Disclaimer-Characters belong to either Aaron Sorkin or J.J. Abrams. Title
and lyrics come from a Billy Joel song. No copyright infringement
intended. Any similarity to events or persons living or dead is purely
coincidental.
Author's Notes-To the 'Sirens, with love. Especially Double-oh-Agent Dis, my grammar hero and the one who puts up with my idiotic questions. To my computer guru, my big brother (who rocks), thank you for telling a computer illiterate person about the history of the Internet one Wednesday afternoon. To the 'Crew, also with love. I didn't think it could be done the first time; I certainly wasn't prepared for a sequel to form in my brain. And yet here it is. The organized world of J.J. and the chaotic world of Aaron. I hope this works again.
Feedback-Always greatly appreciated.
Spoilers-This takes place in the off-season for both shows. 'Course, before those last, oh, two minutes of the season finale of Alias, of course. I figure I have two years to play with before September. Ish. When do they start back?
Archive-Let me know, thanks.
Code of Silence-Isn't it a kind of madness/to be living by a code of silence/when you've really got a lot to say. Sequel to To the Victor Goes the Spoils (Story ID: 1275739).
And it's hard to believe after all these years That it still gives you pain and it still brings tears And you feel like a fool Because in spite of your rules You've got a memory
Washington, D.C.
Today
Now
She leaned against his doorjamb, waiting for him to get off the phone. She was tired, having gotten off a plane only two hours before. She'd gone through a fast de-briefing with her boss and had changed into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, a Princeton zippered, hooded sweatshirt zipped halfway up, the sleeves pushed back slightly. Her dark hair was back in a ponytail, and her glasses were hanging from the collar of her shirt. Her green eyes were closed. She was a study in exhaustion.
He was rubbing his forehead, listening to the voice on the other end. "I said forget about it, Amy. We're not killing it. Tell the First Lady it's a matter of national security... Because it is... I can't tell you what, exactly, it's going towards because, y'know what? It's national security and you don't have the clearance for that kind of thing. The First Lady isn't usually, y'know, privy to that kind of information and she's certainly not a decision maker with regards to stuff like this." Josh Lyman sighed and glanced at his watch. "I gotta go, Amy. This matter's finished. It's going to pass. The President's going to sign it. Let this one slide." He sighed. "Fine," he said, hanging up and standing up.
His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled. The tie he wore had been loosened somewhere along the course of the day, and the top button had been unbuttoned. He pulled on his suit coat and killed his desk lamp before moving around to the doorjamb, where she stood. "Crys..."
She slowly opened her eyes, looking into his warm dark eyes. "Hm?"
"You sure you want to go to this thing tonight?"
"I'm positive."
"'Cause you look really tired."
She smiled gently. "I'm fine."
"All right," he said, kissing her cheek quickly and easing an arm around her waist. The two slipped out of his office and started through the bullpen. "Donna, we're gone. See you tomorrow."
"Going? But it's only seven..."
"I've got a thing I have to go to, then I've got a whole stack of briefing books in my car with my name on them to sift through tonight, so... Yeah, I'm getting out of here and I'll see you tomorrow."
His blonde assistant looked puzzled. "There's no thing on your schedule..."
"It's a personal thing."
She glanced at Crystal Seaborn, the woman on his arm. "Ah..."
"See you tomorrow."
She nodded, looking back at her boss. "All right."
"G'night, Donna," Josh said, leading Crystal out of the White House. They signed out then looked out the window at the pouring rain. "Y'know, I'm not even sure I want to go."
"Yeah, you are," she said with a nod.
"Yeah..."
"Looks like we'll have to make a run for it."
"Damn, my umbrella's in my car..." He removed his coat covering his head with it as Crystal covered her head with her hood, pulling her sleeves back down to her wrists.
"Race ya?" she asked, a soft Southern drawl surfacing and a slight smirk appearing on her face.
He pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. "I'm going to lose."
"Wimp."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. After you."
A security guard opened the door, and the two were soon running out of the building through the torrential rain towards the gate. Crystal, as Josh had predicted, was ahead of him. He attributed the fact, in his head and only temporarily, that she was ahead to her sneakers and his loafers. He knew quite well she used to run cross-country in high school and that she was in far better shape than she was. Of course, there was also the fact that she was a highly trained field agent with the CIA. And the fact that he didn't necessarily mind watching her run.
She had his doors unlocked and was sitting in the passenger seat by the time he reached the car, sliding behind the wheel and tossing his coat in the back seat. Starting the car, he pulled out of his parking space. "How can you have a candle-light vigil in a rainstorm?" he asked as they entered traffic.
"A conundrum, isn't it?" she asked, drying her glasses on her sweatshirt.
"Seriously. There wasn't an alternate location or a rain date."
"They'll either construct a shelter or we'll be huddled under umbrellas, I'm sure."
"Probably umbrellas. I don't think they can construct a shelter on the grass there... and this rainstorm blew up out of nowhere."
"And, who'd want to stand under a shelter on the grass, 'cause the ground'll still be muddy."
"Fair point," Josh acknowledged.
"How big is your umbrella...?"
"Big enough for two," he said with a smile, glancing at her.
She nodded, slipping her glasses on and silently watching out the front windshield as he maneuvered them through the city towards the Vietnam Memorial. The familiar buildings and landmarks rolled by as he drove and she thought about how much had changed in her life, and how much things had stayed the same.
And she thought about her reaction when he'd talked to her a little earlier, telling her about his plans for the evening and if she wanted to come along.
He soon brought her out of her reverie as he parked the car as close to the monuments as he could get. She waited on him to get out of the car first with the umbrella, and like the gentleman he could sometimes be, he came around to her side, welcoming her under his golf umbrella. The two walked together towards the crowd in silence.
As Crystal had predicted, the sidewalk in front of the Vietnam Wall was packed with people under umbrellas, holding long white taper candles. As they approached, a veteran in his uniform handed the pair a candle each. As they neared the group, they spotted a familiar face, the face Josh had come to honor.
"Leo," he said softly.
The White House Chief of Staff turned back and nodded. He was obviously holding back emotions that were threatening to break through. "Thanks," he managed.
Crystal eased out from under Josh's umbrella, joining the crowded umbrella with Leo McGarry and his daughter, Mallory O'Brien. "Didn't know you were coming, too," Mallory said quietly as Crystal gently peeled the wick of her candle from the top of the taper, making it stand.
"Just got in from the coast," she said, lighting her candle off Leo's.
"How's Sam?" Mallory asked.
She shrugged slightly. "He's okay. He's getting reacquainted with everything. He wanted me to tell you if I saw you that you should, y'know, take a vacation when school's out." She looked up at her with a knowing look, then slipped back under Josh's umbrella, lighting his candle with her flame.
He had to hold onto the umbrella and his candle, but Crystal had a free arm to loop around his waist as the memorial service began.
Listening to the proceedings, honoring the Vietnam veterans and the dead, Crystal thought about the past twenty-four hours. And the past twenty years of her life. When the veteran talked about the horrors of what had gone on, she tightened her grip on his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.
Why?
It was the only question that came to her mind over and over again.
Washington, D.C.
Seventeen years ago
Evening
She pulled her dark hair back, watching her reflection in the mirror. Leaning forward, she carefully removed the contacts from her green eyes and placed them in their respective holders before slipping her glasses on. She walked in her shorts and tee shirt to the chair by the bed, picking up the zippered sweatshirt she'd tossed over the arm earlier and slipped it on, zipping it up, both sides forming a word across the front: Princeton.
"I'm thinking chicken for dinner," she said as she emerged from the bedroom, heading through the living room of the small apartment. When there was no response, she glanced over, noticing that her boyfriend was engrossed in something, sitting on the couch, a determined look in his eye and headphones on his ears. Shaking her head, she entered the kitchen and started pulling things out of the cabinets and refrigerator to cook. Ian Guthrie was the consummate professional, always working.
At least, that's what Crystal Seaborn believed.
She was only twenty-one and had been working with Ian for three years. She'd been recruited early, to say the least, and the CIA paid for her college education. She had one more semester before gaining her degree in psychology from George Washington University in D.C. She'd opted for her summer off; she'd pushed herself entirely too hard in the spring semester, in and out of the country and trying to study while overseas was rough.
She smiled when a pair of arms circled her waist from behind and a chin rested on her shoulder. "Hey," she murmured.
"Chicken, huh?" he asked.
She nodded. "Sound okay?"
"Sounds great. How are you, by the way? You looked really tired when you came in from class."
She hadn't thought he'd noticed. "Eh. I am tired, but I'm okay."
"I'm worried about you, y'know."
"No worries."
"No, seriously, Crys. I think you're pushing yourself too hard. I think you should take a breather, take a break."
"Please. I'm fine. I'm taking this semester off. I'll graduate in December. Everything'll be great."
"It would kill you to take two weeks off?" he asked, kissing her neck.
"I'm fine," she said, smiling softly.
"C'mon. You could take a vacation. You haven't had one since you started training."
"Don't need one."
"You don't have to be Wonder Woman, y'know. You can take a break. You keep saying you want to go to Italy..."
"Yeah... But I figure if I hang out in this job long enough, I'll get there."
"Yeah, but you'll be *working*. C'mon, Crys. Take a break."
"You tryin' to get rid of me, Ian?"
"Of course not."
"'Cause it sounds it."
"I just think you should take some time off, have some fun. You're twenty-one. You have your whole life to work."
"Well... Yeah," she said, stirring the vegetables on the stove.
"You should apply for the time off, for the travel approval."
"Y'know... I guess a week really wouldn't kill me or anybody else."
"Atta girl."
"You better see if you can come, too." She set the spoon on the rest on the stove, turning in his arms to put her arms around his neck.
"You know it." He leaned down, brushing his lips across hers.
She smiled. "What were you working on in there? You were, like, totally spaced out, man."
"We're not talking about work."
"You were working? On what?"
"On something that doesn't matter because you're going to secure a form tomorrow and request for the travel and time off while I work on whatever I'm working on."
"Y'know, I'm not the only one who works all the time."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Aren't you supposed to be cooking?"
She rolled her eyes.
"It better not burn like last time."
"That was not my fault."
"Were you cooking?"
"Get out," she laughed, pushing him away.
He left, heading into the living room. He removed the tape from the player. It was plain black, the label marked only with three characters: "SD-6." He picked up a handheld device and held the tape on the bottom, pressing the on button and magnetically erasing the tape. Ian dropped the tape into a used mailing envelope, with only his name and home address on the cover. Returning to the kitchen, he tossed it in the near-full garbage bag. "Want me to take out the trash?" he asked.
She glanced over at his lanky frame, drawn to his piercing hazel eyes, and smiled. "Sure."
Los Angeles, California
Yesterday
Morning
She lightly drummed her fingers on the desktop in front of her, watching as Agent Kendall gave his presentation on their latest assignment.
They'd hit a dead-end with the Sloane investigation.
She lost one best friend, almost lost another.
It had been a bizarre encounter.
But now, it seemed as though they were back to square one in regard to where Sloane was, and even Irina Derevko. Kendall agreed. "It's true. We can't predict the future, not with cloudy crystal balls. Each of you has a file in front of you with your assignment. To learn about the future, we're going to assess the past. The files in front of you have information about Sloane during his last few years at CIA as well as his tenure leading SD-6. Some of these will be dead ends. Some of these may seem trivial. The key, however, is in these files somewhere. Somewhere, in this, we'll find a connection to where Sloane is now. Maybe there's a contact believed dead that one of you finds. Maybe there's a hidden money trail to a house, an investment. Agent Jack Bristow is going to take point on this," Kendall said. "He worked for SD-6 the longest, had the longest association with Arvin Sloane. He should be able to help you sift through the unnecessary information, and... there is quite a bit of information to work through. The files in front of you just have the overview of the information you're about to be bombarded with." He surveyed the assembled agents then nodded. "Get to work."
The assembled agents started to pick up their assignments and leave. Sydney was slow to stand up, opening her folder and heading for the door.
Michael Vaughn fell in step with her. "What'd you get?"
"Correspondence, 1980-1989," she said, glancing up at him. "You?"
"Timelines, CIA operations and SD-6 operations to see, if any, overlaps." He glanced at her. "Wanna trade?"
She looked at him with a slight smile. "Pass."
"You sure?" he asked, returning the smile.
"Pretty sure, yeah."
"Either way, it's torture," he said, shaking his head and holding his file under his arm.
"No kidding. I get that you have to learn about the present from the past, but... We're looking for a needle in a haystack."
Vaughn nodded. "Torture."
She looked back over the top sheet in her file folder. "And this worries me," she said, pointing at the page. "It says there are several boxes of information. It doesn't say how many boxes..."
"Not on the next page?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.
She flipped the top sheet over and shook her head.
"Let's think about this. The eighties. Letter correspondence? Kinda early for wide-spread e-mail."
Sydney flipped the top sheet back down and shook her head. "Hardly. The Military had ARPAnet in the 70s, and with the funding the Alliance had... They had e-mail capabilities."
"You a computer science expert?" he asked.
She pointed at the handwritten post-it and smiled. "Marshall."
"Last chance to trade..."
"Maybe next time," she said, approaching her desk. She stopped in mid-step when she saw all the boxes of information piled up around her chair.
"See you in a week?" he teased.
She whapped his chest lightly with her folder before finding her chair, and getting started.
Rome, Italy
Sixteen years, 11 Months ago
Afternoon
Crystal disembarked from the plane. She'd landed in the heart of Rome and was truly excited about her vacation. It was just like her childhood, she realized. Going off on her own, taking her adventures by herself. Sure, she missed Ian, but it would be her own educational experience.
Except she frowned slightly when she headed towards the luggage pick- up. There was a familiar looking man crossing to her.
It was Ian.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said, forcing a smile as he reached her, slipping an arm around her.
"Hi..."
He kissed her cheek then whispered in her ear. "Just play along. There's been something that's come up."
"What?" she asked quietly, smiling.
"We have to make another flight."
"Where?"
"West Berlin. C'mon," he said, taking her carry-on.
"Work?"
"Sorry, love," he said.
"My luggage?"
"Leave it. We've got to move," he said, taking her to another terminal. "Our flight leaves in fifteen."
"Bit of a close shave, isn't it?" she asked, allowing her hand to graze his cheek and chin.
"At least I didn't nick myself," he said, smiling.
"What's in Berlin?"
"A wall."
She smiled slightly. "That's not what I meant."
"I'll tell you later," he whispered in her ear. "Too many other ears and eyes."
She nodded, and the two soon boarded a plane bound for Germany. Crystal sighed as she sat down, buckling up. Ian could tell she was tired of travel, but there was little he could do about it. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
She smiled gently. "It's not like you planned this."
He nodded, sliding her carry-on into the overhead compartment before sitting down beside her and buckling up as well. "It's a short hop, really, though."
She nodded, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder.
"There's my girl." He stretched his arm around her, his hand lightly tapping on her upper arm.
It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her, softly tapping out Morse code on her skin.
'K-Directorate in conjunction with the KGB.'
She nodded, "snuggling" towards him to indicate she understood.
'Sorry, love,' he tapped out. 'I know this was supposed to be your vacation.'
"Mm-hmm."
'Forgive me?'
She looked up at him and smiled. Of course she did. It's not like it was his fault.
He winked at her. "Close your eyes, sweetheart. Just rest. I'm right here." He added, in code, 'to protect you.'
She rested her head on his shoulder again, quickly falling to sleep.
Ian sighed heavily. Someday he was going to have to tell her the truth. Someday he'd stop lying to her.
Washington, D.C.
Yesterday
Morning
He came into work whistling. It was going to be a good day. A great day. A perfect, magnificent day.
His girlfriend was coming home the next day.
All right, so he hadn't actually introduced her as his girlfriend to anyone, or even brought up the subject necessarily, but they were sort of dating. That meant she was his girlfriend, right? They even had pet names for each other and everything. She called him "Clark Kent" or "Sandman," while he opted for the occasional "Bond Babe," which often prompted her to shoot him a stinging look over the tops of her glasses.
Very good day, Josh decided. He spotted his assistant. "Good morning, Donna."
"Joshua."
"Not so good a morning for you?" he asked, stopping by her cubicle.
She glanced up at him. "Amy Gardner's called three times for you already."
"It's not even eight yet."
As if on cue, her telephone started to ring. Donna sighed heavily. "That's her."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause I know."
"Pick it up."
Donna answered: "Josh Lyman." She looked at him. "Yeah, he's right here." She held the phone out to him. "Amy Gardner," she said, affixing him with a level stare.
He took the phone quickly. "Yeah?"
"Jay," said Amy.
"What is it?"
"I need to see you."
"What about?"
"Appropriations."
"When?"
"Before six."
"I'm having dinner with the Congressional Democratic Caucus at six."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm not playing courier boy for you, Amy. You have your own staff. I don't work for you."
"Just come?"
"Tell me in three sentences why."
"Congressman Wick is holding up money for the children's health initiative that the First Lady wants."
"That's one. Why?"
"National Security reasons. He won't tell us."
"Then, sorry." Josh hung up and started for his office. "Bring me coffee?"
"No," Donna called.
"Figures," Josh muttered, closing his door.
It's a time-honored resolution Because the danger is always near It's with you now But that ain't how it was supposed to be
To be continued...
Lines from the next installment:
He smiled slightly when he heard the lock click open and quickly opened the heavy safe door, pulling out a black felt bag. Carefully pushing the bag down, he saw the thin, small sculpture. Checking the base, he nodded.
It held the mark of Rambaldi.
Author's Notes-To the 'Sirens, with love. Especially Double-oh-Agent Dis, my grammar hero and the one who puts up with my idiotic questions. To my computer guru, my big brother (who rocks), thank you for telling a computer illiterate person about the history of the Internet one Wednesday afternoon. To the 'Crew, also with love. I didn't think it could be done the first time; I certainly wasn't prepared for a sequel to form in my brain. And yet here it is. The organized world of J.J. and the chaotic world of Aaron. I hope this works again.
Feedback-Always greatly appreciated.
Spoilers-This takes place in the off-season for both shows. 'Course, before those last, oh, two minutes of the season finale of Alias, of course. I figure I have two years to play with before September. Ish. When do they start back?
Archive-Let me know, thanks.
Code of Silence-Isn't it a kind of madness/to be living by a code of silence/when you've really got a lot to say. Sequel to To the Victor Goes the Spoils (Story ID: 1275739).
And it's hard to believe after all these years That it still gives you pain and it still brings tears And you feel like a fool Because in spite of your rules You've got a memory
Washington, D.C.
Today
Now
She leaned against his doorjamb, waiting for him to get off the phone. She was tired, having gotten off a plane only two hours before. She'd gone through a fast de-briefing with her boss and had changed into a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, a Princeton zippered, hooded sweatshirt zipped halfway up, the sleeves pushed back slightly. Her dark hair was back in a ponytail, and her glasses were hanging from the collar of her shirt. Her green eyes were closed. She was a study in exhaustion.
He was rubbing his forehead, listening to the voice on the other end. "I said forget about it, Amy. We're not killing it. Tell the First Lady it's a matter of national security... Because it is... I can't tell you what, exactly, it's going towards because, y'know what? It's national security and you don't have the clearance for that kind of thing. The First Lady isn't usually, y'know, privy to that kind of information and she's certainly not a decision maker with regards to stuff like this." Josh Lyman sighed and glanced at his watch. "I gotta go, Amy. This matter's finished. It's going to pass. The President's going to sign it. Let this one slide." He sighed. "Fine," he said, hanging up and standing up.
His dress shirt was slightly wrinkled. The tie he wore had been loosened somewhere along the course of the day, and the top button had been unbuttoned. He pulled on his suit coat and killed his desk lamp before moving around to the doorjamb, where she stood. "Crys..."
She slowly opened her eyes, looking into his warm dark eyes. "Hm?"
"You sure you want to go to this thing tonight?"
"I'm positive."
"'Cause you look really tired."
She smiled gently. "I'm fine."
"All right," he said, kissing her cheek quickly and easing an arm around her waist. The two slipped out of his office and started through the bullpen. "Donna, we're gone. See you tomorrow."
"Going? But it's only seven..."
"I've got a thing I have to go to, then I've got a whole stack of briefing books in my car with my name on them to sift through tonight, so... Yeah, I'm getting out of here and I'll see you tomorrow."
His blonde assistant looked puzzled. "There's no thing on your schedule..."
"It's a personal thing."
She glanced at Crystal Seaborn, the woman on his arm. "Ah..."
"See you tomorrow."
She nodded, looking back at her boss. "All right."
"G'night, Donna," Josh said, leading Crystal out of the White House. They signed out then looked out the window at the pouring rain. "Y'know, I'm not even sure I want to go."
"Yeah, you are," she said with a nod.
"Yeah..."
"Looks like we'll have to make a run for it."
"Damn, my umbrella's in my car..." He removed his coat covering his head with it as Crystal covered her head with her hood, pulling her sleeves back down to her wrists.
"Race ya?" she asked, a soft Southern drawl surfacing and a slight smirk appearing on her face.
He pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. "I'm going to lose."
"Wimp."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. After you."
A security guard opened the door, and the two were soon running out of the building through the torrential rain towards the gate. Crystal, as Josh had predicted, was ahead of him. He attributed the fact, in his head and only temporarily, that she was ahead to her sneakers and his loafers. He knew quite well she used to run cross-country in high school and that she was in far better shape than she was. Of course, there was also the fact that she was a highly trained field agent with the CIA. And the fact that he didn't necessarily mind watching her run.
She had his doors unlocked and was sitting in the passenger seat by the time he reached the car, sliding behind the wheel and tossing his coat in the back seat. Starting the car, he pulled out of his parking space. "How can you have a candle-light vigil in a rainstorm?" he asked as they entered traffic.
"A conundrum, isn't it?" she asked, drying her glasses on her sweatshirt.
"Seriously. There wasn't an alternate location or a rain date."
"They'll either construct a shelter or we'll be huddled under umbrellas, I'm sure."
"Probably umbrellas. I don't think they can construct a shelter on the grass there... and this rainstorm blew up out of nowhere."
"And, who'd want to stand under a shelter on the grass, 'cause the ground'll still be muddy."
"Fair point," Josh acknowledged.
"How big is your umbrella...?"
"Big enough for two," he said with a smile, glancing at her.
She nodded, slipping her glasses on and silently watching out the front windshield as he maneuvered them through the city towards the Vietnam Memorial. The familiar buildings and landmarks rolled by as he drove and she thought about how much had changed in her life, and how much things had stayed the same.
And she thought about her reaction when he'd talked to her a little earlier, telling her about his plans for the evening and if she wanted to come along.
He soon brought her out of her reverie as he parked the car as close to the monuments as he could get. She waited on him to get out of the car first with the umbrella, and like the gentleman he could sometimes be, he came around to her side, welcoming her under his golf umbrella. The two walked together towards the crowd in silence.
As Crystal had predicted, the sidewalk in front of the Vietnam Wall was packed with people under umbrellas, holding long white taper candles. As they approached, a veteran in his uniform handed the pair a candle each. As they neared the group, they spotted a familiar face, the face Josh had come to honor.
"Leo," he said softly.
The White House Chief of Staff turned back and nodded. He was obviously holding back emotions that were threatening to break through. "Thanks," he managed.
Crystal eased out from under Josh's umbrella, joining the crowded umbrella with Leo McGarry and his daughter, Mallory O'Brien. "Didn't know you were coming, too," Mallory said quietly as Crystal gently peeled the wick of her candle from the top of the taper, making it stand.
"Just got in from the coast," she said, lighting her candle off Leo's.
"How's Sam?" Mallory asked.
She shrugged slightly. "He's okay. He's getting reacquainted with everything. He wanted me to tell you if I saw you that you should, y'know, take a vacation when school's out." She looked up at her with a knowing look, then slipped back under Josh's umbrella, lighting his candle with her flame.
He had to hold onto the umbrella and his candle, but Crystal had a free arm to loop around his waist as the memorial service began.
Listening to the proceedings, honoring the Vietnam veterans and the dead, Crystal thought about the past twenty-four hours. And the past twenty years of her life. When the veteran talked about the horrors of what had gone on, she tightened her grip on his waist, resting her head on his shoulder.
Why?
It was the only question that came to her mind over and over again.
Washington, D.C.
Seventeen years ago
Evening
She pulled her dark hair back, watching her reflection in the mirror. Leaning forward, she carefully removed the contacts from her green eyes and placed them in their respective holders before slipping her glasses on. She walked in her shorts and tee shirt to the chair by the bed, picking up the zippered sweatshirt she'd tossed over the arm earlier and slipped it on, zipping it up, both sides forming a word across the front: Princeton.
"I'm thinking chicken for dinner," she said as she emerged from the bedroom, heading through the living room of the small apartment. When there was no response, she glanced over, noticing that her boyfriend was engrossed in something, sitting on the couch, a determined look in his eye and headphones on his ears. Shaking her head, she entered the kitchen and started pulling things out of the cabinets and refrigerator to cook. Ian Guthrie was the consummate professional, always working.
At least, that's what Crystal Seaborn believed.
She was only twenty-one and had been working with Ian for three years. She'd been recruited early, to say the least, and the CIA paid for her college education. She had one more semester before gaining her degree in psychology from George Washington University in D.C. She'd opted for her summer off; she'd pushed herself entirely too hard in the spring semester, in and out of the country and trying to study while overseas was rough.
She smiled when a pair of arms circled her waist from behind and a chin rested on her shoulder. "Hey," she murmured.
"Chicken, huh?" he asked.
She nodded. "Sound okay?"
"Sounds great. How are you, by the way? You looked really tired when you came in from class."
She hadn't thought he'd noticed. "Eh. I am tired, but I'm okay."
"I'm worried about you, y'know."
"No worries."
"No, seriously, Crys. I think you're pushing yourself too hard. I think you should take a breather, take a break."
"Please. I'm fine. I'm taking this semester off. I'll graduate in December. Everything'll be great."
"It would kill you to take two weeks off?" he asked, kissing her neck.
"I'm fine," she said, smiling softly.
"C'mon. You could take a vacation. You haven't had one since you started training."
"Don't need one."
"You don't have to be Wonder Woman, y'know. You can take a break. You keep saying you want to go to Italy..."
"Yeah... But I figure if I hang out in this job long enough, I'll get there."
"Yeah, but you'll be *working*. C'mon, Crys. Take a break."
"You tryin' to get rid of me, Ian?"
"Of course not."
"'Cause it sounds it."
"I just think you should take some time off, have some fun. You're twenty-one. You have your whole life to work."
"Well... Yeah," she said, stirring the vegetables on the stove.
"You should apply for the time off, for the travel approval."
"Y'know... I guess a week really wouldn't kill me or anybody else."
"Atta girl."
"You better see if you can come, too." She set the spoon on the rest on the stove, turning in his arms to put her arms around his neck.
"You know it." He leaned down, brushing his lips across hers.
She smiled. "What were you working on in there? You were, like, totally spaced out, man."
"We're not talking about work."
"You were working? On what?"
"On something that doesn't matter because you're going to secure a form tomorrow and request for the travel and time off while I work on whatever I'm working on."
"Y'know, I'm not the only one who works all the time."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Aren't you supposed to be cooking?"
She rolled her eyes.
"It better not burn like last time."
"That was not my fault."
"Were you cooking?"
"Get out," she laughed, pushing him away.
He left, heading into the living room. He removed the tape from the player. It was plain black, the label marked only with three characters: "SD-6." He picked up a handheld device and held the tape on the bottom, pressing the on button and magnetically erasing the tape. Ian dropped the tape into a used mailing envelope, with only his name and home address on the cover. Returning to the kitchen, he tossed it in the near-full garbage bag. "Want me to take out the trash?" he asked.
She glanced over at his lanky frame, drawn to his piercing hazel eyes, and smiled. "Sure."
Los Angeles, California
Yesterday
Morning
She lightly drummed her fingers on the desktop in front of her, watching as Agent Kendall gave his presentation on their latest assignment.
They'd hit a dead-end with the Sloane investigation.
She lost one best friend, almost lost another.
It had been a bizarre encounter.
But now, it seemed as though they were back to square one in regard to where Sloane was, and even Irina Derevko. Kendall agreed. "It's true. We can't predict the future, not with cloudy crystal balls. Each of you has a file in front of you with your assignment. To learn about the future, we're going to assess the past. The files in front of you have information about Sloane during his last few years at CIA as well as his tenure leading SD-6. Some of these will be dead ends. Some of these may seem trivial. The key, however, is in these files somewhere. Somewhere, in this, we'll find a connection to where Sloane is now. Maybe there's a contact believed dead that one of you finds. Maybe there's a hidden money trail to a house, an investment. Agent Jack Bristow is going to take point on this," Kendall said. "He worked for SD-6 the longest, had the longest association with Arvin Sloane. He should be able to help you sift through the unnecessary information, and... there is quite a bit of information to work through. The files in front of you just have the overview of the information you're about to be bombarded with." He surveyed the assembled agents then nodded. "Get to work."
The assembled agents started to pick up their assignments and leave. Sydney was slow to stand up, opening her folder and heading for the door.
Michael Vaughn fell in step with her. "What'd you get?"
"Correspondence, 1980-1989," she said, glancing up at him. "You?"
"Timelines, CIA operations and SD-6 operations to see, if any, overlaps." He glanced at her. "Wanna trade?"
She looked at him with a slight smile. "Pass."
"You sure?" he asked, returning the smile.
"Pretty sure, yeah."
"Either way, it's torture," he said, shaking his head and holding his file under his arm.
"No kidding. I get that you have to learn about the present from the past, but... We're looking for a needle in a haystack."
Vaughn nodded. "Torture."
She looked back over the top sheet in her file folder. "And this worries me," she said, pointing at the page. "It says there are several boxes of information. It doesn't say how many boxes..."
"Not on the next page?" he asked, looking over her shoulder.
She flipped the top sheet over and shook her head.
"Let's think about this. The eighties. Letter correspondence? Kinda early for wide-spread e-mail."
Sydney flipped the top sheet back down and shook her head. "Hardly. The Military had ARPAnet in the 70s, and with the funding the Alliance had... They had e-mail capabilities."
"You a computer science expert?" he asked.
She pointed at the handwritten post-it and smiled. "Marshall."
"Last chance to trade..."
"Maybe next time," she said, approaching her desk. She stopped in mid-step when she saw all the boxes of information piled up around her chair.
"See you in a week?" he teased.
She whapped his chest lightly with her folder before finding her chair, and getting started.
Rome, Italy
Sixteen years, 11 Months ago
Afternoon
Crystal disembarked from the plane. She'd landed in the heart of Rome and was truly excited about her vacation. It was just like her childhood, she realized. Going off on her own, taking her adventures by herself. Sure, she missed Ian, but it would be her own educational experience.
Except she frowned slightly when she headed towards the luggage pick- up. There was a familiar looking man crossing to her.
It was Ian.
"Hello, sweetheart," he said, forcing a smile as he reached her, slipping an arm around her.
"Hi..."
He kissed her cheek then whispered in her ear. "Just play along. There's been something that's come up."
"What?" she asked quietly, smiling.
"We have to make another flight."
"Where?"
"West Berlin. C'mon," he said, taking her carry-on.
"Work?"
"Sorry, love," he said.
"My luggage?"
"Leave it. We've got to move," he said, taking her to another terminal. "Our flight leaves in fifteen."
"Bit of a close shave, isn't it?" she asked, allowing her hand to graze his cheek and chin.
"At least I didn't nick myself," he said, smiling.
"What's in Berlin?"
"A wall."
She smiled slightly. "That's not what I meant."
"I'll tell you later," he whispered in her ear. "Too many other ears and eyes."
She nodded, and the two soon boarded a plane bound for Germany. Crystal sighed as she sat down, buckling up. Ian could tell she was tired of travel, but there was little he could do about it. "I'm sorry, sweetheart."
She smiled gently. "It's not like you planned this."
He nodded, sliding her carry-on into the overhead compartment before sitting down beside her and buckling up as well. "It's a short hop, really, though."
She nodded, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder.
"There's my girl." He stretched his arm around her, his hand lightly tapping on her upper arm.
It took her a moment to realize he was talking to her, softly tapping out Morse code on her skin.
'K-Directorate in conjunction with the KGB.'
She nodded, "snuggling" towards him to indicate she understood.
'Sorry, love,' he tapped out. 'I know this was supposed to be your vacation.'
"Mm-hmm."
'Forgive me?'
She looked up at him and smiled. Of course she did. It's not like it was his fault.
He winked at her. "Close your eyes, sweetheart. Just rest. I'm right here." He added, in code, 'to protect you.'
She rested her head on his shoulder again, quickly falling to sleep.
Ian sighed heavily. Someday he was going to have to tell her the truth. Someday he'd stop lying to her.
Washington, D.C.
Yesterday
Morning
He came into work whistling. It was going to be a good day. A great day. A perfect, magnificent day.
His girlfriend was coming home the next day.
All right, so he hadn't actually introduced her as his girlfriend to anyone, or even brought up the subject necessarily, but they were sort of dating. That meant she was his girlfriend, right? They even had pet names for each other and everything. She called him "Clark Kent" or "Sandman," while he opted for the occasional "Bond Babe," which often prompted her to shoot him a stinging look over the tops of her glasses.
Very good day, Josh decided. He spotted his assistant. "Good morning, Donna."
"Joshua."
"Not so good a morning for you?" he asked, stopping by her cubicle.
She glanced up at him. "Amy Gardner's called three times for you already."
"It's not even eight yet."
As if on cue, her telephone started to ring. Donna sighed heavily. "That's her."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause I know."
"Pick it up."
Donna answered: "Josh Lyman." She looked at him. "Yeah, he's right here." She held the phone out to him. "Amy Gardner," she said, affixing him with a level stare.
He took the phone quickly. "Yeah?"
"Jay," said Amy.
"What is it?"
"I need to see you."
"What about?"
"Appropriations."
"When?"
"Before six."
"I'm having dinner with the Congressional Democratic Caucus at six."
"Uh-huh."
"I'm not playing courier boy for you, Amy. You have your own staff. I don't work for you."
"Just come?"
"Tell me in three sentences why."
"Congressman Wick is holding up money for the children's health initiative that the First Lady wants."
"That's one. Why?"
"National Security reasons. He won't tell us."
"Then, sorry." Josh hung up and started for his office. "Bring me coffee?"
"No," Donna called.
"Figures," Josh muttered, closing his door.
It's a time-honored resolution Because the danger is always near It's with you now But that ain't how it was supposed to be
To be continued...
Lines from the next installment:
He smiled slightly when he heard the lock click open and quickly opened the heavy safe door, pulling out a black felt bag. Carefully pushing the bag down, he saw the thin, small sculpture. Checking the base, he nodded.
It held the mark of Rambaldi.