Title: Limbo Rating: NC -17 "It might help if you take off the lens cap." You have been so absorbed in testing the balance of the rifle in your hands that you completely miss her presence, something that once would have been unthinkable. If you were to allow yourself to stop and focus on the absence of your connection to her, the wounded animal residing in your heart might finally be allowed to claw its way to the surface, and stab you with its pain. A pain you know how to hide all too well. Instead of her presence, your mind's eye is lost in the image of a bright red laser sight on Lauren's sternum, and the sick hollow thud of the bullet ripping through her flesh. It is stuck, replaying Lauren's surprise as she clutches her hand to her chest in disbelief, the blood seeping through her fingers. Her ragged gasps echo in your ears in counterpoint to your heartbeat as she desperately tries to calm her fear. A fear you put there, and it fills you with pride that she has finally learned to fear you. It is one of many gruesome scenarios that have taken up residence in your mind within the last few weeks. These images play in an endless loop which you can't break. They are rotting your mind. You turn around and squint at her silhouette, and you must raise a hand to shield your eyes from the harsh sunlight that invades your dark surroundings. "What are you doing here?" you say flatly. You have been so enraptured by the daydream that you can't help but feel annoyed by her intrusion. She shuts the door behind her, providing relief to your senses, and joins you in the darkness. You can tell she is filled with determination by the way she ignores your question. She won't leave here without a confrontation. "How did you find this place?" You can't quite keep the paranoia out of your voice. "My father brought me here when I learned the truth about SD6. Or did you think the sequin dresses in the wardrobe were my father's?" You almost laugh, but you both know her attempt at humor falls short. So Jack had brought you both here. Maybe you should take it as a sign of approval, but somehow the legitimacy you had once desperately craved now rings hollow. You won't allow cursory things to deter you from the reason you came here, so you turn away from her to grab a duffle bag and several clips of ammo. A part of you knows you are being selfish, but you just can't help it. Obsession has you in her grasp and you cannot move on. The only thing you really want to do is lash out at everything around you and spread this cancer that has been eating away at your heart. You can feel Sydney waiting for you patiently to turn around and meet her glare, but you are determined to make her wait. "Vaughn, this isn't you," she says finally allowing her frustration to slip through. "You mean this isn't how you want to see me." The acid that is Lauren permeates your mind and making it impossible to just push her aside. You would if you could, but somehow your every thought rebounds back to how easily she played you the fool. "What you did to Dr. Lee was unacceptable. Vaughn, you can't do this to yourself." Her words are infused with the compassion that is Sydney, imploring you to respond, but you can't. Until Lauren is taken care of you are stuck in limbo, unable to move forward or backwards. You haven't been able to eat or sleep, and while you know it isn't healthy, you still can't stop yourself from repeating every conversation you had with her in your mind. So you stay within yourself, refusing to explain how ashamed you are at how easily Lauren deceived you. Instead, you move to the safe, listening to the measured staccato of the dial as you work the intricate combination, but the pull of Sydney watching you is undeniable, and it takes you three times to get the combination correct. Lauren had entered your life full of a youth and innocence that you had forgotten existed. You had thought you were protecting her by never showing her the disease that gnawed away at your guts after Sydney's death. She was just an analyst - she couldn't even imagine the horrors that you had experienced in the field. Or so you had thought. Lauren played you with that seeming innocence. You were such a fool. And though you are loathe to admit it, you know Jack was right - you have to do something about Lauren before you can move on. Something permanent. The bile rises up in your throat as you acknowledge why you came here: you want Lauren dead. And as much as you have tried to be the good boy scout and sublimate that desire, it taints your every thought and grows exponentially. "Sydney, I think you should leave." "And what? Leave you to your pity party? You may be acting like a jerk, but you are still my partner. Time has proven it - we always find each other. I may be pissed off at you, at your selfishness. At how alone you have left me since I came back. Still, in the end, fate has locked us together." "But Vaughn, I want to be selfish and protect myself and stay away because the darkness that I see in you scares the hell out of me. But I can't. I've learned that justice and revenge are just two high-minded principles that don't happen in reality. And I know I have to put my faith in you and believe that you can work through this. Because if I walk away, we are both damned." Her eyes plead with you, but something won't let you acknowledge your connection to her even though you bump up against it at every turn. Since Sydney has been back, you have been stuck in this odd duality. You have tried to convince yourself that just knowing she is back would be enough. So you shove all thoughts of her far away, only to find your heart in your throat the very next time you see her. When she is around, you always exist in extremes, and you have allowed yourself to become numb as a defense mechanism. Of course there are times when you slip. But every time you are brought back to the world of feeling, you are only reminded of her absence in your life, so you push her away again. Lauren never made you feel those extremes. You always knew that on some fundamental level, you had never truly connected with your wife. You had blamed yourself, thinking you were too emotionally stunted after Sydney's death to ever risk sharing yourself so openly again. But then you never really gave Lauren your heart. You thought of it as a preventative measure. Since you knew you would never again experience the same love you had with Sydney, you realize now that you never really tried. A slight shudder passes through you as you can still feel Lauren's cold hands on your skin, trying to comfort you with her crocodile tears after Sark's torture. Her fingers running through your hair . . . her saccharine murmurings . . . You were such a fool. "Vaughn you are out of control. Just think of what you did in Cuba. This rage will make you sloppy." "I can take care of myself." Sydney laughs derisively and you sense a shift in her intentions. She storms over to one of the lockers and opens the door letting it recklessly bang open. She quickly grabs something and stalks back to you. "Well then don't forget to take a vest. You're an easy target." She slams it squarely into your chest and turns to leave, finally having had enough. But you anticipate her action and catch her elbow and spin her back to face you. You push her up against one of the lockers, determined to make her understand what you have become. "You want to know when this became me? The day you died. The day you died and left me." And as soon as the accusation has left your mouth, you know you have gone too far. Your words hit her like a slap in the face. She knows you fell apart without her - that ultimately she has been the stronger of the two of you. She was the one who survived real torture only to discover you had moved on to another woman after she left, and you know it is so unfair of you to blame this on her. You feel her tremble in your hands, and you know there are fragile tears in her eyes but you can't look at them. You have no idea how she has the patience to wait for you to reach this ugly breaking point, and what's even worse, you realize how close she is to damning you and leaving this all behind. "Vaughn, let me go," she whispers, her voice raw and breaking. It's a simple request, but it jars you like no other. She is deadly serious. And it hits you - you have your head up your ass, and she is pleading for you to release her from this hell. But you have no intention of doing so. Suddenly the blood is rushing to your head, and your heartbeat is roaring in your ears, and the only thing you can focus on is her undeniable physical proximity. It occurs to you that this place feels so very much like the melancholy warehouse where you used to meet. Where you had confided in each other and comforted each other and looked longingly at each other. But also, where you had rarely touched each other. You had kept your distance. And now, you have long since laughed in the face of rules and protocol. The only thing preventing you from being together is your own fucking stubbornness. You don't register her winces, and only later will you realize that she will certainly wear bruises tomorrow. What does register is the purely raw and physical way you need her. It is so immediate that you finally shake of this stupid inability to act and seize what is right before you. You don't care about being a gentleman because your sexual appetite has finally returned and God forgive you, but you know she would never deny you this. Her eyes widen in shock as you crash your mouth to hers. It's much too harsh to be called a kiss; it is more of a claiming. It is sharp with too much teeth and you are driven by a primal instinct to devour her as you reacquaint yourself with her taste. The cut on your lip reopens, and you taste your own blood mingled in your mouths. The locker groans as you pin her to it, and you can't stop yourself from pressing up against her body, physically imposing your presence on hers. She stands there, momentarily stunned, her hands clutching your shirt and torn between pushing you away and pulling you further into her. Your hands barely graze the sides of her breasts on their impatient journey to her waist, and you hastily shove her jeans off of her hips and her panties with them. In frenzied response, her hands finally decide their purpose and rip your shirt open. Before you can even comprehend your own actions, you have rid yourself of your pants and boxers. You anchor your hands at her hips, raising her slightly, and thrust into her. You realize too late that you have not bothered to check if she is ready for you. She isn't and cries out at the invasion, though it doesn't take more than a few thrusts for her body to intrinsically remember how to accommodate yours. That knowledge alone spurs you on all the more, and you rut into her wildly, so overpowered by the scent of her arousal and driven by the act of physical release that you don't even remember how to take pleasure in this act. It's only when she rests her head in the crook of your neck that you remember yourself. Her lips reverently whisper your name against your skin, and you finally realize the weight of your actions. It's such a small gesture, but it is her gesture - one that you cherished above all else. It's the one memory you held so close to your heart that you swore you would never forget. It's the one thing that told you she was actually yours, completely, that despite her strong exterior, she really needed you. And it's the last thing you would remember during those drunken binges when you let the alcohol lull you into oblivion. Lauren never touched you in that way. Now you realize you were not the only one holding back when you had sex with Lauren. Like a whore turning a trick, she had never fully given herself to you, and you see it now as one of the many ways she manipulated you, and how you willingly played into her hand. You were such a fool. But now, all those emotions you had buried so deeply refuse to be ignored. You are in the one place you have wanted to be ever since that horrible, unspeakable night - you are buried to the hilt in Sydney. And it is all wrong, but you finally feel alive again. Her very essence surrounds you and she is almost unbearably tight from your absence. Her ragged breath on your neck sends chills down your spine. And despite how wrongly you have forced this moment, Sydney is more real than Lauren ever was under your fingertips. You don't even realize that you have stopped thrusting, until Sydney cups you face in her hands, daring you to meet her eyes, and whispers that it's okay. But you know it's not okay. You have abused her in the worst way possible - you have ignored her consent. And not just in this moment - for the last past nine months, you have systematically denied her, and it's only now that you admit that instead of punishing yourself for not finding her that you have actually been punishing her for coming back. Your mind finally catches up to your bodies, and you suddenly become aware of the strain in your knees. You shift your weight, holding her protectively to you, but you realize this position is awkward at best, so you decide to move to the chair. Once settled, you reposition her, drawing her even closer, and finally you kiss her the way you have wanted to since the day she disappeared. It is what you should have done all along. And with this kiss, you cannot help but worship her. Your fingers are suddenly itchy and anxious to reacquaint themselves with every inch of her skin. This time you will not skip the preliminaries. You reverently lift her shirt, and she unhooks her bra, somehow managing to look coy for you as she allows it to slide down her torso. You groan at the sight of her dusky nipples, erect and begging for your attention. You can't help but oblige her and bring your lips to taste her skin and tease a nipple as your fingers devote themselves to its mate. As you swirl your tongue around the stiffened peak, she sighs with pleasure and unconsciously tightens her inner muscles, reminding you that you are still imbedded deep within her. Eventually it is too much for either of you to remain still. She tilts her hips slightly and you angle deeper. Her moans vibrate through you in time with your thrusts. She slides her arms around your neck, and you give yourselves to the slow delicious rhythm that you think only you have perfected so well. The rhythm is sinful and achingly familiar. You sink into the pace easy, leisurely at first, still concentrating on the feel of her body against yours and revisiting motions and caresses that you know drive her crazy. The small circles your thumbs make at the base of her spine. The way she tilts her hips to provide the delicious friction of a new angle. They aren't even actions that either of you think about - they just come naturally to you in the symphony of the act. You want to be content to let the sensations build slowly and find comfort in this expression of your love, but the act itself exists for the achievement of climax. It refuses to remain static. And suddenly, you must see her totally lose control. You dip your hand to your connection and your thumb finds the all-important pressure point to send her into bliss. You acutely feel the tension as it pulls through her body, rippling through her muscles in a steady hum. All it takes is a few hard thrusts to feel her muscles fluttering around you, and you can no longer hold off the burning sensation pooled in your groin. Your release is violent as you jerk within her, and clench her body to yours. As you come down from the high, your breathing slows down from harsh pants to a softer rhythm of unison. And you finally remember, at least for a fleeting moment, what it is like to experience peace. Sydney is the first to pull away and extract herself from the embrace. You sit back, exhausted and watch her as she gathers her clothes. She carries no shame, but she also makes it obvious that she won't linger. "Syd, I'm sorry I lost control like that." "Michael, I love you, and I do not regret our actions. But do what you need to do to find closure. We can't move on until this is resolved." She cups your cheek with her palm and looks you directly in the eyes. "I have faith in you. I have faith that you will not lose yourself in this need for vengeance. Just remember that." And with that she leans in and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, leaving
you a glimmer of hope that one day, the two of you just might find normal again. | ||
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