Storage Room Secrets (Part 1)
TITLE: Storage Room Secrets [1/?]
AUTHOR: *note, author uses alias, this is not her real name* Ambrose
Chavez
EMAIL/FEEDBACK: agent47AChavez@h...
DISTRIBUTION: Feel free to archive this work as long as you notify me
of its location so I can visit the site!
DISCLAIMER: ALIAS is the property of ABC, Touchtone Pictures, Bad
Robot Productions, and is the creation of JJ Abrams. Sadly, I have
no part in it.
SUMMARY: Sydney and Vaughn must learn that every decision has a price.
RATING: PG-13
CLASSIFICATION: dramatic romance
AUTHOR'S SPECIAL NOTE: Hello, I hope you enjoy reading this piece.
It's a WIP, and assumes that the reader has knowledge of the first
season. This story takes place a short time after "Almost Thirty
Years". While there is no appearance (yet) made by Sydney's mom in
this first chapter, rest assured she'll come up at some point in the
series. Thanks for taking the time to read this, and if you have any
suggestions, please feel free to email me! *Ambrose
Desire. It poured though him, spread throughout him like a disease
by which he would willingly die. Half pleased, half cursing her
outfit without any real heat, he welcomed her into the storage room
that was theirs.
"Hey." He said easily. It had been a hard week for her, he knew.
It had been a hard week on all of them.
She smiled weakly, lowering herself gracefully onto a crate, and
managed to look incredibly sexy while doing so. He gulped a little
and had to clear his throat from the tightening that occurred when
her tight black skirt rode up an inch or two, and once more when she
crossed her legs.
Tearing his gaze from their silky appearance, he forced his eyes to
stay trained on her face.
Her eyes were haggard and tired, and for the first time in a long
while, there was a dark shadowing beneath them. Bags of burden and
failure lay beneath her usually bright, determined eyes. She was
tired. She had forgotten to wear gloss, he noticed, as she kept
licking her lips, unconsciously turning him on.
Finally, he stared at the top of her head. It was one thing that,
perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could think rationally about.
"How've you been?" He felt the need to ask though he knew the
answer. He simply wanted her to spill her emotions onto him so at
least he could ease her burden, join her in her pain, and help her
through the anguish.
She didn't look at him. Instead, she kept her gaze fixated on her
black pumps as she circled her ankle restlessly. Her fingers gripped
the edge of the crate tightly, her knuckles white.
"I keep thinking, maybe, just maybe…" In the quiet shelter of the
storage room, she sounded suddenly small and raw. She heaved a heavy
sigh before she continued. "Maybe if I had just hurried a bit more,
ran a little faster, been more careful. Maybe it wouldn't have
happened."
He nodded silently. He understood how she felt. All the `what ifs'
of life had once plagued him too. The possibilities, he found
himself agreeing, were indeed endless.
"It isn't as if you intended for it to happen." He sat on the edge of
the crate with her. She moved over to make space for him, and he
filled it. "There are risks to this job. We take them willingly.
We all do."
"But if I had just done my job better, my father wouldn't have been
shot, he wouldn't have a broken arm! He came back to save me, and it
cost him!" she said fiercely. She looked up at him. "You wouldn't
have almost died."
"You would have done the same for him if the roles had been reversed."
"Yeah, but I could have gotten out. He didn't have to. I'm trained
to escape in all situations, whether I'm caught, held, and tortured,
or just to run from guards. I'm trained to be constantly alert, to
notice every minute detail. I would have found a way out."
He smiled thinly. "I have no doubt about that, Sydney. But your
father did the right thing. If he had left you there… think about it
this way. If he didn't come back to save you, SD-6 would have
wondered where you were. Your cover could have been blown. I made
it out okay, you didn't have to worry about me. I'm trained to
escape and improvise too, Syd."
She nodded. She wouldn't admit it to him, not yet, that she had been
sick with worry over him. The only thing that overshadowed her
concern was her shock at finding out that her mom was The Man.
"But how can I criticize you for trying to save me?" he sighed. "I
would have done the same for you."
She leaned forward, rested her elbow on her bent knee and laid her
head in her hand. The headache that pulsed behind her eyes was still
there, relentless. The guilt that wracked her heart with every beat
wound its way around it and tightened.
"What I mean is, I shouldn't have gotten caught in the first place."
Her shoulders were straight, tense with personal disappointment. "I
should have seen or heard the guard coming. I should have been able
to fight him."
Vaughn crossed his arms across his chest and dropped his head,
staring at the floor. Looking up at her again, he tried to think of
something to say.
"We can't help everything. We're not always in control, Sydney.
We're smart, but we can't underestimate the enemy either. It's a
huge mistake if we do. We anticipated resistance and the difficulty
of this mission. No, it didn't go off without a hitch, but the
important thing is you're safe."
She said nothing.
"Hong Kong is over, Syd. We have other worries that are more
immediate. The agency has been keeping tabs on Dixon. For your
sake, we're considering having you lay low on counterintelligence for
a while." He waited for her protest. It worried him that it didn't
come.
"He hasn't reported me yet, but he's thinking about it. He's
watching me. He doesn't trust me, Vaughn. I know he doesn't trust
me anymore. I can't really blame him." She raised her head from her
hand and brushed back her hair, tucked it behind her ear.
Vaughn watched the movement, and uncrossed his arms. This poor,
tired girl gave so much, and her reward was a life of secrets and
lies. And betrayal of the highest degree.
"Then, there's my mother…" her voice trailed off. "Of all the people
we suspected, we didn't suspect her. I was so shocked, I couldn't
think. I sat, dumbfounded. I don't know how my father was able to
time it so that she and Khasinau weren't nearby when he broke in and
helped me. I don't know why my mother would…"
Giving in to the temptation, he reached over her shoulder and let his
hand stroke her hair once, then he rested it on her shoulders,
lightly drawing her to him.
She broke. The dam of steel barriers she built around her emotions
shattered, and the tears came hard and fast. A sob burst from her
throat as the weight of anxiety she carried finally burst through.
For once, it was too much at one time, and she needed someone to
understand. Needed someone to hold her.
Needed someone to comfort her. Not just anyone. Sydney needed
Vaughn.
At precisely this one moment in time, the world around her melted
away into dreams, nightmares, and memories. His arms banded around
her, sheltering her from the dreary reality that was her life. One
of her hands gripped the sleeve of his suit, the other fisted around
his crisp white dress shirt. Her tears soaked his shoulder, and her
sobs echoed in his ears.
He tried to quiet her, to calm her. Holding her close as he's always
wanted to, his heart soared, then sank again. This wasn't something
he'd done out of passion, but because she needed it. Realizing that
for the first time, verbal words weren't sufficient to communicate
her troubles. It was something soul-deep, and something
heartbreaking.
He offered all he could, trying desperately, not to give up his heart
as well. His mind and body betrayed him, though. His hand ran up
and down her back in soothing strokes, and his lips uttered mindless
endearments and consolations. Not just in English, he realized
later, but in French and Italian as well.
He kissed the top of her head, still trying to comfort her. Her sobs
were loud wails of anguish, and his heart was beginning to tear at
the seams for her. Pressing her against him, he continued to mumble
various phrases that surprised even him.
"Hush now, baby. There's no need to cry. I'm here, and the world is
beyond us. Love is strength, and will get you through. Draw comfort
from the pool of love, and you'll never cease to be complete."
Italian and English this time.
Feeling her pain seep through her, and into him, Vaughn closed his
eyes momentarily, absorbing it. God, what a great obligation this
woman imposed upon herself.
He shifted positions, letting her rest against the curve of his neck
and shoulder with one arm encompassing her. He caressed her hand
that fisted in his shirt, and she immediately released it, linking
her fingers with his.
Staring at their hands fused together, Vaughn made a vow in his
heart. All this will pay off one day, Sydney. I'll make sure of it.
When her tears subsided and her sobs were subdued, she sniffled and
stayed where she was. It hurt to talk, but she croaked a weak "thank
you".
He gave her a smile, and dropped his head to place a kiss on her
hairline again. He knew it was inappropriate, but he didn't care.
Sometimes the line between a working, professional relationship and
friendship blended and amalgamated until they were one.
She must have realized it too, because she sat very quiet and still.
Finally, she swallowed hard once and cleared her throat of its
constrictions.
"Michael?" she questioned.
He rested his cheek on her head and wondered if she was going to tell
him to back off. He grunted in response.
"Will we ever get to go to that hockey game?" she sighed, nestling in
closer.
He laughed at that. It was good to know that despite it all, she
could still strive for something normal.
"Yeah," he smiled. "Someday we'll go to that hockey game."
"Good." She said firmly. A few moments pass, and neither of them
moved. "Michael?"
Vaughn was beginning to like the sound of his first name on her
tongue. He grunted again.
"We'll get my mother, won't we?"
His eyes went dark and sharp. "Yes, Sydney, we'll get her." How
could she fake it all? How was it possible that she could be so
cold? So deceptive? So uncaring?
"Michael?"
He had unwittingly gathered her closer.
"Are you just going to hold me?"
"What?" he stiffened. His heart tripped, missed a beat. His mind
woke up from its languid pleasure, snapped to attention.
"Or are you going to kiss me?"
What kind of question was this?! He thought uncomfortably.
"The thought's crossed my mind." He confessed quietly. "More than
once."
"Oh." She said.
`Oh'? That was it? That was all she was going to say?
She leaned back, angled her head curiously at him and met his eyes
with clear honey-colored ones. Her eyes were a little puffy and red
from crying, her cheeks pink, her lips rosy. "What are you waiting
for?"
He switched his gaze from her. "Uh, the right time?"
"What about now?"
"Listen, Sydney," he spoke. "We both know there's this attraction
between us—"
"—Right. And it's time we acknowledged it," she rationalized.
He gulped. So, his gut was right – she was attracted to him as he
was to her. "I just don't want you to do anything you might regret.
Especially at a time like this, where you're not…"
He wanted to say `emotionally stable' but didn't think the phrase
would please her.
"When I'm not thinking clearly?" she scoffed. "I've wound myself so
tight that I'm bound to break apart sometime. I did, and I thank you
for letting me. Now that's passed, I'm in the clear. I don't want
reservations, and I won't regret a thing. I've been thinking about
it for some time, Michael. I want you to kiss me."
Had Vaughn been a few feet from her, rather than right next to her,
his eyes would have widened, and his jaw would have dropped.
Instead, his eyes shone with brilliant delight, and his lips curved
in a mischievous grin. "I didn't know you wanted me to."
Softly, slowly he bent his head to hers and pressed his lips against
hers, letting them move slowly against and with each other. Her lips
were soft and tender, and the heat between them escalated. There was
a little gasp of thrill and pleasure that escaped her throat when she
opened her mouth at his tongue's urging, and let him slip in to
tangle with hers. She clutched at him, and groaned a small protest
when he pulled away.
"Wow." She mumbled, somewhat disoriented. "I got what I asked for."
He smiled at her again, warmly. It had been the first real kiss
between them, and it had sizzled and sparkled. It had been sweet,
sensuous, and slow.
It had been pleasure and torment at the same time.
"I got what I've always dreamed." He said in French.
She smiled up at him, and leaned in for one more kiss. Just one
more, she promised. One more time, she wanted to feel him against
her, she wanted to taste the forbidden with a flash and instantaneous
desire. Need meeting need.
He obliged her wishes, and gave into his own.
Embraced and ensconced in each others arms, mouths hungrily nipping
and devouring the other, they remained blissfully unaware of the
presence that had stepped in the gateway to the storage room.
It was how he found them, so engrossed in their passion that shook
him to the core. For a moment, he watched, surprised. Then he shook
his head in swift disapproval, and suppressed the anger that welled
up in him. His neck and shoulders became rigid, and he slipped
behind a tall crate, concealing himself in the darkness.
Out of his breast pocket, he pulled a compact, long-range camera.
When he looked up again, he noted that Vaughn's jacket was off,
laying haphazardly on the edge of the crate and dragging on the
floor. Quietly, he zoomed in and took silent photos of the two.
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