The Little Things
Title: The Little Things
Author: vyduan
Rating: TV-14
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
Ship: Julia/Simon
Warnings: Some innuendo
Challenge: Mission Fic Possible: July
Word Count: 946
Quick Summary: Set during the Missing Two Years between S2 and S3. Requires reasonable understanding of what happened in first half of S3.
A/N: Originally posted at CopyThat.This is my first fan fic (or any fic) ever. If you could suggest where I could improve either technically or stylistically, I'd really appreciate it. Special thanks to JuliaThorne and IndiaQuinn for the encouragement and the idea to start with the challenge. Enjoy!
Photo Credit: Stock.Xchng Photographer: krayker
Royalty-free. Standard restrictions apply.
The Little Things
It was the little things that put her life in the most peril. An answering machine message. A wrong number. A spoonful of coffee ice cream.
Now, it was a tuck of her hair. A slip of her smile. Choosing tea over coffee; one lump of sugar only, please.
It was easier when she was surrounded by them. Their presence a constant reminder to strut and preen as the Covenant's most precious weapon. Lethal in her tidy accent, casual luxury and long, blonde hair. Missions fueled her, weeks at a time. Collecting and discarding aliases and mission objectives were the same - regardless of employer - and she found solace in the familiar actions.
During her rare off hours, she knew the Covenant dissected her every move. Although she was used to the scrutiny from her SD-6 days, at least then, she was still free to read trashy magazines, worship the sun, and listen to Kelly Clarkson. This extra layer of deception trapped her at every gesture. How could her every movement be a lie? Which habit would betray her? Which flicker of recognition would be her last?
She was weakest when she knew she was alone. The temptation to grieve, to think, to allow Sydney to peak through in tiny acts of rebellion consumed her moments of reprieve. Each indulgent second would lead to her undoing. She preferred an endless wake of men.
She sat in an open cafe on the water, hiding from the harsh sun under chunky sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat and a patio green umbrella. The rhythm of breakers hitting sand in an onslaught of foam mellowed the hungry seagull cries. Children running in and out of the waves, delighting in the cool caress of the ocean teased away the frown on her face. If she wasn't careful, she might actually enjoy herself - and that just wouldn't do.
She glared at her watch. Her contact was three minutes late and building up for another fifteen. She'd give him another two.
She hated when people were late. Most likely, he was just that - late. But in their line of work, sometimes late meant dead. She hated when people were dead. The bad ones never seemed to stay that way, at least around her, and the good ones never bothered showing.
This particular contact had a knack for attracting trouble. He was never on time, but his shock of slick, black hair and wolfish grin played up his lean, thieving body so she always relented. He smelled of leather and gunpowder and his hands roughed her skin when she let him. His low, throaty laugh came easy and often. So did he.
She hated when Simon was late. He now had one minute.
The Covenant had taken to pairing them together more and more often. Cole thought it was good for her to be around someone who indulged in business so lustily. Thought it might give her a little more 'joie de vivre.'
"Everything's boring to you, Julia. You're too good and too wealthy and nothing impresses you anymore. Walker's got it right. He's not as good as you (and who is?) but he sure knows how to have a good time. Try him. You might like it."
She had refused to acknowledge Cole's innuendo and reserved her withering glance for another time. But she had to admit: Cole had been right. She did try Simon and it was a good time.
She caught her snort before it escaped. These puerile thoughts were all Cole's fault. They were going to get her killed. That was another reason she despised lateness. It provided too much empty --
"Sorry I'm late, Jules. I know how you hate it." Simon Walker breezed into the closest chair and charmed his way back from the business end of her gun.
"Then surely you know how I detest you calling me Jules."
"Hmmm... I'll have to remember that."
"I've only mentioned it every time we've worked together."
"So you have, so you have. But you know, Jules is far more fun to say. Julia sounds so proper. So old. Really, Jules, you need to lighten up. Isn't that why they pair us together? I make you more tolerable to be around. For someone as good as you are, you really ought to enjoy it more."
"I don't do nicknames or terms of endearment. And I'm quite tolerable, thank you."
"Then why is it everyone else refuses to work with you?"
"Please. Everyone else is incompetent. I refuse to work with them."
"Aw, Julia. I'm touched."
"What are you talking about?"
"You think I'm competent. How sweet."
"Get over it. You're still late. Here are the mission specs. We go in a fortnight."
With that, she left him the bill and the view of her back lit sundress. She swept past him down the boardwalk and tried mightily to avoid touching the sand with her sandalled feet.
He had a point. There was no thrill quite like that of a mission well done. Sydney had loved the plotting and the execution. She had enjoyed the power of her words and actions over unsuspecting people. She had taken immense satisfaction in serving her country. She had been the best and she knew it.
Had Sydney been here, she would've taken the time to bathe in the sunlight, breathe in the salt-breeze, and dig her toes through the sand. She would've flirted with Simon, made nice with her colleagues and made them part of her life. She would've had freedom to smile, to laugh, to love and to be.
But she wasn't Sydney anymore.
And part of her was glad.
***
Author: vyduan
Rating: TV-14
Disclaimer: All characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot.
Ship: Julia/Simon
Warnings: Some innuendo
Challenge: Mission Fic Possible: July
Word Count: 946
Quick Summary: Set during the Missing Two Years between S2 and S3. Requires reasonable understanding of what happened in first half of S3.
A/N: Originally posted at CopyThat.This is my first fan fic (or any fic) ever. If you could suggest where I could improve either technically or stylistically, I'd really appreciate it. Special thanks to JuliaThorne and IndiaQuinn for the encouragement and the idea to start with the challenge. Enjoy!
Photo Credit: Stock.Xchng Photographer: krayker
Royalty-free. Standard restrictions apply.
The Little Things
It was the little things that put her life in the most peril. An answering machine message. A wrong number. A spoonful of coffee ice cream.
Now, it was a tuck of her hair. A slip of her smile. Choosing tea over coffee; one lump of sugar only, please.
It was easier when she was surrounded by them. Their presence a constant reminder to strut and preen as the Covenant's most precious weapon. Lethal in her tidy accent, casual luxury and long, blonde hair. Missions fueled her, weeks at a time. Collecting and discarding aliases and mission objectives were the same - regardless of employer - and she found solace in the familiar actions.
During her rare off hours, she knew the Covenant dissected her every move. Although she was used to the scrutiny from her SD-6 days, at least then, she was still free to read trashy magazines, worship the sun, and listen to Kelly Clarkson. This extra layer of deception trapped her at every gesture. How could her every movement be a lie? Which habit would betray her? Which flicker of recognition would be her last?
She was weakest when she knew she was alone. The temptation to grieve, to think, to allow Sydney to peak through in tiny acts of rebellion consumed her moments of reprieve. Each indulgent second would lead to her undoing. She preferred an endless wake of men.
She sat in an open cafe on the water, hiding from the harsh sun under chunky sunglasses, a wide-brimmed hat and a patio green umbrella. The rhythm of breakers hitting sand in an onslaught of foam mellowed the hungry seagull cries. Children running in and out of the waves, delighting in the cool caress of the ocean teased away the frown on her face. If she wasn't careful, she might actually enjoy herself - and that just wouldn't do.
She glared at her watch. Her contact was three minutes late and building up for another fifteen. She'd give him another two.
She hated when people were late. Most likely, he was just that - late. But in their line of work, sometimes late meant dead. She hated when people were dead. The bad ones never seemed to stay that way, at least around her, and the good ones never bothered showing.
This particular contact had a knack for attracting trouble. He was never on time, but his shock of slick, black hair and wolfish grin played up his lean, thieving body so she always relented. He smelled of leather and gunpowder and his hands roughed her skin when she let him. His low, throaty laugh came easy and often. So did he.
She hated when Simon was late. He now had one minute.
The Covenant had taken to pairing them together more and more often. Cole thought it was good for her to be around someone who indulged in business so lustily. Thought it might give her a little more 'joie de vivre.'
"Everything's boring to you, Julia. You're too good and too wealthy and nothing impresses you anymore. Walker's got it right. He's not as good as you (and who is?) but he sure knows how to have a good time. Try him. You might like it."
She had refused to acknowledge Cole's innuendo and reserved her withering glance for another time. But she had to admit: Cole had been right. She did try Simon and it was a good time.
She caught her snort before it escaped. These puerile thoughts were all Cole's fault. They were going to get her killed. That was another reason she despised lateness. It provided too much empty --
"Sorry I'm late, Jules. I know how you hate it." Simon Walker breezed into the closest chair and charmed his way back from the business end of her gun.
"Then surely you know how I detest you calling me Jules."
"Hmmm... I'll have to remember that."
"I've only mentioned it every time we've worked together."
"So you have, so you have. But you know, Jules is far more fun to say. Julia sounds so proper. So old. Really, Jules, you need to lighten up. Isn't that why they pair us together? I make you more tolerable to be around. For someone as good as you are, you really ought to enjoy it more."
"I don't do nicknames or terms of endearment. And I'm quite tolerable, thank you."
"Then why is it everyone else refuses to work with you?"
"Please. Everyone else is incompetent. I refuse to work with them."
"Aw, Julia. I'm touched."
"What are you talking about?"
"You think I'm competent. How sweet."
"Get over it. You're still late. Here are the mission specs. We go in a fortnight."
With that, she left him the bill and the view of her back lit sundress. She swept past him down the boardwalk and tried mightily to avoid touching the sand with her sandalled feet.
He had a point. There was no thrill quite like that of a mission well done. Sydney had loved the plotting and the execution. She had enjoyed the power of her words and actions over unsuspecting people. She had taken immense satisfaction in serving her country. She had been the best and she knew it.
Had Sydney been here, she would've taken the time to bathe in the sunlight, breathe in the salt-breeze, and dig her toes through the sand. She would've flirted with Simon, made nice with her colleagues and made them part of her life. She would've had freedom to smile, to laugh, to love and to be.
But she wasn't Sydney anymore.
And part of her was glad.
***