“Worth”
Show:
Alias
Setting:
Season 3
Rating: R
Written
for the LJ Lauren Reed ficathon, requested by ascian3
She
wonders if she will ever be worthy.
Sometimes
in the middle of the night, she reaches over to the other side of the bed. Her
husband is sleeping soundly. Her hand touches his chest, the soft feel of his
cotton T-shirt. Her hand lowers, the elastic band of his boxers.
He’s
awake now.
When he’s
inside her, she thinks she might be worthy. But when he falls asleep again, she
will wrap her arms around his naked back and have waking dreams of another.
*
She
watches as he starts to clean up his mess.
He looks
over at her wearily. “Are you going to help me with the corpse, darling?”
She
almost wants to smile at his question.
Later,
when the body has been disposed of, she will smile.
*
Tonight
she has on the black wig. Her leather garments litter the hotel floor. Her gaze
is on the digital clock on the dresser. She should call Michael soon.
A cold
arm drapes around her.
“Can’t
sleep?”
She
doesn’t reply. Instead, she moves from him. She grabs her cell phone and locks
herself in the bathroom.
Michael
picks up on the first ring. As always.
He asks
when she will be home.
She says
soon.
He misses
her.
She
misses him too.
She
returns to the bedroom.
He lifts
his head to look at her. “Are you leaving?”
She
catches a glimpse of her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she turns off the
light. She almost doesn’t recognize herself with the black wig and smeared
make-up. She sees the bruise on her arm. She doesn’t know who to blame for that:
herself or
She
climbs into bed and he smiles. “I guess that’s a no.” And he kisses her with
force. She knows now to blame
*
She’s
eating dinner with Michael. She’s wearing the black dress, her hair is down and
curled. She feels like a teenager on her first date.
“I have a
surprise for you, Michael.” She takes out a small box and slides it over the
table to him. “I hope you like it.”
He opens
the box and his eyes widen at the sight. He looks…heartbroken. The total
opposite of what she had envisioned for his reaction. He takes out his father’s
watch. The hands are moving.
“What did
you do?” he asks in a hollow whisper.
“I—I
fixed it,” she says. “I hope you don’t mind, but I just wanted…”
Michael’s
not even listening. He’s still looking at the working watch in horror.
She frowns.
Now she’s the one who is heartbroken.
“I just
wanted…” But she doesn’t how to finish the sentence. She doesn’t know what she
wants.
*
She
watches the rain wash away the blood on the pavement. She holds the umbrella
over
That
evening, when she and
This
time, he answers on the third ring.
Something
is wrong.
They talk
briefly.
He does
not miss her.
She hangs
up and sits on the floor next to the bathtub. She feels numb.
It is
only when
*
They sit
across each other in the hotel room. They’re both on the carpeted floor,
cross-legged, dressed in black, ready to extract the latest item for the
Covenant.
“We can
kill him,” he says.
She loves
his sense of humor.
He leans
over to her, his body moves like water. “We can slice his neck from ear to
ear.” His mouth hovers over hers. “We can shoot him right between the eyes.”
His tongue flicks out and licks her lips. “We can bury him alive.” His hands
are already underneath her sweater. “We can rip out his heart.”
She’s
losing herself with each touch, each kiss, each whisper.
“We?” she
says.
He nods,
bends his head into her neck, hands still searching for warm skin. He pushes
her unto her back and stares down at her. Her face is bare. No heavy eyeliner.
No dark lipstick. Natural. Herself. The way he likes her.
He grips
her wrists and holds them over her head.
More
bruises, she thinks.
*
Michael
is sitting in the living room. Next to him is a half-empty whiskey bottle.
Something
is wrong.
She
stands from a distance, for the first time afraid to approach her own husband.
He turns
to her. His eyes are bloodshot. His face is filled with stubble. When was the
last time he showered? Or changed his clothes?
“What are
you doing to yourself, Michael?” she asks.
He takes
a drink from his bottle. “I’m not happy.”
She
doesn’t let him see how much that hurt.
“So,
you’re just going to drink all your problems away?” she says.
“I want a
divorce,” he says.
She leans
back against the wall. Oh.
“Maybe
that will make my problems go away.” He gets up from his seat with the whiskey.
“You understand, dontcha, sweetheart?” He stumbles pass her, reeking of
alcohol. “I’m not happy.”
How many
times is he going to remind her of his unhappiness?
She
grinds her teeth. “You’re leaving me for
He looks
at her, suddenly sober. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not
going to give you up that easily.” She goes to him, gently, quietly. “I still
love you.”
His green
eyes gaze up at her. “You do?”
She puts
her arms around his neck to bring him to her. Her mouth moves along his jaw
line.
Michael
pulls away. “What if I said I didn’t love you anymore?”
Her
fingers are unbuckling his belt. “I would say you were a liar.” She presses her
body against his and she can tell he’s close to giving in.
He drops
the whiskey bottle. The glass shatters around them. She slips on the splattered
liquid and falls back against the wall bringing Michael with her.
He has
her up against the wall. Anger flares from his eyes. She waits for him to give
in.
“Michael,”
she whispers.
He’s
fighting it. He doesn’t want to go over the edge.
She
brushes her lips across his mouth. “Michael.”
His eyes
flutter. His chest is heaving. So close. So close.
She tries
to move nearer to him, but he shoves her back against the wall. She’s thrown
off by his aggressiveness. This isn’t like him. This is like…
“Fuck
me,” she says. Two words that had been reserved for one other person. Two words
she had to use on another broken man. Two words she knows will work.
Michael
doesn’t hesitate to fuck her.
*
Things
have changed.
She’s
sitting in front of him like a student in front of her master.
“Do you
think I’m worthy?” she asks.
He tilts
his head. “Worthy of what?”
She
doesn’t quite know herself.
END