Part I
The air was as crisp as the sound of a person biting into a crunchy Fuji apple in the middle of winter. In the milky light of the waxing moon, the tinkling soft laughter of two lovers could be heard, and the night seemed to delight in their forbidden revelry. The man was tall, and his oversized hockey jersey enveloped his otherwise lean torso so that he had the appearance of a young skinny boy, pretending to be one of his favorite athletes. The woman was tall also, gracefully slender, and while the young man seemed old beyond his years, the woman seemed carefree and innocent. Her smile was genuine and her dimpled cheeks made her child-like. Both were skating on the frozen pond in the midst of the park, smiling at one another and forgetting for just a moment that their lives were tied to a job that seemed to suck away at every little pleasure in life. Unbeknownst to the happy couple, a strange man stood at a distance from them under the deeper shadows that the evergreen trees offered. His eyes were beautifully green , but dim in light and life above the wrinkles of his lower eyelids. His hair was now a solid grayish-white color so that it came off looking a distinguished silver color. He was not a fragile old man. In fact, he was quite the contrary. Tall and stolid, he looked to have been a football player or a body guard as a young man. While he held himself in a way that would come off as being imposing at first, one could simultaneously see the sorrow in his stance, the way his shoulders seemed to be a little more slumped than usual, and the way his eyes eagerly followed the quick, flitting movements of his son flying over the ice.
He wondered who this woman was that made his son's face light up in a way he had never observed before. He had to agree that she was beautiful, but to him, nothing could match the beauty of his son. While he imagined it must have been painful for Michael Vaughn to have grown up without a father, it was more difficult, as a father to have lived late into his old years, sitting on the sidelines, watching his boy grow up without him, and to live everyday knowing that he had deceived his family. Of course he had had no choice. It was either his family or him. So much to his shame, he had gone to serve the very terrorist agency that the CIA was trying to get rid of. On many occasions he had had the opportunity of meeting his son face to face during operations. Of course it was always with him behind a mask or hood, but nevertheless, each time, the face of his son startled him. It was so much like his mother's. Michael had inherited more of his mother's features. While he did have William's eyes and height, he had always been slight like his mother, much to William's disapproval. Yet appearances were deceiving. When he watched Michael on the field, he was impressed with the way he fought, his eyes blazing with an intensity that William had never felt while working for the CIA.
As he continued to ponder the past, the sound of voices drawing nearer made him draw more quickly under the darkness of the woods. The girl, evidently called "Sydney," had linked arms with Michael and was looking with concern into his face. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Michael replied carelessly, "Of course...I'm fine, really. This helped a lot, and I thank you for that." Sydney smiled and squeezed him tightly before she reluctantly released her hold on him before they reached the parking lot of the secluded park. "See you tomorrow," Vaughn whispered into her ear before they both parted ways, as if two strangers on mission at two different parts of the world. Now William had reason for concern. He wondered what Sydney had been worried about. Even as she had parted ways with Vaughn, she had glanced back surreptitiously, her face reflecting an expression of intense worry. He decided to find out. Skillfully, he trailed at a safe distance from his son, his footsteps not making the slightest bit of sound. As Vaughn drew near his house, the yellow light from the lamp post burst into life, casting it's tinted brilliance onto the pale drawn face of his son. William gasped. Vaughn looked ill. While he had looked so carefree at the park, the truth was evident to the father as he ran a paternal glance over his ailing son. There were dark rings around his eyes as if he had not slept in months, and his eyes appeared much too large for his face. It took all of Williams' strength to not run over to his son and demand an explanation for his current state. He sighed, he would find out tomorrow anyway, if he could find a way for Vaughn to open up to him. William was going in undercover to the CIA, as a mole for his agency. He had been recruited as a senior handler and would be working alongside his son. He sighed softly in frustration as he watched his son retreat into the house. Vaughn was just like him. Closed off. He would destroy himself that way. He would have to wait until tomorrow to meet Vaughn face to face, without a mask.
Part II
Everything was a routine to him nowadays. It had to be or he felt as if he would break like a weak dam, all of his emotions and frustrations pouring out in one big deluge. Vaughn weakly rolled to one side of the bed, willing himself to arise from bed and make it to work before Kendall would page him in fury, before Sydney would start worrying. Just as he was about to rise from his latent position, the phone by his side rang. He grabbed for it blearily, wondering who could be calling so early in the morning.
"Michael, did I wake you?" It was his mother.
"No," he replied while he desperately tried to stifle a cough that was threatening to explode over the phone.
"You sound funny," his astute mother accused. "Are you still sick? You've had that cold for over a month now?"
"No, mom, I'm fine. I really have to get to work, so I'll call you back when I'm off," Michael tried for the easy escape.
"Well, there's no need. I'm going to come over there myself to check up on you," Mrs. Vaughn replied.
Michael sighed. His mother would not be swayed for she was one of the most stubborn women he had ever had to deal with. "That's fine, I'll see you then," he consented and hung up the phone in exasperation.
As he glanced across the room, he was stunned to look at himself in the mirror. He truly looked ill, if not like a ghost. Although he was normally a thin man, he could see that even his t-shit that had once closely hugged his body now hung off of his body in a most unhealthy way. What had he been doing to himself? As he wondered about this, he was overpowered by a coughing fit, causing him to double over on to the bed in an effort to subide the wracking of his body. Once the coughs subsided, he rushed into his usual apparel of a suit and tie and ran out the front door. He had 5 minutes to rush into his office and make it to the morning meeting.
Rushing in through the front entrance, he ducked his face in order to keep his face hidden from the speculation of his coworkers. The last thing he needed was a confrontation of colleagues over his sickly appearance. He didn't have to worry about that with Kendall and Jack Bristow. They were men who kept to themselves and asked nothing of others. For once, he was glad of their extreme coldness towards people. He rushed into the office to be greeted by not only Kendall, Dixon, and Jack, but also, an elderly man who seemed young and virile because of his posture and his broad shoulders. Vaughn tried to mask his surprise but to no avail
"Agent Vaughn, this is Agent Ron. We just recently recruited him as a senior handler and he'll be working alongside you," Dixon spoke to Vaughn, his eyes flickering over the young man's appearance. If he was concerned, he did a very good job of covering it. Vaughn smiled warmly at the elderly man before him. He instantly liked the man. For some reason, he felt as if he had known him all his life. The elderly man returned the smile as both became seated at the gathering table. As the meeting continued, Vaughn struggled to focus and stay awake, but he felt as if a heavy brick was weighing upon his head at the most vulnerable pressure point. Also, he needed to cough desperately. But he was concerned that if he did, there would be a cause for concern from those around him. At first, he thought he had had a cold, but gradually as the weeks passed by, he became increasingly concerned with the fact that his coughs came from deep within his lungs. It sapped his energy every time he coughed so that he felt faint afterwards. Besides, they would not let him go on the next mission with Sydney if they knew he was not in the right condition.
Suddenly, his body convulsed against the table as he leaned against it for support as he coughed deeply for a full three minutes. He tried to stop desperately, but could not. When he finished, he felt so weak that he remained in position against the table before he raised his head up to meet the concerned gaze of all the men in the room. "I'm sorry, please continue Dixon." Dixon looked at him warily, then at Jack who was looking shrewdly at the ill man in front of him. Jack nodded curtly at Dixon who recommenced with his speech. After what seemed like hours, the men dispersed with Vaughn rushing out of the room before anyone could call him back. Now all he had to do was avoid Sydney and Eric. Eric could bully him into sleeping or eating or taking medicine, and he didn't want any of that.
As he turned the corner in to his office, he ran into a solid figure, the impact knocking him off his feet, tittering between collapsing onto the hard floor and regaining his balance. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and steadied him, and as he looked up, he saw that it had been Jack Bristow. Vaughn tried to read the man's expression but found that he could not. He looked slightly annoyed, but his eyes seemed to soften as he took in Vaughn's disheveled and flustered state.
"I suggest Agent Vaughn that you take a good look at yourself this morning. You look like death." With that Jack walked away, leaving Vaughn to make it a few more yards into his office. At that moment Weiss passed by, munching happily on a donut and calling out absurd names to the retreating back of Haladki. Vaughn ducked his head, but not soon enough because Weiss called out to him, "Hey Vaughn, try out the donut stand today. They finally decided to get the good stuff. Not that Krispy Kreme donut crap." "Yeah, I'll check it out later," Vaughn said nonchalantly without turning around. Vaughn knew his voice sounded odd so he wasn't surprised when Weiss suddenly was standing between him and the door to his office like a wall. Vaughn looked straight into his best friend's eyes, willing himself to look better, at least willing his eyes to look focused. Weiss drew in a breath and drew his friend into the office. "Mikey, what's wrong with you? You look like you're going to drop any second." "Nothing! I'm totally fine. I just didn't get enough sleep," Vaughn protested, searching the file cabinets for something to do. "Now that is what I would call a blatant lie," Weiss laughed lightly. Vaughn smiled and ran a hand through his head. "No really, just need to catch up on sleep." "Whatever man, but you better fix yourself up quick before they drop you from Sydney's case," Weiss said before he shot his friend one more look of disapproval before making his exit.
Once his friend had exited, Vaughn dropped like a rag doll into his chair and pressed his forehead into his hands. He had a humongous migraine and his legs felt like trembling noodles. He didn't think he could last for the rest of the day. He was so tuned out that he did not hear the soft steps of William Vaughn stepping into the office, and the soft clicking of the door shutting behind him.
He jumped a mile in his seat when he suddenly felt a strong reassuring hand lay rest on his shoulder. "You were dozing there for awhile agent." Vaughn straightened up in his seat and smiled weakly at Agent Ron. "I'm sorry, did you need anything?"
"Actually, I was wondering whether you had a room to spare. Agent Bristow told me to make accommodations with you," William said pleasantly as he watched his son's expression change from that of doubt to one of generous hospitality. "Of course, you can come with me tonight as soon as the day ends," Vaughn replied.
"Very well Agent Vaughn," here the elder man paused, unsure of what to say to his son. It was killing him to not be able to talk to his son as a father. He felt restricted, constrained. Vaughn looked curiously up at the older man and suddenly asked him, "Have I met you before?"
The question took William by surprise, but he quickly regained his composure as he laughed lightly, "Perhaps we have. After all, the CIA is a small world." Vaughn studied the elderly man with mirth in his eyes, "I feel so familiar with you somehow." He dismissed this thought however, with a wave of his hand and laughed. "It must be this cold that's getting to me." At the mention of his illness, William became grave again as he studied his son's face once again. While it had been pale before, now his cheeks were alight with the flame of a growing fever. "Are you sure it's just a cold Agent Vaughn?" William asked him. "Oh it's nothing. It's nothing a little sleep can't cure," Vaughn said briefly. "Maybe you should head back home right now," William said with a slight edge in his voice. Vaughn looked up quickly. "Oh no, don't worry yourself. You should probably have someone take you around the building. You need to get accustomed to it," Vaughn said in an effort to detract the attention away from himself. William smiled politely at him and regressed, knowing that his son would not take his advice.
The air was as crisp as the sound of a person biting into a crunchy Fuji apple in the middle of winter. In the milky light of the waxing moon, the tinkling soft laughter of two lovers could be heard, and the night seemed to delight in their forbidden revelry. The man was tall, and his oversized hockey jersey enveloped his otherwise lean torso so that he had the appearance of a young skinny boy, pretending to be one of his favorite athletes. The woman was tall also, gracefully slender, and while the young man seemed old beyond his years, the woman seemed carefree and innocent. Her smile was genuine and her dimpled cheeks made her child-like. Both were skating on the frozen pond in the midst of the park, smiling at one another and forgetting for just a moment that their lives were tied to a job that seemed to suck away at every little pleasure in life. Unbeknownst to the happy couple, a strange man stood at a distance from them under the deeper shadows that the evergreen trees offered. His eyes were beautifully green , but dim in light and life above the wrinkles of his lower eyelids. His hair was now a solid grayish-white color so that it came off looking a distinguished silver color. He was not a fragile old man. In fact, he was quite the contrary. Tall and stolid, he looked to have been a football player or a body guard as a young man. While he held himself in a way that would come off as being imposing at first, one could simultaneously see the sorrow in his stance, the way his shoulders seemed to be a little more slumped than usual, and the way his eyes eagerly followed the quick, flitting movements of his son flying over the ice.
He wondered who this woman was that made his son's face light up in a way he had never observed before. He had to agree that she was beautiful, but to him, nothing could match the beauty of his son. While he imagined it must have been painful for Michael Vaughn to have grown up without a father, it was more difficult, as a father to have lived late into his old years, sitting on the sidelines, watching his boy grow up without him, and to live everyday knowing that he had deceived his family. Of course he had had no choice. It was either his family or him. So much to his shame, he had gone to serve the very terrorist agency that the CIA was trying to get rid of. On many occasions he had had the opportunity of meeting his son face to face during operations. Of course it was always with him behind a mask or hood, but nevertheless, each time, the face of his son startled him. It was so much like his mother's. Michael had inherited more of his mother's features. While he did have William's eyes and height, he had always been slight like his mother, much to William's disapproval. Yet appearances were deceiving. When he watched Michael on the field, he was impressed with the way he fought, his eyes blazing with an intensity that William had never felt while working for the CIA.
As he continued to ponder the past, the sound of voices drawing nearer made him draw more quickly under the darkness of the woods. The girl, evidently called "Sydney," had linked arms with Michael and was looking with concern into his face. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Michael replied carelessly, "Of course...I'm fine, really. This helped a lot, and I thank you for that." Sydney smiled and squeezed him tightly before she reluctantly released her hold on him before they reached the parking lot of the secluded park. "See you tomorrow," Vaughn whispered into her ear before they both parted ways, as if two strangers on mission at two different parts of the world. Now William had reason for concern. He wondered what Sydney had been worried about. Even as she had parted ways with Vaughn, she had glanced back surreptitiously, her face reflecting an expression of intense worry. He decided to find out. Skillfully, he trailed at a safe distance from his son, his footsteps not making the slightest bit of sound. As Vaughn drew near his house, the yellow light from the lamp post burst into life, casting it's tinted brilliance onto the pale drawn face of his son. William gasped. Vaughn looked ill. While he had looked so carefree at the park, the truth was evident to the father as he ran a paternal glance over his ailing son. There were dark rings around his eyes as if he had not slept in months, and his eyes appeared much too large for his face. It took all of Williams' strength to not run over to his son and demand an explanation for his current state. He sighed, he would find out tomorrow anyway, if he could find a way for Vaughn to open up to him. William was going in undercover to the CIA, as a mole for his agency. He had been recruited as a senior handler and would be working alongside his son. He sighed softly in frustration as he watched his son retreat into the house. Vaughn was just like him. Closed off. He would destroy himself that way. He would have to wait until tomorrow to meet Vaughn face to face, without a mask.
Part II
Everything was a routine to him nowadays. It had to be or he felt as if he would break like a weak dam, all of his emotions and frustrations pouring out in one big deluge. Vaughn weakly rolled to one side of the bed, willing himself to arise from bed and make it to work before Kendall would page him in fury, before Sydney would start worrying. Just as he was about to rise from his latent position, the phone by his side rang. He grabbed for it blearily, wondering who could be calling so early in the morning.
"Michael, did I wake you?" It was his mother.
"No," he replied while he desperately tried to stifle a cough that was threatening to explode over the phone.
"You sound funny," his astute mother accused. "Are you still sick? You've had that cold for over a month now?"
"No, mom, I'm fine. I really have to get to work, so I'll call you back when I'm off," Michael tried for the easy escape.
"Well, there's no need. I'm going to come over there myself to check up on you," Mrs. Vaughn replied.
Michael sighed. His mother would not be swayed for she was one of the most stubborn women he had ever had to deal with. "That's fine, I'll see you then," he consented and hung up the phone in exasperation.
As he glanced across the room, he was stunned to look at himself in the mirror. He truly looked ill, if not like a ghost. Although he was normally a thin man, he could see that even his t-shit that had once closely hugged his body now hung off of his body in a most unhealthy way. What had he been doing to himself? As he wondered about this, he was overpowered by a coughing fit, causing him to double over on to the bed in an effort to subide the wracking of his body. Once the coughs subsided, he rushed into his usual apparel of a suit and tie and ran out the front door. He had 5 minutes to rush into his office and make it to the morning meeting.
Rushing in through the front entrance, he ducked his face in order to keep his face hidden from the speculation of his coworkers. The last thing he needed was a confrontation of colleagues over his sickly appearance. He didn't have to worry about that with Kendall and Jack Bristow. They were men who kept to themselves and asked nothing of others. For once, he was glad of their extreme coldness towards people. He rushed into the office to be greeted by not only Kendall, Dixon, and Jack, but also, an elderly man who seemed young and virile because of his posture and his broad shoulders. Vaughn tried to mask his surprise but to no avail
"Agent Vaughn, this is Agent Ron. We just recently recruited him as a senior handler and he'll be working alongside you," Dixon spoke to Vaughn, his eyes flickering over the young man's appearance. If he was concerned, he did a very good job of covering it. Vaughn smiled warmly at the elderly man before him. He instantly liked the man. For some reason, he felt as if he had known him all his life. The elderly man returned the smile as both became seated at the gathering table. As the meeting continued, Vaughn struggled to focus and stay awake, but he felt as if a heavy brick was weighing upon his head at the most vulnerable pressure point. Also, he needed to cough desperately. But he was concerned that if he did, there would be a cause for concern from those around him. At first, he thought he had had a cold, but gradually as the weeks passed by, he became increasingly concerned with the fact that his coughs came from deep within his lungs. It sapped his energy every time he coughed so that he felt faint afterwards. Besides, they would not let him go on the next mission with Sydney if they knew he was not in the right condition.
Suddenly, his body convulsed against the table as he leaned against it for support as he coughed deeply for a full three minutes. He tried to stop desperately, but could not. When he finished, he felt so weak that he remained in position against the table before he raised his head up to meet the concerned gaze of all the men in the room. "I'm sorry, please continue Dixon." Dixon looked at him warily, then at Jack who was looking shrewdly at the ill man in front of him. Jack nodded curtly at Dixon who recommenced with his speech. After what seemed like hours, the men dispersed with Vaughn rushing out of the room before anyone could call him back. Now all he had to do was avoid Sydney and Eric. Eric could bully him into sleeping or eating or taking medicine, and he didn't want any of that.
As he turned the corner in to his office, he ran into a solid figure, the impact knocking him off his feet, tittering between collapsing onto the hard floor and regaining his balance. Strong hands gripped his shoulders and steadied him, and as he looked up, he saw that it had been Jack Bristow. Vaughn tried to read the man's expression but found that he could not. He looked slightly annoyed, but his eyes seemed to soften as he took in Vaughn's disheveled and flustered state.
"I suggest Agent Vaughn that you take a good look at yourself this morning. You look like death." With that Jack walked away, leaving Vaughn to make it a few more yards into his office. At that moment Weiss passed by, munching happily on a donut and calling out absurd names to the retreating back of Haladki. Vaughn ducked his head, but not soon enough because Weiss called out to him, "Hey Vaughn, try out the donut stand today. They finally decided to get the good stuff. Not that Krispy Kreme donut crap." "Yeah, I'll check it out later," Vaughn said nonchalantly without turning around. Vaughn knew his voice sounded odd so he wasn't surprised when Weiss suddenly was standing between him and the door to his office like a wall. Vaughn looked straight into his best friend's eyes, willing himself to look better, at least willing his eyes to look focused. Weiss drew in a breath and drew his friend into the office. "Mikey, what's wrong with you? You look like you're going to drop any second." "Nothing! I'm totally fine. I just didn't get enough sleep," Vaughn protested, searching the file cabinets for something to do. "Now that is what I would call a blatant lie," Weiss laughed lightly. Vaughn smiled and ran a hand through his head. "No really, just need to catch up on sleep." "Whatever man, but you better fix yourself up quick before they drop you from Sydney's case," Weiss said before he shot his friend one more look of disapproval before making his exit.
Once his friend had exited, Vaughn dropped like a rag doll into his chair and pressed his forehead into his hands. He had a humongous migraine and his legs felt like trembling noodles. He didn't think he could last for the rest of the day. He was so tuned out that he did not hear the soft steps of William Vaughn stepping into the office, and the soft clicking of the door shutting behind him.
He jumped a mile in his seat when he suddenly felt a strong reassuring hand lay rest on his shoulder. "You were dozing there for awhile agent." Vaughn straightened up in his seat and smiled weakly at Agent Ron. "I'm sorry, did you need anything?"
"Actually, I was wondering whether you had a room to spare. Agent Bristow told me to make accommodations with you," William said pleasantly as he watched his son's expression change from that of doubt to one of generous hospitality. "Of course, you can come with me tonight as soon as the day ends," Vaughn replied.
"Very well Agent Vaughn," here the elder man paused, unsure of what to say to his son. It was killing him to not be able to talk to his son as a father. He felt restricted, constrained. Vaughn looked curiously up at the older man and suddenly asked him, "Have I met you before?"
The question took William by surprise, but he quickly regained his composure as he laughed lightly, "Perhaps we have. After all, the CIA is a small world." Vaughn studied the elderly man with mirth in his eyes, "I feel so familiar with you somehow." He dismissed this thought however, with a wave of his hand and laughed. "It must be this cold that's getting to me." At the mention of his illness, William became grave again as he studied his son's face once again. While it had been pale before, now his cheeks were alight with the flame of a growing fever. "Are you sure it's just a cold Agent Vaughn?" William asked him. "Oh it's nothing. It's nothing a little sleep can't cure," Vaughn said briefly. "Maybe you should head back home right now," William said with a slight edge in his voice. Vaughn looked up quickly. "Oh no, don't worry yourself. You should probably have someone take you around the building. You need to get accustomed to it," Vaughn said in an effort to detract the attention away from himself. William smiled politely at him and regressed, knowing that his son would not take his advice.