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Vaughn stares at them. He needs to call the HazMat team, or whatever they call the medical version, to come pick him up.
Why does he have colored lenses? He doesn't remember buying them; Alice must have liked them or thought they offered more UV protection.
Just the smallest bit of his blood drips through the bandage and onto the earpiece. He swears and goes to get a towel. Donovan sniffs at his feet, and Vaughn nearly kicks the dog away in his panic. Is this shit contagious? Can he hurt Donovan? He puts the dog outside and tries to figure who to call to take care of him, with Eric gone. Who did he use when he was in Finland? He can't remember. Maybe memory loss is another symptom.
He stops to breathe. Or maybe he's just having a panic attack. Although he does seem to have forgotten how to inhale...oh, there, good.
Buy dog food.
Geneva assignment paperwork.
Send Eric his Joke of the Day. Try and find another yo-yo joke, he liked the last one. ("What goes BUZZZZZ, ZZZZZUB, BUZZZZZ, ZZZZZUB? A bee stuck to a yo-yo.")
Get poked, prodded, and quarantined.
Watch Sydney sleep.
Plot the downfall of SD-6. ("Gee, Agent Bristow, what do you want to do tonight?" "The same thing we do every night, Agent Bristow. Try to take over the Alliance!")
Buy strange women drinks in restaurants.
Things to do tomorrow:
Shower.
Shave.
Don't die.
Vaughn sighs. The fact is, they're Sydney-colored lenses, and he knows it. And maybe tomorrow he'll be in a better mood, but right now he's not all that happy about it. He sets the glasses in a drawer, out of sight, and goes to look for the number of the dogsitter.
His hand hovers over the phone. He shouldn't have left a message for Dr. Nicholas. One mention of the, you know, blood, and they would have put him through. But dammit, he's not ready. Talking to Nicholas is admitting that this is real. And then how much time does he have left?
He could go find Sydney. It's an insidious refrain in the back of his head. Look, Syd, I'm dying for you. No, he tells the refrain. She'll suffer enough when someone else tells her. He's willing to do just about anything for five minutes with her, but not this.
He feels...hot. Especially his eyes. It's like something behind them is burning. He rubs at them, and the feeling of the bandages against his skin only makes it worse. Oh, he's tired. It would be so easy to sit and wait for the doctors to come take care of him. He could fall asleep where he is and not wake up til someone saved him.
Assuming someone saved him. Right, bad idea. Do something, Vaughn.
There is one person who might know something. One person he feels comfortable torturing with his illness. One person, he thinks evilly, who he could infect if they let him close enough.
He'll blame that random impulse on the fever. But it's a plan. It's something. He goes back to the drawer for his car keys and his Sydney-colored lenses.
He has someone he needs to see.
--the end--
This fic is really, really just an ode to the sunglasses.
Photo from Alias Media. Thanks, Gertie!