She was drunk. The good thing about being on the road all the time and
being preoccupied with work is that there was no way she could build up any
kind of tolerance. Two glasses of her favorite Merlot…that's all it took
this time. Last time it was half of a six-pack shared with Will, who barely
had enough to catch a buzz. At least I'm cheap date, she thought with a
wry smile. Not that I've even gone on a date in months, she immediately
reminded herself, the grin slowly disappearing. Such is the life of a
double-agent, right? International espionage does have its price…my social
life. And that's why I'm alone in my apartment, drinking…alone. And that's
how I'll live my whole life – alone.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, deciding to trade in that depressing train of thought for one more glass of wine. As she reached for the half-empty bottle (can you blame her for being a pessimist?), the phone rang.
Her heart jumped. Whenever the phone rang late at night or early in the morning, she worried. And this night was no exception.
"Hello?" she said, standing up, the phone in one hand, the bottle in the other.
"Joey's Pizza?"
The alcohol picked that moment to truly hit her with its full force. Inebriation cast a dizzy, warm and oh-so-tingly net over her body. She blinked slowly, almost forgetting what she was doing. Oh yeah, the wine. Now where did I put my glass?
She heard a male clear his voice over the telephone line, confusion evident in that one sound. "Um, Joey's Pizza…..?"
"Oh, right. Sorry, wrong number," she said distractedly, hanging up and turning her attention back to the wine. Just a few more sips won't hurt – after all, I'm walking down to the pier anyhow. The warmth of the wine will keep me warm on the walk there tonight, she thought, because God knows there's nothing – or no one – who'll be doing that job instead.
Of course Vaughn couldn't have waited until tomorrow morning – it only makes sense he would pick the one day she had designated to drown her sorrows in Merlot. Typical. Now how on Earth could she seem professional now, after having downed two (working on two and a half) glasses of wine?
She cleared her throat, ran a hand through her hair and tried to de-fuzz her brain. Focus, Syd, Vaughn must have something extremely important to discuss…you need to be at 100%, minus the beer (or wine, as tonight would have it) goggles.
It's amazing how fast the mind works. One moment Sydney was slumped on the couch, sipping the Merlot, the next minute, she had changed out of her pajamas and was ready to leave.
Ten minutes later, she was at the pier. The wine hadn't kept her warm on the unusually cool L.A. night – it had only worsened the chills that had bitingly clamped onto her spine. She had managed to ditch an annoying case of hiccups, but could unfortunately do nothing about her chattering teeth.
With her arms crossed stiffly across her chest, she hugged herself for warmth. She stared out at the ocean, wishing not for the first time that she lived a normal life where she could get totally trashed on a Thursday night if she wanted to without having the CIA rudely interrupt. But such is the life of a double-agent. Even a slightly intoxicated double-agent.
"Cold?"
It was Vaughn. The sound of his calm, friendly voice did more to warm her than three bottles of wine could ever do.
She turned slightly, making eye contact for only a half-second. "Just a little bit," she answered. "I wonder what's up with the weather lately?"
She smiled. It was a mistake, giving her teeth the ample opportunity to resume chattering away.
"Jeez, Sydney, you're freezing," he said, whisking off his coat and placing it around her trembling shoulders. His hand brushed her neck as he adjusted the coat's collar. She was extremely thankful that the shiver that instantly followed would only seem to be a reaction to the cool night air.
"Thanks." She noticed his starched white dress shirt, creased in the back from sitting in a chair. She wondered how long of a day he put in. She wondered if this was the last place he wanted to be tonight. She wondered what he would do if she suddenly grabbed his cornflower blue tie and pulled him to her. She wondered if he could tell she had been drinking.
"I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important tonight," Vaughn started nonchalantly, placing his hands on the pier's steel railing. He could tell she had been drinking – the mint of her toothpaste didn't do much to cover up the telltale scent of red wine. Had she been out on a date when he called? Maybe at a nice restaurant with an impressive wine list, classical music, dim lighting and a fellow grad student?
With her brows raised, she shrugged, careful to keep her voice steady. "Just a little alone time, that's all."
Vaughn exhaled slowly, feeling oddly relieved. A stream of images flashed through his mind: Sydney is clad in white cotton pajamas, watching old black and white movies, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream straight out of the carton. Sydney, with her chestnut hair pulled back, is curled up in bed, reading a classic novel, maybe Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not War and Peace, or any other Russian novel – that's a given. Sydney lights candles around a frothy bubble bath, a glass of wine nearby…wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel and a sexy smile.
Immediate guilt washed over Vaughn for thinking such thoughts. He cleared his throat, trying to ease the flushed feeling in his cheeks. "What were you doing?"
The words were out of his mouth before he even had a chance to censor them.
She turned and looked at him quizzically. Why did he care? "Does it really matter?" she replied, still feeling the residual warmth of his soft fingers on her neck. "I'm here now, at your beck and call, as always," she added, grinning. Great, Syd, thanks to the half-bottle of wine, you're flirting with your handler. Way to be professional.
Those dimples are going to be the end of me, he thought, returning the grin. "In that case, let's get down to business," his voice, so matter-of- fact, hiding the continuing bubble bath images that clouded his brain.
Mmmmm, let's…Sydney silently replied while throwing on a poker face. "Alright, what's the deal?"
Eyes were averted again. Minds focused. All thoughts unrelated to work were pushed aside.
"Well, this subject is quite delicate, so I'm not going to beat around the bush. Your friend, Will, is a target of SD-6."
Sydney's jaw dropped. Her poker face could conceal a wide range of emotion, but pure shock was one she was still working on. "What?" Her head turned swiftly to meet Vaughn's gaze, her hair swinging into place behind her.
"The CIA received some reliable intel this afternoon from a local source who informed us that Will Tippen is in danger – " Vaughn started, leaning on the railing. Why was it always he who had to hurt her? Why was it always he who had to deliver such bad news?
"Why? What the hell do they want with him? What is their master plan – to kill everyone who ever meant anything to me?" Sydney blurted out, her voice louder than anticipated. Anger and fear mixed in her mind, in her heart, coursed through her limbs. She was shaking again. Not from cold, not from alcohol, but from a seething, intense anger.
"He's doing this story, Sydney, on Danny's death….he's been investigating it for some time now…but recently he came across some information that –"
"On Danny's death? Will said he dropped that months ago….."
"Apparently, he didn't. His investigation recently came up with a solid lead. One word that will soon get him killed if he continues to throw it around so haphazardly. SD-6."
"Damnit," Sydney breathed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Damn him for being a nosy journalist. Damn him for lying to me."
Vaughn was unsure of what to do. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. All of his instinct screamed to take her in his arms. To run his fingers gently over those creases on her forehead, easing away the worry.
Instead he scratched his chin.
"You're not mad at Will, Sydney," he said quietly.
"I sure as hell am," she spat. "It seems I can't trust anyone. Not Will, not my father….not even my dead mother, who ended up being the apparent queen of all things evil."
"You're not mad at Will," Vaughn repeated, his hand back on the railing. "You're mad at SD-6. They've perpetrated this whole mess, this web of deceit. Will is your friend. He cares about you. And you care about him, right?"
He half-hoped she'd answer that question with a resounding no.
"Of course," she said, her voice losing the sharp edge it had just moments before. "I just – I don't know when this will ever end. The killing, I mean."
She paused and stared up at him, her eyes filled with pain. "Vaughn, why am I cursing everyone like this? Why is death following me like a goddamn shadow?"
"Because SD-6 and death are interchangeable at this point. As long as SD-6 exists, you and your loved ones are in danger." Without thinking twice, he placed a hand on her arm. "But we'll bring them down, Sydney, that much I'll promise you. And one day, you won't have to worry about being found out, being followed, or being seen in public with me."
The glint in his green eyes was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.
She forced a smile and covered his hand with hers. I don't so much worry about being seen with you as I do about how I feel when I see you. "I know."
Those words, coupled with her delicate touch, made Vaughn's heart lurch. The bathtub appears again. "But until then we need to be extra vigilant." The glass of wine has been finished off. The water sloshes from one side of the tub and back as bubble bath envelops her. "You need to get Will off that story. You know him much better than I do – figure out a way, any way, to get him to stop throwing around the term 'SD-6'." Her hair is pulled up high on her head, but a few tendrils in the back fight their way out, getting wet and stick to the curve of her neck. She slowly leans back against the porcelain.
"And," he added, reluctantly moving his hand from hers, "meeting here tonight was probably not a good idea – we should be more careful in the future. If someone sees us together like this –"
And then he appears in the dimly lit bathroom, a bottle of red wine in hand. She sighs, smiles and whispers hoarsely, "Mmmmmm…just in time. I was beginning to wonder where you were….."
"I know, I know," Sydney nodded. "I'm even putting you in danger."
"No, Sydney, you're not," he replied earnestly. "I do this of my own free will, knowing the consequences. You – the end results are worth it." He turned to hide a crimson blush.
He didn't see her wide eyes, which contained an emotion she assumed she had long abandoned: hope.
"Don't waste your time worrying about me…this is my job," he continued. He pours her another glass of wine without his eyes leaving her. He kneels next to the tub, a washcloth in hand. She closes her eyes, the warm orange light casting the sensual glow on her delicate features. "I know how to take care of myself."
She nodded and moved to leave, taking off his coat. "I'll take care of Will."
But who will take care of you, Sydney?, he thought. Who will make sure you don't fall asleep with tears in your eyes? Who will make you breakfast in bed? Who will rub the kinks out of your back after a long, tiring day? You're always taking care of someone else…but who will take care of you?
"Good. I'll be in touch soon." He took the coat, his fingers consciously brushing hers.
"I would never doubt that, Vaughn," she grinned, starting to walk in the direction of the apartment. The buzz she had felt just fifteen minutes earlier was gone. A new, natural tingle had replaced it.
"And Ms. Bristow?" he called after her. She giggles as he caresses her smooth back with the damp washcloth, then moves quickly, blowing a cluster of bubbles in his direction.
She turned, tempted to laugh at the formal address. "Yes?"
"Next time bring some wine for me." He blows out the candles.
[pic]
She rolled her eyes and shook her head, deciding to trade in that depressing train of thought for one more glass of wine. As she reached for the half-empty bottle (can you blame her for being a pessimist?), the phone rang.
Her heart jumped. Whenever the phone rang late at night or early in the morning, she worried. And this night was no exception.
"Hello?" she said, standing up, the phone in one hand, the bottle in the other.
"Joey's Pizza?"
The alcohol picked that moment to truly hit her with its full force. Inebriation cast a dizzy, warm and oh-so-tingly net over her body. She blinked slowly, almost forgetting what she was doing. Oh yeah, the wine. Now where did I put my glass?
She heard a male clear his voice over the telephone line, confusion evident in that one sound. "Um, Joey's Pizza…..?"
"Oh, right. Sorry, wrong number," she said distractedly, hanging up and turning her attention back to the wine. Just a few more sips won't hurt – after all, I'm walking down to the pier anyhow. The warmth of the wine will keep me warm on the walk there tonight, she thought, because God knows there's nothing – or no one – who'll be doing that job instead.
Of course Vaughn couldn't have waited until tomorrow morning – it only makes sense he would pick the one day she had designated to drown her sorrows in Merlot. Typical. Now how on Earth could she seem professional now, after having downed two (working on two and a half) glasses of wine?
She cleared her throat, ran a hand through her hair and tried to de-fuzz her brain. Focus, Syd, Vaughn must have something extremely important to discuss…you need to be at 100%, minus the beer (or wine, as tonight would have it) goggles.
It's amazing how fast the mind works. One moment Sydney was slumped on the couch, sipping the Merlot, the next minute, she had changed out of her pajamas and was ready to leave.
Ten minutes later, she was at the pier. The wine hadn't kept her warm on the unusually cool L.A. night – it had only worsened the chills that had bitingly clamped onto her spine. She had managed to ditch an annoying case of hiccups, but could unfortunately do nothing about her chattering teeth.
With her arms crossed stiffly across her chest, she hugged herself for warmth. She stared out at the ocean, wishing not for the first time that she lived a normal life where she could get totally trashed on a Thursday night if she wanted to without having the CIA rudely interrupt. But such is the life of a double-agent. Even a slightly intoxicated double-agent.
"Cold?"
It was Vaughn. The sound of his calm, friendly voice did more to warm her than three bottles of wine could ever do.
She turned slightly, making eye contact for only a half-second. "Just a little bit," she answered. "I wonder what's up with the weather lately?"
She smiled. It was a mistake, giving her teeth the ample opportunity to resume chattering away.
"Jeez, Sydney, you're freezing," he said, whisking off his coat and placing it around her trembling shoulders. His hand brushed her neck as he adjusted the coat's collar. She was extremely thankful that the shiver that instantly followed would only seem to be a reaction to the cool night air.
"Thanks." She noticed his starched white dress shirt, creased in the back from sitting in a chair. She wondered how long of a day he put in. She wondered if this was the last place he wanted to be tonight. She wondered what he would do if she suddenly grabbed his cornflower blue tie and pulled him to her. She wondered if he could tell she had been drinking.
"I hope I didn't interrupt anything too important tonight," Vaughn started nonchalantly, placing his hands on the pier's steel railing. He could tell she had been drinking – the mint of her toothpaste didn't do much to cover up the telltale scent of red wine. Had she been out on a date when he called? Maybe at a nice restaurant with an impressive wine list, classical music, dim lighting and a fellow grad student?
With her brows raised, she shrugged, careful to keep her voice steady. "Just a little alone time, that's all."
Vaughn exhaled slowly, feeling oddly relieved. A stream of images flashed through his mind: Sydney is clad in white cotton pajamas, watching old black and white movies, eating mint chocolate chip ice cream straight out of the carton. Sydney, with her chestnut hair pulled back, is curled up in bed, reading a classic novel, maybe Pride and Prejudice. Definitely not War and Peace, or any other Russian novel – that's a given. Sydney lights candles around a frothy bubble bath, a glass of wine nearby…wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel and a sexy smile.
Immediate guilt washed over Vaughn for thinking such thoughts. He cleared his throat, trying to ease the flushed feeling in his cheeks. "What were you doing?"
The words were out of his mouth before he even had a chance to censor them.
She turned and looked at him quizzically. Why did he care? "Does it really matter?" she replied, still feeling the residual warmth of his soft fingers on her neck. "I'm here now, at your beck and call, as always," she added, grinning. Great, Syd, thanks to the half-bottle of wine, you're flirting with your handler. Way to be professional.
Those dimples are going to be the end of me, he thought, returning the grin. "In that case, let's get down to business," his voice, so matter-of- fact, hiding the continuing bubble bath images that clouded his brain.
Mmmmm, let's…Sydney silently replied while throwing on a poker face. "Alright, what's the deal?"
Eyes were averted again. Minds focused. All thoughts unrelated to work were pushed aside.
"Well, this subject is quite delicate, so I'm not going to beat around the bush. Your friend, Will, is a target of SD-6."
Sydney's jaw dropped. Her poker face could conceal a wide range of emotion, but pure shock was one she was still working on. "What?" Her head turned swiftly to meet Vaughn's gaze, her hair swinging into place behind her.
"The CIA received some reliable intel this afternoon from a local source who informed us that Will Tippen is in danger – " Vaughn started, leaning on the railing. Why was it always he who had to hurt her? Why was it always he who had to deliver such bad news?
"Why? What the hell do they want with him? What is their master plan – to kill everyone who ever meant anything to me?" Sydney blurted out, her voice louder than anticipated. Anger and fear mixed in her mind, in her heart, coursed through her limbs. She was shaking again. Not from cold, not from alcohol, but from a seething, intense anger.
"He's doing this story, Sydney, on Danny's death….he's been investigating it for some time now…but recently he came across some information that –"
"On Danny's death? Will said he dropped that months ago….."
"Apparently, he didn't. His investigation recently came up with a solid lead. One word that will soon get him killed if he continues to throw it around so haphazardly. SD-6."
"Damnit," Sydney breathed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Damn him for being a nosy journalist. Damn him for lying to me."
Vaughn was unsure of what to do. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. All of his instinct screamed to take her in his arms. To run his fingers gently over those creases on her forehead, easing away the worry.
Instead he scratched his chin.
"You're not mad at Will, Sydney," he said quietly.
"I sure as hell am," she spat. "It seems I can't trust anyone. Not Will, not my father….not even my dead mother, who ended up being the apparent queen of all things evil."
"You're not mad at Will," Vaughn repeated, his hand back on the railing. "You're mad at SD-6. They've perpetrated this whole mess, this web of deceit. Will is your friend. He cares about you. And you care about him, right?"
He half-hoped she'd answer that question with a resounding no.
"Of course," she said, her voice losing the sharp edge it had just moments before. "I just – I don't know when this will ever end. The killing, I mean."
She paused and stared up at him, her eyes filled with pain. "Vaughn, why am I cursing everyone like this? Why is death following me like a goddamn shadow?"
"Because SD-6 and death are interchangeable at this point. As long as SD-6 exists, you and your loved ones are in danger." Without thinking twice, he placed a hand on her arm. "But we'll bring them down, Sydney, that much I'll promise you. And one day, you won't have to worry about being found out, being followed, or being seen in public with me."
The glint in his green eyes was enough to make her breath catch in her throat.
She forced a smile and covered his hand with hers. I don't so much worry about being seen with you as I do about how I feel when I see you. "I know."
Those words, coupled with her delicate touch, made Vaughn's heart lurch. The bathtub appears again. "But until then we need to be extra vigilant." The glass of wine has been finished off. The water sloshes from one side of the tub and back as bubble bath envelops her. "You need to get Will off that story. You know him much better than I do – figure out a way, any way, to get him to stop throwing around the term 'SD-6'." Her hair is pulled up high on her head, but a few tendrils in the back fight their way out, getting wet and stick to the curve of her neck. She slowly leans back against the porcelain.
"And," he added, reluctantly moving his hand from hers, "meeting here tonight was probably not a good idea – we should be more careful in the future. If someone sees us together like this –"
And then he appears in the dimly lit bathroom, a bottle of red wine in hand. She sighs, smiles and whispers hoarsely, "Mmmmmm…just in time. I was beginning to wonder where you were….."
"I know, I know," Sydney nodded. "I'm even putting you in danger."
"No, Sydney, you're not," he replied earnestly. "I do this of my own free will, knowing the consequences. You – the end results are worth it." He turned to hide a crimson blush.
He didn't see her wide eyes, which contained an emotion she assumed she had long abandoned: hope.
"Don't waste your time worrying about me…this is my job," he continued. He pours her another glass of wine without his eyes leaving her. He kneels next to the tub, a washcloth in hand. She closes her eyes, the warm orange light casting the sensual glow on her delicate features. "I know how to take care of myself."
She nodded and moved to leave, taking off his coat. "I'll take care of Will."
But who will take care of you, Sydney?, he thought. Who will make sure you don't fall asleep with tears in your eyes? Who will make you breakfast in bed? Who will rub the kinks out of your back after a long, tiring day? You're always taking care of someone else…but who will take care of you?
"Good. I'll be in touch soon." He took the coat, his fingers consciously brushing hers.
"I would never doubt that, Vaughn," she grinned, starting to walk in the direction of the apartment. The buzz she had felt just fifteen minutes earlier was gone. A new, natural tingle had replaced it.
"And Ms. Bristow?" he called after her. She giggles as he caresses her smooth back with the damp washcloth, then moves quickly, blowing a cluster of bubbles in his direction.
She turned, tempted to laugh at the formal address. "Yes?"
"Next time bring some wine for me." He blows out the candles.
[pic]