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dollsome'Tis a miracle indeed.
I wrote this for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
alias500, but then it turned into this big 800-word mutant fic, or something, so it just gets to be here. I have such issues with word count limits. It's just not of the good.
So, anyway.
Sydney/Vaughn. Season 1. 'Cause that's how I like 'em.
Sydney has a paper due tomorrow and cannot -- cannot -- keep talking to Vaughn.
School is slipping already as it is, she reasons. And besides, she promised Francie that they could go out for drinks tonight -- she's not sure she can take another one of her miserable, silent stares that confirm just what a terrible friend she's turned into. Sometimes it feels like saving the world isn't all it's cracked up to be.
And then there's Vaughn.
"The last op was . . ." He trails off and a grin lights his features, and she tries to think of the nicest way possible to say that she really has to go. Her creativity is dimmed somewhat by the fact that she really doesn't want to go, which is a realization that shouldn't be dawning upon her in the first place. Because this is Vaughn, and that would be wrong, very wrong, and he has a nice smile.
Is it wrong to notice that he has a nice smile?
It can't be wrong to notice that he has a nice smile. Lots of people have nice smiles. Brad Pitt has a nice smile, and that doesn't automatically mean that Sydney wants to fall into his arms in the most indecent way possible.
Vaughn's like that. Like Brad Pitt. With more forehead wrinkles.
"It was kinda good, wasn't it?" she responds, smiling back and wondering if he thinks she has a nice smile -- not that she cares, exactly, it's just that she's never really liked her smile. Without her consent, the truth always seems to shine through when she smiles, and that's not exactly a plus in this line of work.
And he probably doesn't even care about her smile anyway. Because he's her handler. He doesn't get paid to care about her smile. He gets paid to handle her, that's all, and oh God, what is wrong with her brain today?
She's not going to blush because that would be stupid.
"That thing with the shoe," Vaughn continues, seemingly oblivious -- which is good. Oblivious is good. "That was incredible." He's still got traces of a grin on his face as he gazes off into the distance a few feet to her right, in a way reminiscent of someone recalling an incredible sports play or something to that effect.
"I wouldn't say 'incredible,'" she protests, teasing but not flirty because she doesn't flirt with Vaughn. But there's nothing wrong with teasing, right? Because they're friends. Kind of. And friends tease.
"No, no, seriously -- I just . . ." He shakes his head in amazement. "I don't know how you can come up with that stuff, spur of the moment."
She's embarrassed all of a sudden, but in a sort-of-good way, where she's hit with this stupid feeling like she's glowing. It's the kind of feeling that you're supposed to get when a boy spontaneously compliments you in the ninth grade. Not while talking to your handler about a mission in a dark and dreary sub-basement.
Which is what she's doing.
Or what she's supposed to be doing.
And suddenly, it hits her very acutely how inappropriate this is.
"I have to go," she throws out, and the sudden businesslike quality to her tone seems sharp and disorienting. The smile falls from his face immediately, replaced by concern. Or maybe disappointment, but probably not disappointment because disappointment would suggest that he had something to be disappointed about and her leaving isn't disappointment because she's started thinking in run-on sentences and in no way can this be good.
"You have plans," he says, not quite a question even though it tries to be.
"Yeah." She tucks her hair behind her ear for no reason. "It's just that I have this big paper due tomorrow, and if I turned it in the way it is right now, I'd be lucky if I scraped by with a D, and--"
"A D?" And the smile is back. "I bet you've never gotten a D in your life."
He says it teasingly enough, but something twists up in her stomach and she feels like maybe teasing isn't okay after all and this isn't a line that she's ready to cross.
And it's a line that they can't cross, of course, but that seems to pale in comparison.
"It . . . it just needs work," she finishes, lamely, and forces a smile and a halfhearted wave as she turns to go.
She can feel his eyes on her. Her steps seem graceless and too loud, and despite herself, just for a second, she wants to let go of this life.
I wrote this for
alias500, but then it turned into this big 800-word mutant fic, or something, so it just gets to be here. I have such issues with word count limits. It's just not of the good.So, anyway.
Sydney/Vaughn. Season 1. 'Cause that's how I like 'em.
Sydney has a paper due tomorrow and cannot -- cannot -- keep talking to Vaughn.
School is slipping already as it is, she reasons. And besides, she promised Francie that they could go out for drinks tonight -- she's not sure she can take another one of her miserable, silent stares that confirm just what a terrible friend she's turned into. Sometimes it feels like saving the world isn't all it's cracked up to be.
And then there's Vaughn.
"The last op was . . ." He trails off and a grin lights his features, and she tries to think of the nicest way possible to say that she really has to go. Her creativity is dimmed somewhat by the fact that she really doesn't want to go, which is a realization that shouldn't be dawning upon her in the first place. Because this is Vaughn, and that would be wrong, very wrong, and he has a nice smile.
Is it wrong to notice that he has a nice smile?
It can't be wrong to notice that he has a nice smile. Lots of people have nice smiles. Brad Pitt has a nice smile, and that doesn't automatically mean that Sydney wants to fall into his arms in the most indecent way possible.
Vaughn's like that. Like Brad Pitt. With more forehead wrinkles.
"It was kinda good, wasn't it?" she responds, smiling back and wondering if he thinks she has a nice smile -- not that she cares, exactly, it's just that she's never really liked her smile. Without her consent, the truth always seems to shine through when she smiles, and that's not exactly a plus in this line of work.
And he probably doesn't even care about her smile anyway. Because he's her handler. He doesn't get paid to care about her smile. He gets paid to handle her, that's all, and oh God, what is wrong with her brain today?
She's not going to blush because that would be stupid.
"That thing with the shoe," Vaughn continues, seemingly oblivious -- which is good. Oblivious is good. "That was incredible." He's still got traces of a grin on his face as he gazes off into the distance a few feet to her right, in a way reminiscent of someone recalling an incredible sports play or something to that effect.
"I wouldn't say 'incredible,'" she protests, teasing but not flirty because she doesn't flirt with Vaughn. But there's nothing wrong with teasing, right? Because they're friends. Kind of. And friends tease.
"No, no, seriously -- I just . . ." He shakes his head in amazement. "I don't know how you can come up with that stuff, spur of the moment."
She's embarrassed all of a sudden, but in a sort-of-good way, where she's hit with this stupid feeling like she's glowing. It's the kind of feeling that you're supposed to get when a boy spontaneously compliments you in the ninth grade. Not while talking to your handler about a mission in a dark and dreary sub-basement.
Which is what she's doing.
Or what she's supposed to be doing.
And suddenly, it hits her very acutely how inappropriate this is.
"I have to go," she throws out, and the sudden businesslike quality to her tone seems sharp and disorienting. The smile falls from his face immediately, replaced by concern. Or maybe disappointment, but probably not disappointment because disappointment would suggest that he had something to be disappointed about and her leaving isn't disappointment because she's started thinking in run-on sentences and in no way can this be good.
"You have plans," he says, not quite a question even though it tries to be.
"Yeah." She tucks her hair behind her ear for no reason. "It's just that I have this big paper due tomorrow, and if I turned it in the way it is right now, I'd be lucky if I scraped by with a D, and--"
"A D?" And the smile is back. "I bet you've never gotten a D in your life."
He says it teasingly enough, but something twists up in her stomach and she feels like maybe teasing isn't okay after all and this isn't a line that she's ready to cross.
And it's a line that they can't cross, of course, but that seems to pale in comparison.
"It . . . it just needs work," she finishes, lamely, and forces a smile and a halfhearted wave as she turns to go.
She can feel his eyes on her. Her steps seem graceless and too loud, and despite herself, just for a second, she wants to let go of this life.
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Date: 2008-11-12 04:30 am (UTC)SPACED FTW. I saw a few episodes months ago, and then I tried to remember that I liked it, but it took a while. Then I remembered, downloaded a few episodes, BECAME OBSESSED, and bought the DVD box set, WATCHED THEM ALL, and remained obsessed. I'm still a little bit... into it. A bit.
YES. RECTIFICATION MUST OCCUR. *nods*