Edge of the Soul
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Weiss/Sydney
Summary: He was a ship on the edge of the world, back when the world was flat.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
Notes: The setting is early season 3, before Blowback. This was written as part of the Alias UC Challenge, but I can't quite figure out for who. She/he asked for a Sydney/Weiss pairing and date/mission/how they got together setting. Well, I rolled, but the road was mighty bumpy...
***
I.
It wasn't until Vaughn started sending glares his way, and Lauren's were so intense that he could almost trace a laser-red pathway from her eyes to the burning holes in the back of Sydney's head--it was glares galore in the briefing room--that Weiss realized. Somehow, in this crazy story of theirs, he had moved from being the ubiquitous sidekick to the lead. And Sydney Bristow, as she walked in and took an unoccupied seat, had the power to achieve this with just one word: "Eric".
Dixon could've been talking about the invasion of chipmunks for all Weiss knew. For the rest of the meeting he didn't hear a single word.
There was a photo from Vaughn's wedding that had sat on Weiss's mantel for the five months following it. He never really questioned the logic of keeping it there, on display for all guest to see. Had he wanted them to look at the happy couple standing on the beach, laughing giddily as Lauren kicked off her heels and wiggled her toes in the sand? Had he expected them to look behind the bride and groom, pick him out of the sea of tuxes and witness him in the supporting role he seemed born to play?
That photo had sat there, behind clear glass that was regularly dusted, for five months until Sydney returned from the dead and became a regular visitor in his house. He'd put it in a box and hadn't looked at it since...
Until now.
The photo was exactly like he remembered, although in light of recent events there was always the chance that it might have changed, that the lines and arcs could be read differently. But the crinkles around Vaughn's eyes were still those of laughter, and the hand curved against Lauren's waist was still gentle and loving. That day was the first time Vaughn had tried to put Sydney out of his mind, and achieved.
It was quite amazing to Weiss then, looking at the photo, how much things had changed. He was now the leading male, one-half of the center, with a jealous best friend and his indignant wife. And all because of a new-found intimacy that Sydney had given him when she spoke his name.
II.
He was gracious, of course, when he wielded his newly acquired crown. He still greeted Vaughn and Lauren in the office as he always had, but there was now a friction between the three of them which took the form of Sydney Bristow, who had the knack of walking into these awkward silences.
They all saw each other at the same time (such was the life of spies) but Weiss relaxed while Vaughn visibly tensed. He was confident in his role, without the need to draw extra attention to himself by cracking jokes.
"Hey, Eric," she said when she reached the triangle of people and added another sharp point. She held something shiny up towards the light. "You left your watch at my place last night."
"And yet," he replied archly as he fastened it to his wrist, "I still got here first."
"I know how fragile your ego is," Sydney said with a sly smile. "I let you win."
"My ego is fine, thank you very much!"
"I see that," she snorted, then turned to face her ex-lover and his blonde wife. "Hi. How was your weekend?"
"It was nice," Lauren replied, just as Vaughn answered with a cutting "Boring." Weiss darted a glance at Sydney, only to find that she was looking intently at the couple who were silently communicating. Their conversation seemed quite stagnant, though, Weiss observed, as Lauren was clearly upset and embarrassed, and Vaughn suddenly guilty, trying to find a way out of the hole he had unwittingly dug. Weiss wondered why it was that supporting characters were so often cartoon-like. He half-expected steam to rise out of Lauren's ears any minute, and Vaughn to shrink under her heated gaze.
"Hey," he said quietly, tugging at Sydney's sleeve. "There's this new, um, coffee I want to show you."
"That was fun," she said when they were out of earshot. "But, coffee? You might as well have said stapler."
"I don't deal well under pressure, all right? And anyway, that's why smart people keep work and play separate. It only leads to trouble when the two worlds collide."
"Amen to that." Sydney looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they entered the empty break room. "Are you a smart person, Eric?"
"No," he said bluntly, slightly mesmerized by the teasing glint in her eye. "I'm very dumb."
"Me too," she confessed with a slight laugh. "What a pair we make, huh?"
Weiss nodded, dipping his head to take a long sip of his coffee, letting the rich flavor swirl around his tongue before swallowing. "What a pair, indeed."
If Sydney hadn't been sitting directly in front of the glass doors, he probably would have missed it completely. Just over her shoulder, standing in the background, Vaughn watched them with narrowed eyes. Weiss wondered how the two of them looked in Vaughn's eyes, what Sydney looked like when he couldn't see her face cupped in her hands, elbows on the table; if the extra expanse of shiny hair compensated for not being able to see her warm eyes and blinding smile. And as for him? He probably didn't have many characteristics from Vaughn's perspective in this picture, except for the obvious "other male" stigma. He was, after all, almost completely covered by Sydney. That much, he supposed, had not changed.
"What are you thinking about?" She asked suddenly, bringing him out of his morning musings. "If you're not careful, you're going to get some really big wrinkles right," she leaned over to tap his forehead lightly, right between the eyebrows, "there."
"Oh, nothing really," he smiled easily. "Just that this is some damn good coffee."
III.
Apparently, it was not only the friend who did a lot of comforting, though.
The moment Weiss opened his door to find Sydney's tear-stained face, he knew what had been the cause. He didn't say anything, simply let her burrow her face into his cotton shirt as they lay on his couch and listened to Joni Mitchell. Sydney had taken to a lot of older music lately, and timeless Joni kept her wavering between crying and calm.
"So, do you want me to beat him up for you?" he asked, half serious although they both knew she could do a much better job.
Sydney shook her head, sniffled and turned to lean her cheek against his chest. "No. I just wish he wouldn't make this so hard, you know? He probably thinks that he's helping in some way, but he's not. Every time I think that I'm finally okay with this, that I've accepted there are two years of my life that I can't reclaim, he says something or does something that brings me back to square one."
They settled back into a comfortable silence, the sounds of their light breathing barely audible to him over the soft music.
"Do you want me to beat him up?" Weiss asked again.
Sydney laughed wetly, and he watched her raise her head to look up at him. "Eric?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you believe in soulmates?"
"Sometimes," he replied honestly. "It's a little depressing though."
"Depressing, how? Isn't it supposed to be romantic, how there is one person in the world meant for each person?"
"But what if that person dies, or they never meet, or your soulmate thinks that someone else is actually their soulmate and then there are heaps of people doomed to a life of unhappiness?"
Sydney's eyes shuttered a little, and Weiss realized too late how close his words had hit home.
"I suppose," she said softly, turning her head again so he could no longer see her face, only her dark eyelashes fluttering and the tip of her nose. "What do you think it is to be a soulmate?" she asked, but her eyes were closed and he knew that she was asking for a bedtime story, something with a happy ending to send her to sleep. She didn't want the truth.
"Well, soulmates. It's finding the other half of yourself," he started, lifting a hand to stroke her hair, "someone who understands you better than you understand yourself, someone made to fit you and the edge of your soul like a piece of a puzzle. It's being a ship back when the world was flat, but not being afraid to fall off the edge because everything that comes close to happiness is falling with you."
"Eric," she said, and he found that was awake, her eyes wide and alert. He traced a finger down her cheek, only half hearing what she said. "I think you could be my soulmate." And then she leaned up to kiss him. She kept her eyes open.
In the morning he would remember, ah, this is what it meant to be the lead: to wake up with Sydney Bristow in his arms, her hair fanning across his pillow, the edge of his soul fitting a gentle curve into hers.
IV.
It was she who took his hand in the lift, and with entwined hands they walked past friends, enemies, and co-workers alike. Her father nodded at him, his eyes betraying little surprise or approval. Dixon pretended not to notice. Vaughn's lips were pressed tightly into a thin white line; his wife was nowhere to be seen.
"You wanted to get this over with right away, huh?" Weiss whispered.
"Yeah," Sydney said, squeezing his hand, but she was still staring at Vaughn. "I always pulled my band-aids off really fast as a kid." She looked at him with a smile. "I guess I haven't changed much."
"You have," he said, half-automatically while thinking of himself as a child taking off a blood-encrusted band-aid, always trying to prolong the pain.
Like he was doing now.
Because Weiss suddenly noticed that Sydney's hand in his was limp, her eyes sad, but his grip remained firm. Suddenly he found that there were too many pieces of her puzzle he had not yet put together, not even found, but while hope faltered his heart remained strong.
She wasn't with him, he knew, perhaps not even yesterday, perhaps not ever, but he held onto her hand because he was the lead: he was a ship on the edge of the world, jagged and sharp, like all edges, and he was lost. He was cold and afraid, somewhere lonely and dark, deep inside the recesses of the Bermuda Triangle.
Something bright shone above him before it disappeared.
One sharp edge had come apart.
Looking around, Weiss found that it was only he who had fallen.
FINIS
Yes, it appears I unable to write a happy ending... but at least nobody dies, right?
Characters: Weiss/Sydney
Summary: He was a ship on the edge of the world, back when the world was flat.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.J. Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
Notes: The setting is early season 3, before Blowback. This was written as part of the Alias UC Challenge, but I can't quite figure out for who. She/he asked for a Sydney/Weiss pairing and date/mission/how they got together setting. Well, I rolled, but the road was mighty bumpy...
***
I.
It wasn't until Vaughn started sending glares his way, and Lauren's were so intense that he could almost trace a laser-red pathway from her eyes to the burning holes in the back of Sydney's head--it was glares galore in the briefing room--that Weiss realized. Somehow, in this crazy story of theirs, he had moved from being the ubiquitous sidekick to the lead. And Sydney Bristow, as she walked in and took an unoccupied seat, had the power to achieve this with just one word: "Eric".
Dixon could've been talking about the invasion of chipmunks for all Weiss knew. For the rest of the meeting he didn't hear a single word.
There was a photo from Vaughn's wedding that had sat on Weiss's mantel for the five months following it. He never really questioned the logic of keeping it there, on display for all guest to see. Had he wanted them to look at the happy couple standing on the beach, laughing giddily as Lauren kicked off her heels and wiggled her toes in the sand? Had he expected them to look behind the bride and groom, pick him out of the sea of tuxes and witness him in the supporting role he seemed born to play?
That photo had sat there, behind clear glass that was regularly dusted, for five months until Sydney returned from the dead and became a regular visitor in his house. He'd put it in a box and hadn't looked at it since...
Until now.
The photo was exactly like he remembered, although in light of recent events there was always the chance that it might have changed, that the lines and arcs could be read differently. But the crinkles around Vaughn's eyes were still those of laughter, and the hand curved against Lauren's waist was still gentle and loving. That day was the first time Vaughn had tried to put Sydney out of his mind, and achieved.
It was quite amazing to Weiss then, looking at the photo, how much things had changed. He was now the leading male, one-half of the center, with a jealous best friend and his indignant wife. And all because of a new-found intimacy that Sydney had given him when she spoke his name.
II.
He was gracious, of course, when he wielded his newly acquired crown. He still greeted Vaughn and Lauren in the office as he always had, but there was now a friction between the three of them which took the form of Sydney Bristow, who had the knack of walking into these awkward silences.
They all saw each other at the same time (such was the life of spies) but Weiss relaxed while Vaughn visibly tensed. He was confident in his role, without the need to draw extra attention to himself by cracking jokes.
"Hey, Eric," she said when she reached the triangle of people and added another sharp point. She held something shiny up towards the light. "You left your watch at my place last night."
"And yet," he replied archly as he fastened it to his wrist, "I still got here first."
"I know how fragile your ego is," Sydney said with a sly smile. "I let you win."
"My ego is fine, thank you very much!"
"I see that," she snorted, then turned to face her ex-lover and his blonde wife. "Hi. How was your weekend?"
"It was nice," Lauren replied, just as Vaughn answered with a cutting "Boring." Weiss darted a glance at Sydney, only to find that she was looking intently at the couple who were silently communicating. Their conversation seemed quite stagnant, though, Weiss observed, as Lauren was clearly upset and embarrassed, and Vaughn suddenly guilty, trying to find a way out of the hole he had unwittingly dug. Weiss wondered why it was that supporting characters were so often cartoon-like. He half-expected steam to rise out of Lauren's ears any minute, and Vaughn to shrink under her heated gaze.
"Hey," he said quietly, tugging at Sydney's sleeve. "There's this new, um, coffee I want to show you."
"That was fun," she said when they were out of earshot. "But, coffee? You might as well have said stapler."
"I don't deal well under pressure, all right? And anyway, that's why smart people keep work and play separate. It only leads to trouble when the two worlds collide."
"Amen to that." Sydney looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they entered the empty break room. "Are you a smart person, Eric?"
"No," he said bluntly, slightly mesmerized by the teasing glint in her eye. "I'm very dumb."
"Me too," she confessed with a slight laugh. "What a pair we make, huh?"
Weiss nodded, dipping his head to take a long sip of his coffee, letting the rich flavor swirl around his tongue before swallowing. "What a pair, indeed."
If Sydney hadn't been sitting directly in front of the glass doors, he probably would have missed it completely. Just over her shoulder, standing in the background, Vaughn watched them with narrowed eyes. Weiss wondered how the two of them looked in Vaughn's eyes, what Sydney looked like when he couldn't see her face cupped in her hands, elbows on the table; if the extra expanse of shiny hair compensated for not being able to see her warm eyes and blinding smile. And as for him? He probably didn't have many characteristics from Vaughn's perspective in this picture, except for the obvious "other male" stigma. He was, after all, almost completely covered by Sydney. That much, he supposed, had not changed.
"What are you thinking about?" She asked suddenly, bringing him out of his morning musings. "If you're not careful, you're going to get some really big wrinkles right," she leaned over to tap his forehead lightly, right between the eyebrows, "there."
"Oh, nothing really," he smiled easily. "Just that this is some damn good coffee."
III.
Apparently, it was not only the friend who did a lot of comforting, though.
The moment Weiss opened his door to find Sydney's tear-stained face, he knew what had been the cause. He didn't say anything, simply let her burrow her face into his cotton shirt as they lay on his couch and listened to Joni Mitchell. Sydney had taken to a lot of older music lately, and timeless Joni kept her wavering between crying and calm.
"So, do you want me to beat him up for you?" he asked, half serious although they both knew she could do a much better job.
Sydney shook her head, sniffled and turned to lean her cheek against his chest. "No. I just wish he wouldn't make this so hard, you know? He probably thinks that he's helping in some way, but he's not. Every time I think that I'm finally okay with this, that I've accepted there are two years of my life that I can't reclaim, he says something or does something that brings me back to square one."
They settled back into a comfortable silence, the sounds of their light breathing barely audible to him over the soft music.
"Do you want me to beat him up?" Weiss asked again.
Sydney laughed wetly, and he watched her raise her head to look up at him. "Eric?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you believe in soulmates?"
"Sometimes," he replied honestly. "It's a little depressing though."
"Depressing, how? Isn't it supposed to be romantic, how there is one person in the world meant for each person?"
"But what if that person dies, or they never meet, or your soulmate thinks that someone else is actually their soulmate and then there are heaps of people doomed to a life of unhappiness?"
Sydney's eyes shuttered a little, and Weiss realized too late how close his words had hit home.
"I suppose," she said softly, turning her head again so he could no longer see her face, only her dark eyelashes fluttering and the tip of her nose. "What do you think it is to be a soulmate?" she asked, but her eyes were closed and he knew that she was asking for a bedtime story, something with a happy ending to send her to sleep. She didn't want the truth.
"Well, soulmates. It's finding the other half of yourself," he started, lifting a hand to stroke her hair, "someone who understands you better than you understand yourself, someone made to fit you and the edge of your soul like a piece of a puzzle. It's being a ship back when the world was flat, but not being afraid to fall off the edge because everything that comes close to happiness is falling with you."
"Eric," she said, and he found that was awake, her eyes wide and alert. He traced a finger down her cheek, only half hearing what she said. "I think you could be my soulmate." And then she leaned up to kiss him. She kept her eyes open.
In the morning he would remember, ah, this is what it meant to be the lead: to wake up with Sydney Bristow in his arms, her hair fanning across his pillow, the edge of his soul fitting a gentle curve into hers.
IV.
It was she who took his hand in the lift, and with entwined hands they walked past friends, enemies, and co-workers alike. Her father nodded at him, his eyes betraying little surprise or approval. Dixon pretended not to notice. Vaughn's lips were pressed tightly into a thin white line; his wife was nowhere to be seen.
"You wanted to get this over with right away, huh?" Weiss whispered.
"Yeah," Sydney said, squeezing his hand, but she was still staring at Vaughn. "I always pulled my band-aids off really fast as a kid." She looked at him with a smile. "I guess I haven't changed much."
"You have," he said, half-automatically while thinking of himself as a child taking off a blood-encrusted band-aid, always trying to prolong the pain.
Like he was doing now.
Because Weiss suddenly noticed that Sydney's hand in his was limp, her eyes sad, but his grip remained firm. Suddenly he found that there were too many pieces of her puzzle he had not yet put together, not even found, but while hope faltered his heart remained strong.
She wasn't with him, he knew, perhaps not even yesterday, perhaps not ever, but he held onto her hand because he was the lead: he was a ship on the edge of the world, jagged and sharp, like all edges, and he was lost. He was cold and afraid, somewhere lonely and dark, deep inside the recesses of the Bermuda Triangle.
Something bright shone above him before it disappeared.
One sharp edge had come apart.
Looking around, Weiss found that it was only he who had fallen.
FINIS
Yes, it appears I unable to write a happy ending... but at least nobody dies, right?