[Fanfic] Lauren Reed (Alias)

[anenko.livejournal.com]

Alias





Note: This is not strictly a rec list, as a couple of my own fics are listed below. Rather, these are links to Lauren-centric fics I've collected over my time in the fandom.

Haunted, by yahtzee63

Spying is so much easier after you're dead.

Lauren can keep an eye on Michael constantly, now. She watches him sleep. She fogs the mirror while he shaves. She accompanies him on stakeouts, silent, ever-watchful and forever awake – the perfect partner, though she doubts he'd agree.

Circles, by She's a Star

Beyond all else, she was tired of the sympathy.
    
It had become very clear over the course of the last hour that everyone felt positively dreadful for her; the concern etched into their faces every time they looked at her was enough to make her want to scream. Oh, that poor dear, she read in every set of eyes. So worried about her husband.

If only they knew, she thought, and allowed herself a wry smile.

Erased, by She's a Star

"You're not real," he tells her, and is surprised by the hoarseness of his tone.

"Well, yeah, not anymore, of course," she replies, and an ironic little smile twists the corners of her mouth. "You killed me."

"I didn't kill you," he argues. "You weren't real. You were a lie."

Nomenclature, by monimala

You wear "bitch" like leather and "traitor" like silk. Your mother's hand-me-downs. Just a little too big. You'll have to grow into them. As you've grown into everything else.

Your duty, your destiny, is not carefully inscribed in some dusty manuscript. You are not Chosen, not special, not etched in ancient ink. You are no man's ideal.

You do, simply, what must be done.

Pawn Is Queen, by medie

Lauren always knew her life was never going to be like anyone else’s. That she was never going to be like the little girls in her play groups or the ones she saw on tv. Their life, she knew intrinsically, was never going to be her life. Oh, she was going to go to the same things they did, she would take ballet, and then gymnastics, and be a cheerleader, and attend the appropriate colleges and live the debutante life like they did... She did all of it and then some and she excelled at it. She was the perfect ballerina, star of the show, she was the head cheerleader and dated the quarterback, and she excelled in her college life. She had no other choice. But she was nothing like them...

She’d known from the beginning the one thing they pretended not to. That it was a lie. An illusion. Perfectly constructed to present a flawless deception.

The only difference was...Lauren’s lie was a lie with a purpose.

Lucky Girl, by Karen T

Sometimes, when you're tired or annoyed or yearning for a different life, you close your eyes and believe her story is your own. It's not that difficult to do, really, seeing as how the two stories are so similar: two girls raised by complicated mothers and unsuspecting fathers; two girls who learned how to shoot a gun before they learned how to kiss a boy; two girls who eventually kissed lots of boys and then fell in love with the same one.

But despite the parallel paths of your lives, you know her story is not yours and will never be yours. After all, your mother reminds you of this all the time. You are the lucky one.

I could leave you if I want but there's nowhere else I can go, by crushw-eyeliner

There was no prophecy at Lauren's birth.

She had been unexpected - two years earlier, Olivia had miscarried. The child had been a boy.

Worth, by quiet rebel

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.

The First Day of June, by quiet rebel

She has scarred him and he has scarred her.

The only difference is that she can see her wounds.

The stitches on her body ricochet all over. She traces them when she’s awake. She traces them when she’s asleep.

A month passes. She thinks she is strong enough.

“Where are you going?” Katya asks when she sees Lauren on her feet.

“To see my husband,” says Lauren.

call it love, by anenko

He fell in love

(truly, deeply, despite himself).

Because, he may one day say, she was: polite. kind. calm. beautiful. there (and you were not, and i was alone, alone, and she was there.)

Equinox, by siryn99

It happened slowly, almost too slowly for her. Each time they met, they revealed more and more about each other. It was like carefully unwrapping a gift you've been wanting since before you could remember. She replayed their conversations over and over in her mind at night, staring at the ceiling. His parents had died when he was very young and he'd been sent to live with his bachelor uncle in Blackpool. He had been going to school in London, but had transferred to St. Michael's for this last year, wanting to get out of the city. There was something else behind it, she could tell, but she didn't want to risk him getting angry with her if she pressed him. After all, she hadn't been entirely truthful about her background either.

Her father had warned her to be careful about what she told people about his job. A US Senator on the Intelligence committee was a target and she knew that. He had given the speech so many times; she could recite it word for word, with accents and inflections. It was those times she felt the resentment seep into her mind. It wasn't as if she had been given a choice in going away to school, it was just expected of her. It was exhausting to think about and so she just told him he worked for the government, and he didn't ask for details.

True Romance, by Nicola

Sark knew that she had been with him. He found it amusing and only slightly disturbing that he could recognize the particular afterglow. Her marital sexual activities were rare — and (an inference on his part, only) boring. Once, he had feigned jealousy, and she had revealed how seldom she and her husband made love. Since then, he had attuned more closely to her mood, behaviour, appearance; how they were changed by sexual circumstance.

Today: a pity fuck after her daddy's death. How romantic.

The Art of Driving, by yalena78

Then, one night, the view changes. One face becomes clearer than any of the others. The lights come up and Julia hears her own name being whispered like an incantation, as if she is being summoned by someone who understands how to manipulate the will of the gods. Sickly-sweet lipstick presses into her tongue, or perhaps it's the other way around; she tries to locate the familiar taste of skin beneath this artificial surface. She succeeds only in drawing blood as the other woman finds her own success, fingers expertly dancing routines her own are only now learning.

"Julia," the blonde sighs, afterward.

"Lauren," Julia mutters.

Sydney wakes up in a cold sweat.

Another Girl's Paradise, by Melymborsia

It's Switzerland and it's Zürich and it's the Bellerive, but it could be any country, any city, any bar. She's timeless, she really is: look at those long long legs, those downturned eyes, the curve of her mouth; look at those graceful fingers toying with a swizzle stick as if it were a man's heart. She looks nothing like the pictures in Michael's apartment, and nothing like the photo in her Agency personnel file. Lauren recognizes her instantly.

Not Sydney Bristow, Lauren reminds herself, Julia Thorne; not Julia Thorne tonight, but Catherine Perrault. Lauren tugs down her blazer, takes a deep breath, and strides forward.

Stasis, by Katja

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Lauren stands back, invites her inside.

"I'm just feeling really weird about this anniversary." She pauses. "Not ours. That's not what I mean--"

"I know what you mean, Sydney."

"I keep thinking I see him, or hear him, and those dreams I can't stop having are all I have left--"

(Don't cry. Not here. Wait until you get home.)

She is silent.

"Well?" Sydney prods.

wait 'till tomorrow, by anenko

Sydney is drunk. Lauren is not.

Lauren thinks about killing Sydney. Doesn't.

Comments

[irony-rocks.livejournal.com]

Oh. Thanks for this!

[anenko.livejournal.com]

My pleasure! Lauren got a raw deal all around, but I loved her.

[irony-rocks.livejournal.com]

Yes, she totally did.

*icon love*