Title: Nothing Gold Can Stay
Author: Stella
Summary: Post-Season Two, Vaughn is drinking in his home.
Very Short. Infinitesimal. Minute.
{1/1}
The night was calm, a still blackness. It was late, he didn’t know how late, but the night was black velvet, a humid darkness. His apartment over looked a park, the street lights were fireflies, sparsely relieving the darkness. Soft, euphonious noises were made by the rain hitting the windows.
She had loved the rain. She has always wanted to dance in the rain.
He sat on the oak floor, a full bottle in his hand, and a mind full of memories.
“I’m sorry to call you, I just didn't know who else to call. My father and I were supposed to have dinner tonight. The first time since I was a kid. I can't even remember the last time. He just didn't show. He said he had work. He didn't have work. This isn't just about my dad. When I was in Morocco, the man who died... he was a friend of mine. He was a good man, who thought he was fighting for the right side that he was working for the C.I.A.! He was lied to, and now he's dead. I had his blood on my hands!”
“Sydney...”
“I feel like I'm losing my mind! Like I don't even know who I am anymore, or what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it!”
“You just threw your beeper in the Pacific.”
“I know...”
“Okay, listen to me. There's something you need to know. When you first walked into my office with that stupid Bozo hair, I thought you were crazy. I thought you might actually be a crazy person. But I watched you, and I read your statement, and I've seen... I've seen how you think, I've seen how you work; I've seen how you are in this job. In this job, you see darkness. You see the worst in people and though the jobs are different and the missions change, and the enemies have a thousand names, the one crucial thing, the one real responsibility you have is to not let your rage, and your resentment, and your disgust, darken you. When you're at your absolute lowest, at your most depressed, just remember that you can always... you know. You got my number.”
His lips formed a lopsided grin; he loved thinking of their first contact. The spark that ignited the fire. He took another drink.
“Listen, uh, do you want to go to dinner? When we were driving into town I saw this place. Rousseau, I think it's called.”
“Vaughn, we... we can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for a million reasons. If Alliance security sees us together they'll kill us.”
“The nearest Alliance cell is in Zurich. The CIA tracks SD-6 security section. There haven't been any signals, no movement.”
“You're serious.”
“We've been to restaurants and sat near each other. We've met in parks and convenience stores, and all of them in LA where we are much more likely to be seen. Look, two things -- one, I think it's not that great a risk and two, I am hungry. I'm starving. I mean, we're going to be together anyway, why can't we be eating? Aren't you hungry?”
“Yeah, I'm hungry.”
“Let's do it.”
“Yeah?”
“I'm going to change.”
“That's a good idea.”
“Okay.”
Another glass of vodka was consumed.
Followed by one more.
This changed to two more.
Three.
He then lost count.
“How are we going to stay awake today?”
“Who cares?”
“Vaughn?”
“How come you never call me Michael?”
“I do sometimes. Vaughn?”
“What?”
“I'm graduating today.”
“What? When the hell did you have time to take a class this year?”
“I wasn't even going to go to the ceremony but... And I've been lying here remembering why I never gave school up and why I killed myself writing papers instead of... I don't know, accepting that I'd be an agent forever.”
“You're going to quit the CIA, aren't you?”
The glass was set down hard, with a lack of dexterity that epitomized a drunk. But he was convinced he was not one.
She spoke to him, her voice but a whisper in the air.
“You have to stop. Stop for me.”
“Just one more, Syd. Just one more.” He said, panting, already pouring himself another drink. The liquid sloshed over the sides, making the pool of vodka on the table just that much larger. He imbibed the alcohol with closed eyes, savoring the longed for taste. With a sigh, he tried to pour himself his umpteenth drink, only to find that his bottle was empty.
“Syd,” he wheezed, “I need you with me. I know, I know you can’t, so I will be with you.”
Leaning his head against the couch, he groped for the compartment under the coffee table that was permanently stained with the pools of alcohol. His fingers reached their target and he clasped the cool metal in his hand. He trailed his fingers up and down the shaft, looking for the safety trigger. With a ragged breath, he pulled it back with a satisfying click. Cool hard metal came into contact with his temple.
“For you, Sydney.” His finger reached for the trigger, but he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to pull it. He found the point blindly, immediately recognizing its narrow and curved form. His finger was poised, ready, but he was not. He left his finger there, finally realizing that this is not what Sydney would have wanted.
A loud rapping noise startled him, causing him to jump.
He pulled it.
Bang.
The room shook; he did not.
Hearing the bang, the knocker pulled out her keys to the apartment.
Sydney Bristow’s face was quickly stained with bitter tears, coursing down her cheeks, through her eye make-up, staining her tears black. She had heard the cacophonous sound too many times not to know. Instead of turning around, as she wanted to, she fumbled with the key her father gave her, and a shaking hand put it in the lock. Sliding into place, the tumblers aligned giving her access to the room with a ghastly sight.
Blood.
Vodka.
His body…
in the blood…
on the floor…
with a hole in his temple.
Her scream pierced the muted night. It resonated throughout the empty apartment, out the window, notifying the oblivious world of her loss.
She knelt at his side, taking his bloody head into her chest. As if she could bring him back, she held his limp body close to her heart. She cradled him, embraced him, supported his wilting body.
“Help me.” She whispered to the night. “Help me.”
The tranquil night was still.
Tears came faster now. Grabbing the gun, she took his hand in hers.
And the night enveloped them both.
For nothing gold can stay.
-END-
As you bright souls out there might have noticed, this is very much like Romeo and Juliet. So… yeah.
And if you think it is dumb, which is probably a good chunk of you, I got this idea in English… and I don’t complain when I have ideas.
Please review, for they mean very much to me.
Author: Stella
Summary: Post-Season Two, Vaughn is drinking in his home.
Very Short. Infinitesimal. Minute.
{1/1}
The night was calm, a still blackness. It was late, he didn’t know how late, but the night was black velvet, a humid darkness. His apartment over looked a park, the street lights were fireflies, sparsely relieving the darkness. Soft, euphonious noises were made by the rain hitting the windows.
She had loved the rain. She has always wanted to dance in the rain.
He sat on the oak floor, a full bottle in his hand, and a mind full of memories.
“I’m sorry to call you, I just didn't know who else to call. My father and I were supposed to have dinner tonight. The first time since I was a kid. I can't even remember the last time. He just didn't show. He said he had work. He didn't have work. This isn't just about my dad. When I was in Morocco, the man who died... he was a friend of mine. He was a good man, who thought he was fighting for the right side that he was working for the C.I.A.! He was lied to, and now he's dead. I had his blood on my hands!”
“Sydney...”
“I feel like I'm losing my mind! Like I don't even know who I am anymore, or what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it!”
“You just threw your beeper in the Pacific.”
“I know...”
“Okay, listen to me. There's something you need to know. When you first walked into my office with that stupid Bozo hair, I thought you were crazy. I thought you might actually be a crazy person. But I watched you, and I read your statement, and I've seen... I've seen how you think, I've seen how you work; I've seen how you are in this job. In this job, you see darkness. You see the worst in people and though the jobs are different and the missions change, and the enemies have a thousand names, the one crucial thing, the one real responsibility you have is to not let your rage, and your resentment, and your disgust, darken you. When you're at your absolute lowest, at your most depressed, just remember that you can always... you know. You got my number.”
His lips formed a lopsided grin; he loved thinking of their first contact. The spark that ignited the fire. He took another drink.
“Listen, uh, do you want to go to dinner? When we were driving into town I saw this place. Rousseau, I think it's called.”
“Vaughn, we... we can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for a million reasons. If Alliance security sees us together they'll kill us.”
“The nearest Alliance cell is in Zurich. The CIA tracks SD-6 security section. There haven't been any signals, no movement.”
“You're serious.”
“We've been to restaurants and sat near each other. We've met in parks and convenience stores, and all of them in LA where we are much more likely to be seen. Look, two things -- one, I think it's not that great a risk and two, I am hungry. I'm starving. I mean, we're going to be together anyway, why can't we be eating? Aren't you hungry?”
“Yeah, I'm hungry.”
“Let's do it.”
“Yeah?”
“I'm going to change.”
“That's a good idea.”
“Okay.”
Another glass of vodka was consumed.
Followed by one more.
This changed to two more.
Three.
He then lost count.
“How are we going to stay awake today?”
“Who cares?”
“Vaughn?”
“How come you never call me Michael?”
“I do sometimes. Vaughn?”
“What?”
“I'm graduating today.”
“What? When the hell did you have time to take a class this year?”
“I wasn't even going to go to the ceremony but... And I've been lying here remembering why I never gave school up and why I killed myself writing papers instead of... I don't know, accepting that I'd be an agent forever.”
“You're going to quit the CIA, aren't you?”
The glass was set down hard, with a lack of dexterity that epitomized a drunk. But he was convinced he was not one.
She spoke to him, her voice but a whisper in the air.
“You have to stop. Stop for me.”
“Just one more, Syd. Just one more.” He said, panting, already pouring himself another drink. The liquid sloshed over the sides, making the pool of vodka on the table just that much larger. He imbibed the alcohol with closed eyes, savoring the longed for taste. With a sigh, he tried to pour himself his umpteenth drink, only to find that his bottle was empty.
“Syd,” he wheezed, “I need you with me. I know, I know you can’t, so I will be with you.”
Leaning his head against the couch, he groped for the compartment under the coffee table that was permanently stained with the pools of alcohol. His fingers reached their target and he clasped the cool metal in his hand. He trailed his fingers up and down the shaft, looking for the safety trigger. With a ragged breath, he pulled it back with a satisfying click. Cool hard metal came into contact with his temple.
“For you, Sydney.” His finger reached for the trigger, but he wasn’t sure if he had the courage to pull it. He found the point blindly, immediately recognizing its narrow and curved form. His finger was poised, ready, but he was not. He left his finger there, finally realizing that this is not what Sydney would have wanted.
A loud rapping noise startled him, causing him to jump.
He pulled it.
Bang.
The room shook; he did not.
Hearing the bang, the knocker pulled out her keys to the apartment.
Sydney Bristow’s face was quickly stained with bitter tears, coursing down her cheeks, through her eye make-up, staining her tears black. She had heard the cacophonous sound too many times not to know. Instead of turning around, as she wanted to, she fumbled with the key her father gave her, and a shaking hand put it in the lock. Sliding into place, the tumblers aligned giving her access to the room with a ghastly sight.
Blood.
Vodka.
His body…
in the blood…
on the floor…
with a hole in his temple.
Her scream pierced the muted night. It resonated throughout the empty apartment, out the window, notifying the oblivious world of her loss.
She knelt at his side, taking his bloody head into her chest. As if she could bring him back, she held his limp body close to her heart. She cradled him, embraced him, supported his wilting body.
“Help me.” She whispered to the night. “Help me.”
The tranquil night was still.
Tears came faster now. Grabbing the gun, she took his hand in hers.
And the night enveloped them both.
For nothing gold can stay.
-END-
As you bright souls out there might have noticed, this is very much like Romeo and Juliet. So… yeah.
And if you think it is dumb, which is probably a good chunk of you, I got this idea in English… and I don’t complain when I have ideas.
Please review, for they mean very much to me.
