You Look Just Like Him
Taipei
Michael Vaughn escaped the lab which was now entirely full of water and crawled along the ceiling rafters. When his feet hit the ground, he thought he was home free- until he turned the corner and found himself facing a gun.
The woman was an attractive middle-aged brunette, but her appearance wasn't top on Vaughn's mind right now. He backed away slowly, raising his hands to show he wasn't a threat. He wondered if he could get her close enough for him to knock the gun from her hands. "Kneel," she commanded and he was forced to comply. A guard came out of nowhere and bound Vaughn's hands behind his back. She walked closer to him and there was a flash of recognition in her eyes. Michael looked at her, trying to decide if he knew her. There was something about her that was vaguely familiar.
"You," she said, adding a trace of her Russian accent. "I wondered if I would ever meet you. I had heard that you became a CIA agent, like your father. You look just like him."
Vaughn felt like he had been punched in the gut. He couldn't breathe. Irina Derevko, the woman who had murdered his father. He had often thought what it would be like to come face to face with this woman, but he had never imagined the situation would involve him bound and at her mercy.
"We will have to continue this conversation later," she said and pistol-whipped him. There was momentary surprise for him, then darkness.
"I have to see to my daughter," Irina told the guard. "Make sure he is secured."
After Irina's "talk" with Sydney, she decided to leave her daughter to give her time to think. After all, it was a lot to process, having one's mother return from the dead. Irina returned fifteen minutes later to find the young woman gone. Cursing the incompetence of her guards, she shot two of them before realizing the best course of action was to take her prisoner out of the country before Sydney tried to rescue him. They loaded Vaughn onto the plane and were in the air two minutes later.
Paris
Vaughn felt traces of consciousness at the edges of his mind. The more he fought with it, the more it slipped away. It took him several minutes to wake up, and his return to the real world was so gradual that it took him a few additional minutes to realize he was not dreaming.
He was in some kind of medical lab. As he tried to sit up, the agent discovered that he was strapped to a gurney. His shirt had been removed and his pants had been replaced with sweats. His shoes and socks were also missing.
Heart thrumming in his chest, Vaughn tried to calm down and assess the situation like his training called for. He looked around again, this time noticing other bodies secured like he was. They must be alive, or there would be no point in tying them down, but some of them were breathing so shallowly that Vaughn wasn't sure.
The young man tried to pull free of his bindings, but whoever fastened the restraints did a good job. The effort exhausted him. Vaughn wondered if he had been drugged. That would also explain his lack of strength.
He was beginning to feel cold from the metal surface underneath him when the sound of footsteps chilled him even more. There was his captor- Irina Derevko. Vaughn felt equal parts fear and anger as he looked up at the woman.
"Good to see you awake. Let's move somewhere more private, shall we?" She pushed the gurney into a smaller, unoccupied room. The woman turned on a hanging lamp above him, and Vaughn had to close his eyes at the sudden brightness. When he opened them again, he saw her watching him. "You know who I am?" she asked.
"Yes," Vaughn rasped, his voice rough from disuse.
"Then you know what I am capable of. I am sure you have information that would be very useful to me, like the identities of CIA agents undercover in Europe. "
"I won't tell you anything," the agent promised.
She smiled indulgently at him. "He said the same thing."
Anger overtook fear for a brief moment. "Don't you dare talk about him."
The Russian woman pretended to look confused. "I thought you would want information about your father, since you lost him when you were so young."
"Not from you. You have no right."
"Since I am likely the last person you will speak to in this life, this may be your last chance to hear about him."
"Kill me now. I won't give you anything," he repeated.
"I'd like a chance to change your mind," she said. Irina rolled over a cart that held two gallons of water, a small basin, and a thick cloth. She poured some water into the bowl and wet the cloth.
Vaughn stared up at the ceiling and told himself he would be fine. He could hold his breath longer than the average person. Taipei only proved that. "Have you been tortured before?" she asked him. He refused to answer or even acknowledge her question. "Let me tell you this- at the beginning you will be strong. But as time goes on with no chance of reprieve or rescue, you will begin to slip. Finally, you will break. They all do."
She waited, but got no response from her prisoner. She shrugged. Vaughn took a deep breath as Irina placed the wet cloth over the lower half of his face. Then she began the waterboarding. The agent quickly found out that if he exhaled only half the air in his lungs, he could pretend he was out of air and thrash around, causing her to remove the cloth before Vaughn would actually choke. This left the impression that she was hurting him without him inhaling any water. He did this successfully several times before she caught on.
"You're too smart for your own good," she told him as she removed the cloth.
"And you're out of water," he informed her. "Better go get some more." There was no faucet in this room that Vaughn could see. The agent was hoping to get her to leave the room to allow him a chance to escape. There was a scalpel not too far away from him. If Vaughn could get the gurney rolling, he might be able to cut himself free before her return.
Irina rolled the cart over to a cabinet across the room. Vaughn craned his neck so he could see her past his own feet. She opened the cabinet and stepped aside to reveal several more gallons of water. She wouldn't need to waste time refilling them. The spy moved six gallons from the cabinet to the cart and wheeled it back to him.
"Don't worry," Irina said. "There are guards who can fill them up while I am emptying them. I won't run out." She replaced the cloth and slowly poured water over his face. He tried his trick once more, but she kept pouring, even after he truly ran out of air. He twisted his head to the side to try to remove the cloth and instinctively reached up with his hands, forgetting they were bound to his side. He thrashed around as much as he could with his limited mobility. When she finally stopped pouring and moved the cloth, Vaughn couldn't stop coughing. He desperately wanted to sit up to help get the water out of his lungs, but he couldn't raise his head more than five inches.
"A minute thirty," she said. "Impressive. Let's see if you can do it again."
Of course he couldn't, not with the tickling in his lungs from the last time, but she kept him under the full ninety seconds. Black spots dotted his vision as he passed the one minute mark.
When the cloth was moved, he begged, "Stop, stop. Just give me a moment." He turned his head away from her as she put the cloth back on, but it didn't do any good. The cloth itself was long enough to wrap around his head, and since it was wet it seemed to stick to his face. She poured water on him twice more, each time keeping him underwater for at least a minute. His vision swam and Vaughn felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen.
"Please," he said, coughing so hard he thought blood would come up next. "Please." Irina finally listened to him and stood there waiting. When Vaughn finally felt that he had coughed enough that he could breathe relatively easy, he laid back on the gurney exhausted. She stepped forward again, holding the towel in one hand and the jug in the other. "No," he moaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Vaughn held himself tense for several seconds until he wondered why she hadn't touched him.
"Let's make a deal," she said, and he opened his eyes. "You answer a question and I'll answer a question."
"I won't betray my country," Vaughn said bravely, but was hoping unconsciousness would claim him before he had to endure any more torture.
"Then something else. You work with my daughter-" Vaughn opened his mouth to deny it, but she continued, "That's not the question. I already know that. My question is, do you love her?"
"I'm not going to answer that."
"Why not? Besides, you didn't hear what question I'm going to answer."
"I don't need any information from you," he told her.
"That's not true. Think back to Taipei. Did you see my daughter escape?"
"What do you mean?" Vaughn asked, his heart thudding with fear. Sydney was on the other side of the door, she should have been safe. But she hadn't wanted to leave him. The man had been forced to swim away to find air. He hadn't seen where she went. There was a chance something bad had happened to Sydney.
"The question I will answer is this: Where is Sydney now, and in what condition is she? There, that's even a two part question. Well, do you want the answer?" Her face remained impassive, but Vaughn would swear that there was a trace of smugness.
"I care about Sydney," he admitted. "She's a very good friend."
Irina snorted softly. "That's a lie."
Vaughn got angry. "That's not a lie! I do care for her."
"You didn't answer my question. Do you love her?" she pressed.
"Yes!" Vaughn shouted, then quieter, "Yes, I love her." Irina smirked again, but set the water jug and towel down. "Now answer the question. Where is Sydney? Is she okay?"
"I left her in Taiwan with my guards. They were under strict instructions not to harm her, unless they heard otherwise from me."
"You would order them to hurt your own daughter?" Vaughn asked, disgusted.
Irina considered the question. "If someone gave me reason to."
Vaughn understood the implied threat. If he didn't cooperate, Sydney would receive the punishment. "Why do you care if I love her?"
"Can't a mother care about her daughter?"
"Not if the mother is holding her daughter prisoner and is considering torturing her," Vaughn retorted.
"Fine. Let's say it makes excellent leverage against you if you have feelings for her."
"How do I know that you even have her?" Vaughn asked.
"You don't believe me?"
"I can think of a few reasons why you wouldn't be the most trustworthy of sources," Vaughn said. Irina inclined her head, conceding the point.
"But let's get back to more pressing matters. Sydney is more than a thousand miles away. You, on the other hand, are right here. Think carefully. What are the identities and locations of the undercover agents currently stationed in Europe?" Irina asked.
"I don't know. I'm only told information regarding my contacts, and none of them are currently in Europe."
"I find I do not believe you," Irina said.
"It's the truth!" Vaughn protested.
"I find that captured agents are not always the most trustworthy of sources," Irina said, repeating his earlier words.
"Then why would you question me if you don't believe my answers?" Vaughn asked.
"Ah," said Irina as if he had stumbled onto an important clue. "They are not reliable until after I've had a few hours to chat with them." She looked over at her supplies on the cart. "One problem I've found with waterboarding is that it hinders the subject's vocalization. I have always preferred torture that results in screams."
A chill ran down Vaughn's spine at how calmly she spoke of inflicting pain on others. She honestly had no moral qualms about this. It concerned her about as much as paperwork. In fact, he would wager that she enjoyed this more.
Irina rolled the cart away and returned a minute later with an odd looking metal object resting on the cart. It looked like a box, but with several button-like protrusions sticking out on the top. There were lights on the side that lined up with the buttons. The lights were currently off. The spy pulled out one of the buttons, revealing an item that reminded Vaughn of a cigarette lighter in a car. She replaced it and flipped a switch on the side of the box. "Thirty seconds," she told him. "That's how long it will take to heat. Then we can continue our little chat. Unless you have something to say before then?"
Vaughn shook his head, not trusting his voice. He counted down the seconds until the torture device would be ready. He tried to prepare himself mentally, but his fear grew with each passing second.
When the lights turned on, Irina removed the button-like device again, leaving five in the box. She turned the item so Vaughn could see the glowing red coils on the bottom of the object. "Each one can be used multiple times without reheating," Irina told him. "And when it loses sufficient heat to make it worthwhile, I simply replace it so it can return to a suitable temperature. I can continue this indefinitely."
"I won't give you anything," he said.
"We'll see," she said, and placed the coil on his right shoulder. Vaughn couldn't suppress his scream. She burned an area a few inches farther down his arm and then three more times down to his elbow. Vaughn bit his lip to keep from screaming, but he couldn't prevent all sounds of pain. She replaced the lighter in the box and took out the next one. She continued down to his wrist. "Change your mind?" she asked casually as she traded the lighter in her hand for a fresh one.
He shook his head. "Very well," she said, and moved to his other side. She burned him in the same fashion as his other arm, stopping only to trade out the lighter when she reached his elbow. She barely paused between the burns, and Vaughn's screams blended together as the pain from one injury led into the next. Irina replaced the fourth lighter and asked him, "Are you ready to talk now?"
Vaughn's throat ached. He glanced over at the device to see that the first two lighters had the indicator light back on. Derevko hadn't been exaggerating when she said the device would work indefinitely. There was no end in sight for him. He turned his head away from her and tried to steady his breathing.
The agent jerked in surprise and fear when her hand smoothed back his hair. He turned his head back to see what she was up to now. "It could be someone you don't like," she whispered. "Or someone you don't know very well. That's not really a betrayal, is it? They are trained operatives. They knew the risks when they signed up. Besides, they know how to shoot and fight. They're not vulnerable, not like you are now. You're not trading their life for yours, not really. They have a chance to take down my people and live. Don't you want the pain to stop? Just give me a name and a location." Irina's voice was soothing, and as she spoke, she caressed his cheek. Vaughn listened and began to believe what she was saying. It made sense. They still had a chance, while he was suffering now. It wouldn't be like killing them.
"No," he said so forcefully, he surprised both of them. Once he spoke, the illusion faded. Anything that happened to agents because he blew their cover was on him. There was no way he could rationalize it away.
Irina went from surprised to upset quickly. She picked up knife from the cart. She stabbed it into his abdomen, inches from his stomach. Derevko ignored his cry and twisted the knife, which resulted in a louder cry . "Give me a name, and this stops." The agent was sobbing too hard to speak. She pulled the knife out of him and wiped the blade on his chest. Irina rested the flat of the knife against Vaughn's cheek. "You have beautiful eyes. You don't need them, do you?" she whispered. "I could cut them out." She moved the knife so the tip was millimeters from Vaughn's eye. The young man tried to remain perfectly still, afraid to even blink. "Tell me about the agents."
Vaughn swallowed hard. Images of coworkers came unbidden to his mind, but he locked them away. She couldn't- that is, she wouldn't do that... would she? Irina sighed suddenly and set the knife down on the cart with a clatter. "You know, I wouldn't cut your eyes out with that knife," she told him earnestly. Vaughn sighed heavily with relief. "But I would, however, do it with this," she said, holding up a scalpel. The blind terror came rushing back as the scalpel came closer to his eye. He was about a second away from giving up a name when her cell phone rang.
It was on vibrate, and the buzzing echoed loudly since it was resting on the metal cart. Vaughn nearly jumped out of his own skin.
Derevko looked annoyed. She set down the scalpel and picked up the phone. "What?" she barked. The woman listened for a moment, then said, "That could work. Let me put him on." Irina turned her attention to her prisoner. "That was one of my men from Taipei. He is concerned that I had not called him yet with the intel I am going to extract from you. He thinks that we are going about this the wrong way. There's someone who wants to speak to you." She held the phone against his ear.
Vaughn had a sick feeling about what was going to happen next. "Hello?" he whispered.
"Vaughn?" a familiar voice said.
"Sydney?" he asked, his worst fears confirmed. He had hoped that Irina was lying about holding her daughter captive.
"Vaughn?" the voice said again, then there was a scream.
"No! Sydney!" he cried out. Irina removed the phone from his ear, but he continued yelling, threatening the men in Taipei and Irina both. "Don't hurt her, don't you dare hurt her! I'll kill you!"
"That seems to have had the desired effect. I will call you back shortly with the information," the woman said in the phone, then hung up. She looked down at her prisoner.
"Please," he whispered, "please." His throat closed up with emotion. He had been so worried about Sydney that he had forgotten that yelling was not doing his throat any favors. The young man was close to losing his voice altogether.
"You know how to protect her," Derevko said gently. "Give me what I want."
"And you'll let her go?" Vaughn asked hoarsely.
"She is too valuable to let go. But I promise you, she will come to no more harm."
Vaughn shook his head. "Not good enough. She will be released."
Irina smirked. "You think you have the power here?"
Vaughn closed his eyes and wracked his brain, trying to think of a way to save Sydney. "Three names," he said finally.
"What?" Irina asked.
"Three names," he repeated, then opened his eyes. "I tell you the identities of three agents and their locations, and you let Sydney go."
"I could get the information anyway if I keep torturing you," Irina said. "Or torturing her. I would have everything I needed to know and more."
He shook his head again. "Losing my voice."
"I could have you write it down," she countered, then paused to consider. "Very well. If you give me three names and locations, I'll have Sydney released immediately, without further harm."
Vaughn nodded, and closed his eyes. This was the hard part. "Chris Greer," he said finally. "Athens."
"Keep going," Irina said.
"Joe Morlan, Seville. Anna Estes, Dublin."
"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" she said, patting his cheek.
"Sydney?" he whispered, barely audible.
"She will be released, like I promised." Vaughn wanted to ask about his own future, but he was suddenly very tired. His battered body had finally rejected consciousness and he felt his eyes drift shut.
Irina Derevko smirked as she wheeled Vaughn out of the interrogation room. She would never believe anyone who called tape recorders obsolete. With that simple device and less than thirty seconds of audio recording of her daughter's voice, Irina had managed to break a young agent. She thought back to when she had the senior Agent Vaughn held captive. It was the lie that there was a bomb under his family's house that had finally broken him. The threat of harm coming to loved ones was more powerful than the hours of torture the man had endured. "Just like your father," Irina told her unconscious captive. Then she left him without another thought. There were other things to be dealt with.
Vaughn drifted in and out of consciousness. He dreamed of Sydney. Some of the dreams were happy; in others, she was in danger and he was helpless to protect her. In the last dream, Sydney came to him in the lab. It was weird because she had blonde hair. She shook him and tried to get him to run. Vaughn's body weighed a ton, and he couldn't move to properly greet her, to see if she was okay. He could barely manage a sleepy, "Syd?" She rushed around the lab, finally returning with a hypodermic needle.
"I'm so sorry," she said.
She said something about running, and he answered blearily, "No, don't do that." Next there was stabbing pain, and he was fully awake. As they fled the building, Vaughn managed to snag a shirt from a counter they passed by. He also found some unattended shoes that he slipped on quickly. He waited until they were clear of the building, however, to put the shirt on because he didn't want to slow them down. Unfortunately, he didn't get the shirt on before Sydney had seen his injuries.
"What happened to you?" she asked worriedly, after a quick visual sweep of the area to see they were alone.
"Your mother. She questioned me."
Sydney gasped, her hand flying up to her mouth. "Oh, Vaughn, I am so sorry."
"I think you said that already," he said, smiling. He didn't feel any pain now. Sydney was alive, apparently uninjured, and here with him. He couldn't ask for too much more.
She opened her mouth to say something, but a small noise made her whirl around. "I wish I could stay and talk," she said, facing him again. "But I have to get back to Dixon before he wonders where I am. I called a CIA extraction team for you. They'll meet you at the top of this hill in a few minutes."
"Okay," he said, still grinning like a fool. Sydney was safe. That knowledge was better than morphine. She smiled back at him and the moment stretched for several seconds. He started to wonder if she was going to kiss him. Then she turned away to go back to her assignment in SD-6 and the moment was broken.
Vaughn watched her until she was out of sight, then walked slowly up the hill to the rendezvous point. He was halfway up when the happy glow disappeared and his aches and pains made themselves known. The agent struggled up the last several feet and was grateful to find a large rock to sit on. He barely had time to catch his breath when he felt the wind from the chopper's blades. Vaughn waited patiently as the helicopter landed and the team exited to secure the perimeter and usher him inside.
"You're bleeding," one of the men told Vaughn as soon as they were airborne. He looked down to see that his abdomen wound had bled through his shirt.
"Yeah, I guess I am," he answered, too tired to care. The other man directed Vaughn to lie down, and the agent was asleep as soon as he was horizontal on the bench.
Los Angeles
Vaughn's return to consciousness was much more pleasant this time in many ways. For one, he was wearing a shirt. Another thing in his favor was that there was no hypodermic needle filled with adrenaline piercing his chest. And lastly, his injuries had been seen to, and he was feeling happy. A quick glance to his left revealed and IV that probably containing morphine or another type of painkiller.
One downside was that instead of waking to Sydney, he found a plain looking man in a suit sitting by his bedside.
"Agent Michael Vaughn?" the man asked.
"Yes?" he answered, trying to sit up without dislodging the IV. He frowned slightly, trying to remember if he knew this man.
"I'm Agent Kevin Walsh, CIA. I don't believe we've met before."
"I don't believe we have," Vaughn said. "What happened after I lost consciousness?"
"An extraction team found you in France and brought you to this hospital, here in LA, where your injuries were treated. Another team was sent after your captors, but the building was cleared out. Agent Bristow has been debriefed already; I came to get your statement, if you feel up to it." Agent Walsh implied subtly with his tone that he wanted the statement now, whether or not Vaughn felt ready.
"Sure," he said, feeling tired, but wanting to get it over with. "Should I start with me waking up in Paris?"
"If you would, start with Taipei."Agent Walsh said, looking down at his notepad and flipping it open. Vaughn started to dislike the other agent. Walsh's demeanor was cool at best, uncaring at worst. The man's words were clipped and he didn't even attempt any kind of bedside manner. Vaughn reminded himself that Agent Walsh was there to debrief him, not become his friend.
"Agent Bristow and I went to Taipei to find and destroy a device..." Vaughn started. He detailed the events in Taipei, then moved on to describing the room he was held in. "The only person I saw while I was held captive was Irina Derevko."
"What did she say to you? What did she want?" Agent Walsh hadn't looked up since he opened his notepad. He scribbled notes without pausing.
"She wanted the identities of undercover agents in Europe. When I refused to tell her, she tortured me." Vaughn tried to say it without any emotion, but he heard his voice crack with the last two words. He cleared his throat to continue, but Walsh interrupted.
"What methods did she use?"
"Is that relevant?" he retorted.
Walsh looked at him in the first time in several minutes. "It would be helpful to know her tactics in case she ever captures another agent."
"Waterboarding, burning, stabbing," Vaughn said, surprising himself with how calmly he was able to say it, like reciting a grocery list.
"What information did you give her?"
Vaughn began to get angry that the other man assumed he had given up information. Walsh could phrased the question so it wasn't accusatory.
"Derevko was also holding captive Sy- Agent Brisow," he corrected. "She-Derevko- had her tortured while I listened."
"What information did you-" Agent Walsh started to repeat.
"Names," Vaughn said loudly, cutting the other man off. Agent Walsh's eyebrows went up, but Vaughn wasn't sure if it was a reaction from being interrupted or hearing Vaughn admit to breaking under interrogation. "Chris Greer, Joe Morlan, and Anna Estes."
"Anything else?" Walsh asked, scribbling down the names quickly.
Vaughn felt exhausted, like he has just run a marathon. "No," he said softly, leaning back against his pillow. "Derevko left the room. Agent Bristow helped me escape, and the exfil team got me out of the country."
Agent Walsh finished his notes and closed the book. "Thank you for your time, Agent Vaughn. I'll contact Assistant Director Kendall, and he will be in touch with you."
"I look forward to it," Vaughn said, closing his eyes. He heard the man leave, but was too tired to open his eyes again. He fell back asleep.
Michael Vaughn was discharged three days later. He went back to work the day after that. Vaughn knew he could get at least a week off work to recover, but he thought returning to a routine would help him more than lying awake in his bed with too many thoughts in his head.
He hadn't even got to his desk when Assistant Director Kendall stopped him. "My office, please," Kendall told him. Vaughn followed him and shut the door behind them without being asked.
Kendall sat on the corner of the desk instead of sitting behind it. Vaughn was tired, but decided to stand unless specifically directed otherwise. He worried how this conversation would go, and he needed any sense of power he could find.
"How are you feeling?" Kendall started, sounding like he actually cared.
"Fine, sir. The hospital discharged me yesterday."
"I heard." Kendall looked at him for a moment, as if trying to assess the other man's injuries. Vaughn stood straighter. His shirt hid the burn marks and the knife injury. Assistant Director Kendall couldn't send him home if Vaughn acted like his wounds weren't still aching. "You set up a meeting with the psychiatrist?"
"On my to do list, sir."
"See that it gets done today, Agent Vaughn."
"Yes, sir." Vaughn waited for the next part of the conversation.
Kendall sighed. "Please sit," he said motioning to one of the comfortable chairs that faced his desk. Vaughn opened his mouth to decline when Kendall sat in the other chair. Vaughn closed his mouth and sat.
"It's very difficult to hold up under extreme interrogation techniques," Kendall began. Vaughn noticed how the other man didn't use the word 'torture.' He almost made a retort asking if the other man really knew how difficult it was, but realized just in time that Kendall used to be a field agent. There was a possibility that the assistant director had been subject to extreme interrogation techniques. Vaughn didn't want to think about it, so he just repeated, "Yes, sir."
"When Agent Walsh gave me the list of names, I had to look them up. I wasn't familiar with those agents." Kendall paused. "Now I know why. They don't exist."
"I know for a fact that you knew the name of at least one agent stationed in Europe- Greg Jacobson. He arrived back in LA the day after you. He had been assigned to work in Rome. You could have given him up, but you didn't." Kendall gave Vaughn an undecipherable look. "He has a wife and two kids."
Vaughn waited silently. "That was a very brave thing you did, lying to Derevko like that. If she had sensed your deception, she could have killed you."
Vaughn didn't want to tell the assistant director that there were points in the interrogation when death would have been a welcome reprieve, so instead he said, "Yes, sir."
"You are to be commended, Agent Vaughn. The agency is proud to have you. "
"Thank you, sir."
Assistant Director Kendall stood and extended his hand so Vaughn stood as well to shake it. "Take care of yourself," he ordered, "and make sure you meet with the psychiatrist so you can be cleared for active duty."
"Yes, sir."
Kendall held the door open for Vaughn, but instead of closing it after the agent left, he paused by the door and watched Vaughn walk to his desk. Vaughn was intercepted on the way by Greg Jacobson.
"Hey, Vaughn," Agent Jacobson said.
"Jacobson. I heard you were in Rome. How was that?"
"It was fine. No surprises. How about you? Did you just get back from a mission?"
"Taipei. Nothing I couldn't handle," Vaughn said, lying easily.
"Well, glad to have you back in the office," Jacobson said.
"You too," Vaughn replied with a friendly smile. The men parted, Jacobson went to talk with another agent, Vaughn finally reaching his desk.
Kendall watched the exchange. 'You'd make your father proud, Michael,' he thought, and then shut the door.
~~END~~
Author's note: I would like to point out that I wrote the part about Irina asking Vaughn if he loved Sydney before I saw the episode where that happens.