Broken

Author: Pharo

Disclaimer: 'Alias' belongs to J.J. Abrams, Bad Robot, Touchstone, and ABC.

Summary: Once broken, always broken.

Feedback: pharo@onebox.com

Issues

Alice told me that I have "commitment issues". Issues of commitment. Who ever heard of that? I mean, I've heard it before, sure, on TV and stuff, but in real life, who says that? Apparently, Alice does.

I'm committed…just not to the same things that she's committed to. She's committed to becoming a closer couple, to knowing each and every secret belonging to each other, to being able to finish each other's sentences. I'm committed to the CIA, to handling government secrets with caution, to staying alive. I'm committed to keeping her safe by not letting her get to close.

She doesn't know about my life---not really. She doesn't understand what it's like to wake up every morning and know that it might be the last. She doesn't know that I wake up each morning and put on a suit and tie that will probably be hooked up to a million wires and hidden gadgets throughout the day. She doesn't know my life---the real one. She thinks I work for the bank---ironically, all undercover officers work for "the bank".

So, maybe I've been known to close myself off when things get really bad. I try not to, but it just seems to happen. I find myself doing it time and time again, without really realizing until it's already started to happen. It's a flaw---everyone has one; mine happens to be that. I can handle the bad, most of the time. SD-6, bombs, criminals, secrets---I can take all that. But some things are not that easy. Some things I can't do research on or strategize how to get rid of. Some things don't have weaknesses that I can find in a steel drawer or a computer file. Some things, I just have to run away from.

Ring. Ring. Gee, I didn't even realize I was dialing.

"Hello?"

"Alice, we need to talk."

I know it's probably not the best of ideas to do this over the phone, but I just have to do it now. If I don't, it might never happen.

"Michael, what's wrong?"

She's one of the very few people that call me by my first name---the name of a man with a normal life. I guess it's not really my name then is it?

"I can't do this anymore," I say, as if that explains it all.

"What?"

"We've grown apart."

I'm not even really sure of what I'm saying anymore. I don't know if what I am saying is making the slightest bit of sense and frankly, I don't really care.

"We're breaking up?"

"Yes." What else can I say? Does she expect me to say anything else?

"Michael---"

Damn it, I wish she'd stop calling me 'Michael'. I'm not him. I don't have a normal life---at least I don't think I do. I don't know. It's been a long while since I've remembered exactly what normal is.

"We can work things out," she says. She must have been speaking all this time because it seems like the final statement of her point. I guess I kind of tuned her out. Sometimes that happens. I step into my own little world of thoughts and forget about the real life surrounding me.

"No, we can't."

"So it's over like that? I tell you of this one flaw that you have and you decide---"

"You know that's not it." I've known that it's been over for awhile now. We both have. If she needs me to remind her, I will. "Jeez, Alice. Can you even remember the last time we had a conversation that didn't end up with us fighting? We---we're just not good for each other anymore."

I can picture her chewing on her lip as she struggles to remember the last time we were happy. I can practically hear the wheels of her mind turning, spinning to locate a moment that was never there.

"I guess you're right. Maybe it's time for us to be 'just friends'," she says.

"We'll keep in touch."

She agrees to it, even though she fully knows, as I do, that we never will. We'll never call each other or go have lunch. There is a slight chance that we'll bump into each other some time. The formalities will be exchanged---'Hello. How are you? It was a pleasure seeing you again. We should have lunch one day'---before we go on our separate paths once more. Some sort of goodbye is muttered between us before I hear the empty-sounding dial tone in my ear.

I know I should be happy now that it's over---the lying, that is. Not 'happy' happy since it's much too hard for me to even attempt to get reacquainted with that emotion, but more along the lines of relieved.

Just when I am reveling in my relief---leaning back in my cushioned seat---Weiss bursts into my office, black file in hand.

"Do you not knock?" I ask. I've known for seven years or so and yet, throughout all this time, he has never actually knocked on my door. I think the concept is mind-boggling to him. "I mean, does it really hurt to put your hand to the door and---"

"Sydney's coming," he blurts out just as the door opens. Weiss drops some random file on my desk, all the while saying, "---and that's what analysis found out. Oh hey, Agent Bristow."

"Hey Weiss," she says with a smile. "Feel free to finish up whatever you're doing. I'm not in a hurry."

"Ok, well thanks for this…um…information. Next time, ask analysis to get me the file a little earlier." I'd told him to tell me at least five minutes before Sydney came in. Not that I needed a warning or anything. I just liked knowing things.

"They cracked the code thirty seconds before I brought the file up. A sudden break," he says before living the office.

I put the bogus file in one of the drawers and turn back to Sydney.

"You should've called before---I mean, you could have been followed by SD-6."

"I wasn't. Besides, this isn't a business call."

Not a business call would make it a social call. Suddenly, my throat feels very dry and my heart starts pounding a little faster.

"Ok, sit down," I manage to stammer.

"We're co-workers, in a sense, right?"

"Right."

"And co-workers gather outside the workplace, right?"

"Sydney---"

Rule #1: Office romances are forbidden. They will kill you.

"Vaughn, it's nothing big. It's just a dinner with my friends at my place."

"You know that I can't go---"

No matter how much I want to.

"Why? I invite Dixon to dinner and he comes."

"Syd, he comes because he can. If I go, SD-6 might know what we're up to."

"What are we up to, Vaughn?" she asks.

"We're up to bringing SD-6 down---"

"No, what are we up to?"

I sigh.

"We're up to bringing SD-6 down," I repeat.

"That's it. We're not even friends?"

"We can't afford to be friends."

I close my eyes in an attempt to avoid seeing the hurt on her face, but I catch a glimpse of it anyway. I want to say something to make her feel better---after I'm the one who made her feel bad in the first place---but words don't come to me.

"Danny."

That's just great. To make her feel better, I'm bringing up her dead fiancée.

"I know you're right. It's just---it was a bad idea."

"Sydney---"

"I have to go."

"You don't have to," I say. Now, I'm the one who's pleading.

"No, I really do."

"I'm sorry," she says before practically running out of the room.

No, I'm the one who's sorry. I lean back on the chair again and hate myself at the moment. I like her, but I can't like her.

"Agent Vaughn, I believe you have gotten too personal with the case. It is obvious that you have feelings for Bristow. In our line of work, feelings will get you killed. You know that more than anyone or have you forgotten about Meg?" Devlin asked.

"No, I haven't."

Before I know what I'm doing, I dialing the number that I so frequently use nowadays.

Ring. Ring.

"Hello."

"What time?"

"What?"

"The dinner, what time is it?"

Rule #1: Office romances are forbidden. They will kill you.

"7:00, but Vaughn, you were right. We can't---"

Rule #2: Screw rule #1.

"I'll be there at 6:30."

Pause.

"Thanks," she says. I can sense that beautiful smile on her face again.

"That's what friends are for."

It won't be like last time. Things will be different. I won't let anything happen to her. She won't break, I won't break, and everything will be ok.