One Knee In Sawdust

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Title: One Knee In Sawdust
Author: Jalyn
A/N: First of all, to disclaim, it’s late at night. Therefore there are bound to be continuity mistakes in this fic, because, well, I was afraid Billy my muse would fly away again. I sound like a really bad fan; but yeah, the whole of Season 3 is still fuzzy for me and my poor brain, and I've yet to get my DVD set for it and I could only rely on transcripts, except that the transcripts on tvtwiz is loading so darn slow for me. Yeah, so there.

So, I read the script for Welcome to Liberty Village and that bit about Santa Barbara and the proposing and, gah, the entire bit (I’m sure I’d tear when I actually get to watch the episode :P) And now I’m inspired to do a Vaughn ficlet. Which must be stupid, because many people have done this. Though not with the Santa Barbara part. I’m rambling now. Please shoot me if/when you find it not good, k? Oh, and I realise this could be a sorta prelude for Where We Were At. Hah. Blatant self-promotion :D I was contemplating posting this here or the forum for Post-Telling fics, then I thought that the PTforum could garner less reviews, so I, eh, in the hope of getting more reviews, posted this here. I mean, it still is S/V. :P
Timeline: Immediately Post-Telling
Shipper: S/V, though an angsty one.

<span style='font-size:14pt;line-height:100%'>One Knee In Sawdust</span>
Vaughn's PoV

When I was little, my Aunt used to talk about karma. Repercussions. That if you were bad, and did bad things to others, then bad things will happen to you.

If that was the case, then I must be a very bad man. Because bad things happen to bad men, I rationalize. Because bad men get their plans foiled. Because bad men get their properties taken.

Me? I lost my almost-fiancée in a fire. A fire that I could have prevented, were I to know what happened. Therefore, because the woman I loved with my life and some, my whole heart and fiber of my being, that I conclude that I must be a very bad man. A very bad man who could no longer be with the man he loves. Who can only live in the memories of her eyes. Her hair. The way her cheeks dimpled when she smiles. Her beautiful, beautiful smile.

All but memories. F-cking memories. Maybe I could erase the memories I have for the last 3 years. I know there’s a man in Hong Kong who’s done research on this. Maybe I should.

That’d erase those memories; those plans that I made. Every kiss. Every time we bonded physically, sealing our pact of love. I made plans. The scheduled trip to Santa Barbara was a plan. A very big plan that only Weiss and myself knew about. Note that I once mentioned the word almost-fiancée.

I was going to propose to Sydney Bristow.

I had the weekend all planned out. Every detail was mapped out. It would have been the perfect setting. The Presidential Suite at the Biltmore. The candlelit dinner on the cliffs overlooking the ocean. We’d even go to the zoo. I know she’d want to go to the zoo. I’d get down on one knee, in sawdust, in front of that giraffe with the crooked neck.

She’d look in my eyes. She’d go down on her knees. She’d look at me expectantly and whisper a definite ‘yes’ in my ear. I’d put the ring on her. Then I’d kiss her breath out of her. We’d have the special glows. Everybody would stop, stare, and smile. We’d have our romantic dinner, discussing about anything and everything. We’d hold each other tight, looking over the ocean. We’d share another special night in that suite.

Except that this scenario didn’t happen.

Instead, I get a phone call from Jack Bristow while I was in the car, right after the debrief. I almost crashed over the divider.

“Sydney’s house is on fire.” I dropped the phone before I could hear the next sentence, and when I picked it up again, all I got was a dial tone.

Even then, I thought, Sydney is a smart and strong girl. She’d escape, and maybe the worst thing that could happen would be our delay to Santa Barbara.

Then I sped over to her house, a mere three minutes after I received that phone call. Paramedics were all around, and I saw a stretcher carrying a male body out. A second glance confirmed that it was Will, and he looked badly injured. I stared at the door for a very long time.

Finally, another stretcher emerged out from that frame. I stood up, and placed my hand on a paramedic. I identified myself. He shook his head sadly.

“Charred. Unrecognizable. Female, in her late 20’s.”

I thought that was Francie. It was Weiss that shook me out of my trance.

“One of the neightbours witnessed Francie escaping. We found some papers that Will was compiling. Francie wasn’t Francie. She was the second double.”

I nodded mutely.

“I’m sorry, man, Mike. Sydney…”

I stared at him until the harsh fact sank in. even then I didn’t want to believe it. I had to wait for the tests to return. They did.

The body was Sydney’s. The DNA was a perfect match.

I’ve lost everything that I’ve ever known.

Now, here I stand, thinking of the only thing that really mattered to me my entire life. My plans are foiled, my dreams ruined. If only we could turn back time.

My fantasy of having one knee in sawdust and a ring in my hand remains just as that – a fantasy.

1/1

A/N: Comments are greatly, greatly appreciated. :D
 
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