Angst All Over Again
Title: Angst All Over Again
Rating: PG-13
Category: Angst... obviously.
Summary: After Vaughn makes a somewhat predictable return to his wife, Sydney's bitterness gets the better of her.
Sydney Bristow ached.
Well, I guess we won’t be getting that cup of coffee.
No, we’re not.
Okay, I’m going to go…
A fresh wave of sobbing, sickening hurt threw her stomach out of balance. Rarely had she ever felt so many tears leave her eyes as this night. Her apartment was dark, she was alone, all alone and it KILLED her. God, it killed her.
She stifled another sob, knowing what she felt was self-pity and she had been stupid, foolish to even FATHOM that Vaughn would really leave Lauren. God, Sydney, stupid and wrong. She fought the urge to scream at herself and the world and the dark wooden walls that enclosed her.
There’s no one here to impress, Sydney…
She threw herself into it. One dark, long hour of a steady stream of self-piteous tears. She could never be herself again, never be the real, happy Sydney she always was… when Francie was alive and Will was her friend and Vaughn was just a tempting delicacy she dreamed of, her own private little fantasia. When Danny’s warm hands were on her stomach as she lay on the sofa, wondering if she should tell him about SD-6…. if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met Vaughn and would have kept Danny, sweet Danny…
She told herself it was selfish to think that way, and she knew it was selfish, but damn it, she would be selfish for a night.
She stood up, strode across the room, grabbed her purse and left the house, slamming the door behind her. Goddammit, it felt good to do it.
Tires screeching, she took off down the road, wildly trying to brush her hair back - she couldn’t, she had bangs now… what had possessed her to do that? She could hear the stylist’s voice in her head, encouragement all over, “You’ll look great in bangs, sweetie.” Like hell she did.
Noah flashed through her mind. Goddamn, I really am a black widow. But what the hell. Just doing her job. Screw the job. This was her night.
She pulled up, nearly hitting the cement blocks intended to stop cars like hers from landing on the property. Just a test, now, seeing if they worked or not… guess they did…
Neon flickered at her, breaking whatever stillness still existed around there. This was the bar, someone had once said, that you wouldn’t even remember in the morning - who had said it? - wait, Weiss had told Vaughn and Vaughn brought it up once… God, they were short on conversation that day, weren’t they? It led to going to the hockey rink and then, then they had had something to talk about. And then her mother was there…
Strangely enough, she missed her mother.
Yeah, tonight was the night to admit things to herself. Like… she was a selfish bitch, Vaughn was a weasel who had broken her heart (or what was left of it anyway), Lauren was … (she didn’t even want to think about what Lauren was) and she missed her mother. Sark briefly crossed her mind, wondering if he had cared when her mother betrayed him. After all, he’d told her he considered her a mother figure, right? Little bastard.
She felt a stabbing pain in her right rib as a burly man smelling of cigarettes blew past her. She was standing in the doorway of the bar. She finally found the will to push herself forward, and she sat down at a table near the counter. She knew better to stay close by, because God, how she would need it.
Ordering their best beer no matter the cost or the flavor, she sank back into the greasy red leather to stare at the neon light stretched into a flamingo. How very cliché and stupid. She laughed out loud at it. One of the patrons gave her a look, and Sydney felt like telling her that she was in a bar and she should get used to it or go back to boarding school.
I hated boarding school, she reflected as she cracked her lips open and let the beer just flow. Dad made me anyway. I told him I hated it, or didn’t I? I wanted to, but I was afraid to talk to him… he wouldn’t have listened anyway. Jack would now, she knew, but she wasn’t twelve anymore, was she? She was thirty-something and damn proud of it. Two years of her life wasted! Maybe next birthday she could make up for it - Weiss could get her an extra couple gifts, right?
Wow, Bitter Sydney! What else is new? she thought, relishing the last few drops in the glass. She’d polished off her quickest drink ever. Amazing. She deserved a prize. She smiled as she somehow had her glass refilled - this was her prize, then.
She took a long glance around the bar. The glass door at the front opened, and she didn’t bother to see who it was. Some brunette guy with hair like Vaughn. If it was Vaughn, screw it. This was her night.
Half her glass was gone. It wasn’t good for her, doing this - but what the hell did she have to lose anyway?
Oh, just think of if Sark showed up. She’d be dead in two seconds, no questions asked.
Vaughn-guy took a seat at the counter, and she stared at him, traces of blurriness attempting to cloud her eyes. Maybe he really was Vaughn. Did she want him to see her like this? Did she still care if he saw her like this?
Should she try to act all strong and tough - non-vulnerable Sydney, invincible Sydney - no… he knew it was her, he knew her whole self. God, some soulmate. Had he spotted her yet?
But wait - then what the hell was he doing here?
Is he here because of me?
Wow, she and her mother… driving the men they loved to drinking. Interesting genetic pattern.
“Syd?”
Long pause - long friggin awkward pause.
“Syd, I-”
“Don’t. Just … look, you’re here and I’m here and we should be drinking coffee right now.”
“We still could.”
She looks at him, wanting to laugh because she can’t possibly cry anymore. “You can’t be freaking serious.”
“Surprise.”
Or some other such scenario. She couldn’t imagine how it would go, she never could. And her eyes were getting blinder by the second. Good God, she had no idea how to hold her liquor anymore. Just another byproduct of “letting yourself go.”
Vaughn-guy turned around, scanning the bar with his eyes, and gazed directly at her. Straight in the eye.
Glazing over, she couldn’t tear herself away, be inconspicuous, anything. She could only stare back.
It was his nose, definitely.
Stares locked, it was as though the entire bar had stopped motion and was watching them. Her chest rose and fell, and she swallowed.
She felt the bitterness creep back in behind her eyes, her nose pulsing (she hated how it looked when she cried).
What was he doing? He was still staring at her, like she was the focal point of the world and tearing your eyes away from her meant falling apart.
The pulsing feeling moved to her arms and it almost hurt, trying to restrain herself from reuniting with his soft embrace and then, trying to stop the feeling of her mouth tearing into his and falling with him, down, where she loved him all the more, God, she loved him. The gasp caught up with her throat and she nearly choked. God, it hurt so bad.
The minutes passed, the days and the hours passed, his gaze going on forever.
Then he turned away.
It was like the door closing. Not slamming, just a gentle push, and it was closed, the noise shut out from the ears.
She knew it then.
The bitterness stopped and she brushed the remainders away. Her hands met the leather of the seat, pushing her body up to stand on her sore feet. She picked up the glass and drained it, like an oasis she’d been seeking for days. The cup clinked down on the table.
She left some money. She wasn’t sure how much.
She felt a heatwave of some kind try to reach her, but her icy exterior, the foggy aura surrounding her blocked it out. She was too tired to feel it, or to want to feel it. It was the kind she never wanted to feel again. The kind that had struck her life and poured its misery into it.
She pushed past a group of grimy people all ready to dance to some music that had started up, and she saw the familiar windshield of her car from the glass of the door. Fingers poised, she pushed through and walked to her car.
Seated in the driver’s side, keys in the ignition, she folded her arms over the steering wheel and put her head down.
And she cried.
Rating: PG-13
Category: Angst... obviously.
Summary: After Vaughn makes a somewhat predictable return to his wife, Sydney's bitterness gets the better of her.
Sydney Bristow ached.
Well, I guess we won’t be getting that cup of coffee.
No, we’re not.
Okay, I’m going to go…
A fresh wave of sobbing, sickening hurt threw her stomach out of balance. Rarely had she ever felt so many tears leave her eyes as this night. Her apartment was dark, she was alone, all alone and it KILLED her. God, it killed her.
She stifled another sob, knowing what she felt was self-pity and she had been stupid, foolish to even FATHOM that Vaughn would really leave Lauren. God, Sydney, stupid and wrong. She fought the urge to scream at herself and the world and the dark wooden walls that enclosed her.
There’s no one here to impress, Sydney…
She threw herself into it. One dark, long hour of a steady stream of self-piteous tears. She could never be herself again, never be the real, happy Sydney she always was… when Francie was alive and Will was her friend and Vaughn was just a tempting delicacy she dreamed of, her own private little fantasia. When Danny’s warm hands were on her stomach as she lay on the sofa, wondering if she should tell him about SD-6…. if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met Vaughn and would have kept Danny, sweet Danny…
She told herself it was selfish to think that way, and she knew it was selfish, but damn it, she would be selfish for a night.
She stood up, strode across the room, grabbed her purse and left the house, slamming the door behind her. Goddammit, it felt good to do it.
Tires screeching, she took off down the road, wildly trying to brush her hair back - she couldn’t, she had bangs now… what had possessed her to do that? She could hear the stylist’s voice in her head, encouragement all over, “You’ll look great in bangs, sweetie.” Like hell she did.
Noah flashed through her mind. Goddamn, I really am a black widow. But what the hell. Just doing her job. Screw the job. This was her night.
She pulled up, nearly hitting the cement blocks intended to stop cars like hers from landing on the property. Just a test, now, seeing if they worked or not… guess they did…
Neon flickered at her, breaking whatever stillness still existed around there. This was the bar, someone had once said, that you wouldn’t even remember in the morning - who had said it? - wait, Weiss had told Vaughn and Vaughn brought it up once… God, they were short on conversation that day, weren’t they? It led to going to the hockey rink and then, then they had had something to talk about. And then her mother was there…
Strangely enough, she missed her mother.
Yeah, tonight was the night to admit things to herself. Like… she was a selfish bitch, Vaughn was a weasel who had broken her heart (or what was left of it anyway), Lauren was … (she didn’t even want to think about what Lauren was) and she missed her mother. Sark briefly crossed her mind, wondering if he had cared when her mother betrayed him. After all, he’d told her he considered her a mother figure, right? Little bastard.
She felt a stabbing pain in her right rib as a burly man smelling of cigarettes blew past her. She was standing in the doorway of the bar. She finally found the will to push herself forward, and she sat down at a table near the counter. She knew better to stay close by, because God, how she would need it.
Ordering their best beer no matter the cost or the flavor, she sank back into the greasy red leather to stare at the neon light stretched into a flamingo. How very cliché and stupid. She laughed out loud at it. One of the patrons gave her a look, and Sydney felt like telling her that she was in a bar and she should get used to it or go back to boarding school.
I hated boarding school, she reflected as she cracked her lips open and let the beer just flow. Dad made me anyway. I told him I hated it, or didn’t I? I wanted to, but I was afraid to talk to him… he wouldn’t have listened anyway. Jack would now, she knew, but she wasn’t twelve anymore, was she? She was thirty-something and damn proud of it. Two years of her life wasted! Maybe next birthday she could make up for it - Weiss could get her an extra couple gifts, right?
Wow, Bitter Sydney! What else is new? she thought, relishing the last few drops in the glass. She’d polished off her quickest drink ever. Amazing. She deserved a prize. She smiled as she somehow had her glass refilled - this was her prize, then.
She took a long glance around the bar. The glass door at the front opened, and she didn’t bother to see who it was. Some brunette guy with hair like Vaughn. If it was Vaughn, screw it. This was her night.
Half her glass was gone. It wasn’t good for her, doing this - but what the hell did she have to lose anyway?
Oh, just think of if Sark showed up. She’d be dead in two seconds, no questions asked.
Vaughn-guy took a seat at the counter, and she stared at him, traces of blurriness attempting to cloud her eyes. Maybe he really was Vaughn. Did she want him to see her like this? Did she still care if he saw her like this?
Should she try to act all strong and tough - non-vulnerable Sydney, invincible Sydney - no… he knew it was her, he knew her whole self. God, some soulmate. Had he spotted her yet?
But wait - then what the hell was he doing here?
Is he here because of me?
Wow, she and her mother… driving the men they loved to drinking. Interesting genetic pattern.
“Syd?”
Long pause - long friggin awkward pause.
“Syd, I-”
“Don’t. Just … look, you’re here and I’m here and we should be drinking coffee right now.”
“We still could.”
She looks at him, wanting to laugh because she can’t possibly cry anymore. “You can’t be freaking serious.”
“Surprise.”
Or some other such scenario. She couldn’t imagine how it would go, she never could. And her eyes were getting blinder by the second. Good God, she had no idea how to hold her liquor anymore. Just another byproduct of “letting yourself go.”
Vaughn-guy turned around, scanning the bar with his eyes, and gazed directly at her. Straight in the eye.
Glazing over, she couldn’t tear herself away, be inconspicuous, anything. She could only stare back.
It was his nose, definitely.
Stares locked, it was as though the entire bar had stopped motion and was watching them. Her chest rose and fell, and she swallowed.
She felt the bitterness creep back in behind her eyes, her nose pulsing (she hated how it looked when she cried).
What was he doing? He was still staring at her, like she was the focal point of the world and tearing your eyes away from her meant falling apart.
The pulsing feeling moved to her arms and it almost hurt, trying to restrain herself from reuniting with his soft embrace and then, trying to stop the feeling of her mouth tearing into his and falling with him, down, where she loved him all the more, God, she loved him. The gasp caught up with her throat and she nearly choked. God, it hurt so bad.
The minutes passed, the days and the hours passed, his gaze going on forever.
Then he turned away.
It was like the door closing. Not slamming, just a gentle push, and it was closed, the noise shut out from the ears.
She knew it then.
The bitterness stopped and she brushed the remainders away. Her hands met the leather of the seat, pushing her body up to stand on her sore feet. She picked up the glass and drained it, like an oasis she’d been seeking for days. The cup clinked down on the table.
She left some money. She wasn’t sure how much.
She felt a heatwave of some kind try to reach her, but her icy exterior, the foggy aura surrounding her blocked it out. She was too tired to feel it, or to want to feel it. It was the kind she never wanted to feel again. The kind that had struck her life and poured its misery into it.
She pushed past a group of grimy people all ready to dance to some music that had started up, and she saw the familiar windshield of her car from the glass of the door. Fingers poised, she pushed through and walked to her car.
Seated in the driver’s side, keys in the ignition, she folded her arms over the steering wheel and put her head down.
And she cried.