will be no candlelit dinner awaiting you at home, there will be no fireplace lighten and definitely no one opening up the door for you to enter. You know you might have ruined every little chance you had with him when you said 'no'. ‘It doesn’t matter now’, you remind your soul, ‘he’s gone anyway.’
You move around the street lights and silently hum a melody, it takes you back to him but you don’t care, because tonight if only by thought, you want him to be with you.
You arrive home and going back to the significance of the name, you realize it is no home since you are the only one there. There is no talk about how your day went by the end of the day; there is no good morning echoing on the walls of the whole apartment when you wake up. There’s just… you and only you.
Surprisingly enough when you turn the doorknob of your room you hear water running and you think you distractedly could have left the water on your bathtub running.
Leaving your purse on the love seat by your bed you take off your shoes along with your blazer coat. You open the door of your adjoining bathroom.
There are rose petals all over the floor and the tub is full with bubbles and there are lighten candles everywhere on the floor. You get immediate tears on your eyes but you are dubious, he wouldn’t… he couldn’t…
“You didn’t…” You let out along with a breath.
“I did.” And there he is, by your side almost instantly. He looks the same, a little more tired, but so do you.
“Michael, you…” He shouldn’t but somehow even though you were the one who ruined this relationship you feel happy.
“Syd, don’t.” He whispers and you can’t to help but to fall in love with him all over again; but you can’t… you can’t.
“I love you, why can’t you accept that?” He takes you by the hand and since you are still flabbergasted with his presence you don’t notice that you are already in your living room and there are rose petals everywhere too.
You guess you were too tired and concentrated on your own thoughts when you came in to notice.
“You don’t love me, you think you do but you don’t.” You respond a little too harshly than you had intended.
“How can I think that I do? I know that I do Sydney.”
You shake your head; he is just too much for you.
“Michael, I hate to tell you again, but this is mistake.”
“What is?”
“We… this thing we have, I mean had, used to have going on.” You are confused, you know you want him; you want to tell him that you reciprocate his feelings but you can’t get yourself to ruin his life.
“Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.” He’s helpless but you can’t give him faith; you did once and you almost… you were close enough to perfection, but your perfection wasn’t perfect for his people, they had expectations, worries that you didn’t share.
“We’ve been over this. I broke up with you Michael; can’t you just get over it?” You bet the words hurt you as much to say as to him to listen.
“No! You have to give me a plausible justification to why you decided to say no to my proposal; I thought we had everything together.”
“You know why I said no. I can’t be your wife. Why are you insisting on this again?”
“Syd…” He leans closer and for a second you are willingly to give in, if only you didn’t feel so guilty.
He kisses you before you form a coherent answer and you know you want to kiss him as much as he wants to kiss you. So you quit denying your feelings.
You give in.
**
Please leave Carolina a nice review! ^_^
Author: <span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'>Carolina</span>
Disclaimer: Alias belongs to JJ Abrams but all the characters you don’t recognize from alias are indeed my own.
Summary: If only a moment would bring back what you gave up on…
Author’s note: This is alternate universe. NO CIA!
Note from Laur: Okay, so this fic is by, in my opinion, the best writer on AA. She gets barely any readers, and is discouraged from posting over here. I offered to post it for her, to see if more people would read because it is under my name. I really hope that is not the case, but I do hope that she gets the reviews she deserves.
Anyways, I hope you give this a chance, because it is so amazing.
I am PMing anyone on my No More Lonely Nights list.
Thanks--and quoted reviews are appreciated!!!
Much love,
Lauren
**
Chapter One
You walk away from the rain thinking that somehow, if you run fast enough, the water drops won’t get to you. You smile at the thought of what days like these mean to you. Restlessly you make your way to the apartment and allow yourself a little silence.
The streets hold no name, nor strangers to your heart, there’s just no one there, you sigh, knowing that just a few weeks ago you were just a college graduate with no friends and certainly no inspiration to do whatever needed to be done.
Grabbing your book you make your way to the bed, hoping that if you read, the pain will go away, the sorrow will be neglected and you’ll feel nothing, you’ll be alone as you wish to be.
You are amazed at Charlotte Bronte’s antics to make Mr. Rochester realize he’s rather very much in love with Jane, and you have to grin realizing what this young but not naïve girl had to been put through to find a place where she felt like she belonged.
You can already see the memories fading as you look at the window watching the rain as it falls each time more intensely. This reminds you of the time you have spent wanting to forget; wanting to wish it never happened, but you can’t. You can’t or won’t? You question yourself and you know it isn’t tonight that the answer will come through.
Pulling the covers up to your neck you feel suddenly cold. Throwing a glance at the vacant pillow next to you, you know exactly what is missing.
He’s missing.
That ‘who’ who makes your breath hitch and your heart swell. This isn’t right and you know it. You were always a rational kind of girl, never once you were fooled for a situation nor twice rejected by not having an answer at the tip of your tongue, now isn’t the time to remember that someone who decided to play you or even fool you.
‘No’ you say, you will allow yourself a good night of sleep without memoirs or nuances of what you could have had.
***
The next day a huge headache greets you and you have to put your hand to your head to stop the dizziness. Unwell or not you will not arrive late for work again.
Your editor has been put up to date on what has been going on with you. Maybe the fact that she is now one of your most dependent friends helps her case but still, she knows you might have a hard time waking up each morning.
Yet, you make yourself get out of the bed and onto the bathroom, you feel, you just know, that a quick shower will work wonders on your mood.
A toast and a cup of coffee later you are ready to go.
Once again you walk on the now busy streets with no name and on to the next block, where the paper is located.
‘It’s like a dream came true.’ You force your mind to remember that it has always been your dream to be a journalist and to write.
It’s been two months since you moved out of your parents’ house to work and earn money on your own, and although for a few, the separation would be terrifying, you found it relieving that you were getting your so-much wanted independence now.
“Hey!” Tom, the receptionist of the paper ‘‘Morning Manhattan’, where you work, greets you giddily, just like he has been doing for the last month and a half.
“Hi.” You barely whisper, inaudible to the others surrounding you.
You get to your desk and you are surprised to see a bouquet of tulips sitting on your table next to the computer. This is unexpected to you but surely brings a new joy to your day.
“They got here this morning, just as we opened; secret admirer?” Your boss, not that she likes to be called that, asks mischievously.
“Not that I know.” You smile; whoever it is who sent the flowers knew you love tulips. Secretly, you know who sent them but you don’t want to even think about that possibility.
“Either way, I’ll tell Martin he should be prepared for some competition.” She jokes. You have to blush at the thought of the crush that little ten year old Martin, son of Marianne, your editor, has on you.
“Tell him he doesn’t have to worry.” He doesn’t. At least you know that one pure ten year old heart holds dearly your love.
Marianne laughs and leaves patting her hand on your back on her way out. Sighing you remind yourself that you should get some work done on that column you own at this paper.
Unbeknown to the world, you start writing what will be next week's article, ‘Because things happen’, by Sydney Bristow.
As you type the rest of the sentence that will mark the end of the chapter, you realize it is already three o’clock and you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast at nine.
You pick up your purse and your case full of drafts, and leave to get your cappuccino and your Caesar salad over at ‘Frank’s Cup’.
A million thoughts assault you as you are inserting your sugar into your coffee. This is your thing. He used to tease you at the quantity of sugar you’d put in your coffee and you’d simply smile and say that it would make you sweeter; he would contradict that it was impossible to get even better or sweeter than what you already were.
These are the moments, the little things you had with Vaughn that either you want it or not won’t disappear.
Again, you refuse yourself to go back to that blissful happiness you possessed two months ago, so you go back to the paper to work on the last minute details of your column.
Tiredness comes over you and you know it’s time to go, but there will be no candlelit dinner awaiting you at home, there will be no fireplace lighten and definitely no one opening up the door for you to enter. You know you might have ruined every little chance you had with him when you said 'no'. ‘It doesn’t matter now’, you remind your soul, ‘he’s gone anyway.’
You move around the street lights and silently hum a melody, it takes you back to him but you don’t care, because tonight if only by thought, you want him to be with you.
You arrive home and going back to the significance of the name, you realize it is no home since you are the only one there. There is no talk about how your day went by the end of the day; there is no good morning echoing on the walls of the whole apartment when you wake up. There’s just… you and only you.
Surprisingly enough when you turn the doorknob of your room you hear water running and you think you distractedly could have left the water on your bathtub running.
Leaving your purse on the love seat by your bed you take off your shoes along with your blazer coat. You open the door of your adjoining bathroom.
There are rose petals all over the floor and the tub is full with bubbles and there are lighten candles everywhere on the floor. You get immediate tears on your eyes but you are dubious, he wouldn’t… he couldn’t…
“You didn’t…” You let out along with a breath.
“I did.” And there he is, by your side almost instantly. He looks the same, a little more tired, but so do you.
“Michael, you…” He shouldn’t but somehow even though you were the one who ruined this relationship you feel happy.
“Syd, don’t.” He whispers and you can’t to help but to fall in love with him all over again; but you can’t… you can’t.
“I love you, why can’t you accept that?” He takes you by the hand and since you are still flabbergasted with his presence you don’t notice that you are already in your living room and there are rose petals everywhere too.
You guess you were too tired and concentrated on your own thoughts when you came in to notice.
“You don’t love me, you think you do but you don’t.” You respond a little too harshly than you had intended.
“How can I think that I do? I know that I do Sydney.”
You shake your head; he is just too much for you.
“Michael, I hate to tell you again, but this is mistake.”
“What is?”
“We… this thing we have, I mean had, used to have going on.” You are confused, you know you want him; you want to tell him that you reciprocate his feelings but you can’t get yourself to ruin his life.
“Why are you doing this? I don’t understand.” He’s helpless but you can’t give him faith; you did once and you almost… you were close enough to perfection, but your perfection wasn’t perfect for his people, they had expectations, worries that you didn’t share.
“We’ve been over this. I broke up with you Michael; can’t you just get over it?” You bet the words hurt you as much to say as to him to listen.
“No! You have to give me a plausible justification to why you decided to say no to my proposal; I thought we had everything together.”
“You know why I said no. I can’t be your wife. Why are you insisting on this again?”
“Syd…” He leans closer and for a second you are willingly to give in, if only you didn’t feel so guilty.
He kisses you before you form a coherent answer and you know you want to kiss him as much as he wants to kiss you. So you quit denying your feelings.
You give in.
**
Please leave Carolina a nice review! ^_^
