The Beauty of the Rain

Existentialist

Entertainment Moderator
Okay... my first fic in a while. And since I'm posting it, that means I'm serious about finishing it. Honestly, right now, I have no idea where it's going to go (or where my ideas will take me). All I have is a theme, and if you recognize the title and the topic description, it'll probably be pretty obvious.



Title: The Beauty of the Rain
Author: Existentialist (Leah)
Genre: S/V, slightly AU
Summary: Go back to early season 2 (possibly around the time of "The Getaway"). A resculpuring of the Syd/Vaughn relationship.
Disclaimer: I didn't create Alias (JJ Abrams did), etc etc.
Feedback: As this is my first posted fanfic in a long time, feedback is very important to me. So please, feed back.



Prologue

It starts with an idea. Take the idea and turn it into something useful – give it words. Write it down. That’s what a journal is for, after all. You studied English in grad school. You should be good at this. Your pen is poised over the crisp, unused paper, ready to work.

But this is something you can’t write down. Something you’re almost afraid to give words. If the innocent, unassuming leather-bound journal fell into the wrong hands, it could mean the end. The end of what, exactly?

You. Him. Any idea the two of you ever had about anything really, and about each other in particular. For all intents and purposes, it would be the end of the world.

And anyways, assigning words to this idea would make it stale. Words are necessary to utilize ideas, but they strip some of the beauty. And when that beauty is lost, things just don’t sparkle the way they did before they had a name.

For example, take rain. It’s a beautiful concept, droplets of water falling from the sky. Washing the world new. In the right light, it shimmers, showering the earth with bursts of freshness. At the same time, it’s all recycled. That water has already hit the ground, countless times before. Older than man. Possibly even older than time itself. Full of secrets, longings, passions that belong to others. People who may have long since perished. As it falls, it whispers the secrets of these people. If you listen closely, you can sometimes hear them.

But then you give it four letters.

Rain.

The ‘R’ is harsh, killing some of the beauty. That’s not the half of it. How can four letters encompass an eternity of secrets?
 
I'm interested in where you're going to be taking this topic. It's a great idea. :smiley:

And it's back in Season 2. Ah, the good ol' days. I miss them.

Great start. Can you pm me when you update?? Thanks.
 
This is a really good start

I cant wait to see where you take it

For example, take rain. It’s a beautiful concept, droplets of water falling from the sky. Washing the world new. In the right light, it shimmers, showering the earth with bursts of freshness. At the same time, it’s all recycled. That water has already hit the ground, countless times before. Older than man. Possibly even older than time itself. Full of secrets, longings, passions that belong to others. People who may have long since perished. As it falls, it whispers the secrets of these people. If you listen closely, you can sometimes hear them.
That was really well written

Please pm me when u update

Aly
-xx-
 
Leah! I loved it! I agree how can anyone put words, especially small words to ideas, longings, etc. My one friend wrote a blog about that recently, it was very good and interesting.

Yay for new fanfic! And IM me, being that i'm hardly ever on and i'll never get the pm. ;)
 
You guys are fantastic. :big hugs:



One

Your breath makes little foggy circles on the glass as you stare out the window. It is a cloudy, cool day and the sidewalks around your house are empty. The air threatens – or promises – of rain. You wait for it.

“Is it raining yet?” Francie, your roommate, asks as she walks past you to the kitchen. You shake your head, smiling at her. Not yet.

Of course, what you’re waiting for isn’t the rain. It’s the call from him. You’re off on another mission tonight – Francie thinks it’s a business trip, of course. Sweden. That means blonde wig and short skirt. You’re waiting for the signal, so you can see him. For the counter-mission. And to quench your thirst.

Francie bumbles past you again. “I’ve got to go meet some one at the restaurant,” she says, searching the coffee table for something. “Will and I are going out to dinner afterwards. You want to come?”

“Can’t. Business trip,” you reply, feeling the stab you always feel when you lie to your best friend. When you lie to her, you use the least amount of words possible. As if it matters how many words you use in a lie.

“Oh right,” she says. She grabs a light jacket. As she’s putting it on, the phone rings. You dash to it and pick up, breathless. “Hello?” you say, your voice edging on anticipation. Cool it.

The answer you were hoping for. “Joey’s Pizza?” The familiar voice. You tell that voice that he’s got the wrong number. All it takes is those four syllables to get your heart beating faster.

Francie is out the door before you can take a half second to collect yourself and turn around to face her. Good. Now you won’t have to tell another lie.

You slip into your boots, the sexy ones. Almost inappropriate for a clandestine meeting, but your charcoal grey pants cover most of them. Turtleneck sweater, in powder blue. You stop by a mirror to touch up your lipstick. If you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late. He hates when you’re late. “Be on time,” he said once. “I’ll never know if you’re just running late or if… if something happened on the way over.” You remember exactly how his voice cracked at the idea of something happening to you, the wrinkles on his forehead that you always wish you can run your fingers over to smooth.

The drive over is a blur, as usual. Always keeping an eye on the rearview mirror. Drive around the warehouse once, making sure his car is on one side of the building. You park on the opposite side. Take a deep breath as you enter and see his silhouette next to the cage.

“Hi.” You’re almost breathless by the sight of him. He’s dressed in a grey suit, blue tie, so you almost match. The grey makes his eyes hazel – the eyes that are trying not to look you up and down. He replies with a “hey” and a smile. You get down to business. Business first, then pleasure. It’s the usual. Do this instead of that. Give them this instead of that. Be careful. Come back to him alive. You know.

You know and you revel in it.

Business is over. It’s always a little awkward, both of you unsure, unwilling to leave so soon. What do you say next? He comes up with something first. “Will’s doing great at his new job,” he says.

You’re glad, and you say so. Thank him again for getting Will that job. He smiles again, this time a closed mouth one, his eyes twinkling even in the dim light. Wrack your brains for something to prolong the conversation. To your dismay, you can’t think of anything, and before the silence can get too awkward, you smile at him, almost disappointed. “I better go,” you say reluctantly.

He nods and you half wish that he would tell you not to go so soon, to stay and listen to his life story. You wish you could ask him why your mother thinks that he doesn’t sleep while she’s on missions. Deep down, you think you know why – for the same reason why you look forward to going to that dank, dim warehouse. But hearing him say it is so different. It would change everything.

Will he be sleepless tonight?

Another smile and you half wave goodbye at him as you turn to leave. You can never bring yourself to say “goodbye” to him. As you walk away, you know he’s standing there, gazing after your retreating head.

You leave the warehouse and take a deep breath of fresh air. Look up at the sky and notice how much the air smells like rain. The skies look ready to burst. Rush to your car and drive away.
 
He hates when you’re late. “Be on time,” he said once. “I’ll never know if you’re just running late or if… if something happened on the way over.” You remember exactly how his voice cracked at the idea of something happening to you, the wrinkles on his forehead that you always wish you can run your fingers over to smooth.
So cute :love:

Loved it

Awesome update

Aly -xx-
 
wow, i'm not sure I've read a fic in *ponders propper grammer* well a fic where we're syd, it's really cleaver and serprisingly easy to get used to. Wow back in the S1/2 days.. ahhh goood times, life was so much simpler then.

I love the rain

thanks for the PM

Louise
 
You slip into your boots, the sexy ones. Almost inappropriate for a clandestine meeting, but your charcoal grey pants cover most of them. Turtleneck sweater, in powder blue. You stop by a mirror to touch up your lipstick. If you don’t leave soon, you’ll be late. He hates when you’re late. “Be on time,” he said once. “I’ll never know if you’re just running late or if… if something happened on the way over.” You remember exactly how his voice cracked at the idea of something happening to you, the wrinkles on his forehead that you always wish you can run your fingers over to smooth.
thats def. my fav part
great job leah
thanks for the pm :hug:
 
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