Title: Candles, Snow, and Mistletoe
Author: Freelancer Starbuck and Andi Horton
Website: www.geocities.com/freelancer_starbuck
Disclaimer: Not ours!!
Feedback: YEAH BABY!
Archiving: Contact one of us for permission...
Rating: G (fluff much?)
Summary: A Christmas mission evokes unexpected emotions in our two favorite agents!
Author's Note: Lets try this again! The last time I tried to post this, it didn't exactly work, so I'm reposting. Andi and I have worked for months on this story, tweaking it and manipulated it until it turned into this! We have it posted on the SD-6 boards right now too, and even though it's late, we decided y'all deserve to see it too.
***
"Can you believe there's not even a whole week left until Christmas?" Francie whined, peeking cautiously at the calendar as if she expected the numbers to leap off and attack her. "I mean, where does the time go? I still gotta buy things for almost all of my friends, and my family, and it's just gonna be a major headache from here on in."
"Well," Sydney said pointedly, looking up from where she was hastily slathering a bagel with cream cheese, "if you had started shopping back in November, the way I told you to, this wouldn't have happened."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Francie swished her hand at her friend impatiently. "Look, I gotta get to the mall early, so can I count on you for supper?"
"Oh, gee, I don't know, France," Sydney said hesitantly. "I got a call about- about work, and they seemed to hint that I was going to be pretty busy tonight."
Francie smiled ruefully, and nodded.
"Fine. I'll order enough Chinese for both of us, then. How does that sound?"
"Great." Sydney flashed her a smile, downed the bagel in record time, and headed out the door before Francie could tell her she had cream cheese on her nose.
LA in the winter may seem like a paradox to many. Snow was an accepted rarity - all right, then, pretty well a non-event - and softwood trees a thing of children's storybooks. Sydney drove through the balmy city with Christmas carols playing on her stereo, and along the way she saw palm trees decorated with red tinsel, plastic reindeer grazing on lush green lawns, and fake, cotton snow decorating the windows of several shops.
She wasn't heading towards the Credit Dauphine building- SD-6 had closed for Christmas break the day before. Rather, she was heading to a meeting with Vaughn, since the CIA didn't go on break until Christmas Eve Day, and even then a few unfortunate saps had to drudge away on what should have been a holiday.
After making quite sure that she was not being followed, she swung into a vacant parking spot across from a deli, and slipped around back, into the warehouse she found there.
Vaughn was waiting for her, and when they saw each other, they both blinked.
"Is that cream cheese?" he asked, just as she gasped,
"Are those reindeer?"
"Huh? I- oh, yeah. They are." he peeked down at his red tie, which was liberally peppered with miniature renderings of such mammals. "It's, uh- a gift. From my mom. Last year."
"It's very sweet," Sydney smiled. "Now, what was that?"
"Huh? Oh- cream cheese. I think." He pointed to the white dot on her nose, and, blushing furiously, she swiped it away.
"Thanks. Gosh, I ate so fast today, I- well, Francie put off her Christmas shopping until the last minute, as usual, so now she's in a total panic, and I had to weasel out of going with her because of the phone call. Why am I here, anyway? Sloane isn't going to be pulling anything until after Boxing Day."
"No," Vaughn agreed, "he's not, but Sloane isn't the CIA's only objective, and because it's also cold and flu season, we're short-staffed enough that Devlin asked me to make you an offer."
"What sort of an offer?" Sydney asked suspiciously.
"A job offer. You see, the USA recently had some military intelligence documents stolen. Highly sensitive information, and highly classified. We suspect a wealthy quasi-terrorist who's got a finger in every pie that suits his fancy. He makes a business out of stealing just such documents from every nation in the world, and selling them to the highest bidder."
"Who, in this instance, is . . ?"
"Well, America has no shortage of enemies, of course, but in light of the recent developments across seas, Iraq seems a particularly potent threat to us. At least, one of the largest. But that doesn't mean he won't be approached by other countries, too, so our principal objective is simply to get them back."
"Do we know where the papers are?" Sydney asked, and Vaughn nodded.
"As a matter of fact, we do. Charles Wallace spends his Christmases in Canada, where he has distant relatives, and our sources would indicate that he's taken the papers there- perhaps even to sell them. He's hosting a large charity function this Thursday night at his home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and you are going to be there, posing as a guest. You're going to get into his safe, and get every document there, just to make sure we make a clean sweep of it all."
"Thursday?" Sydney looked at him in dismay. "Vaughn, Christmas Eve?!"
"Yes, I know, it's not ideal. But remember the time difference- if you get in and out quickly, you'll be back here in time to have a few drinks with your friends before you go to bed."
"I suppose I should be pleased, then," she said dryly, and Vaughn's lips twitched.
"I suppose so."
"Well," she sighed, "when do I leave?"
"We board the plane the day after tomorrow at-"
"We?" Sydney looked at him sharply. "Vaughn-"
"I'm going with you," he confirmed it before she could even ask the question. "I will be with you the whole time, and I'll be handling you from outside the house while you're on point."
"Really? Well- good. It'll be nice to have somebody to talk to. I mean- it'll be almost Christmas, after all, and it's nice to have friends around you at Christmas."
"Yeah," he smiled, "it is."
"So- we'll be leaving Thursday night? Right after we get the papers?"
"According to plan, yes."
"We'll be there- what, almost four whole days, then?"
"More like three days. We board the plan Monday at four in the afternoon our time, and arrive in the Halifax International Airport roughly seven hours later, at three in the morning their time."
"Ouch," Sydney whistled appreciatively. "Hope they give us nice pillows."
"Oh, they will." Vaughn assured her. "I have connections."
"Connections in the pillow department?" her smile was sweet, genuine, and truly amused, causing Vaughn to give her a rather embarrassed grin back.
"Yeah, sort of."
"Hey, I'll take whatever I can get. But back to what I was just saying- why will we be there for three whole days? I mean, wouldn't it be better if we just got in and out?"
"Well, Devlin suggested that we maybe make some connections with people who will be at the party before we arrive. I mean, Halifax is a small enough city that if nobody knows who you are, people start to notice. So we'll be going to the ballet, and some sort of museum fundraiser brunch, and a hockey game."
"A hockey game?"
"Yeah. I got us box seats to a Mooseheads game."
"More of your 'connections', I suppose?" she twinkled at him, and he smiled back.
"Something like that."
"But will we be running into the sort of people who will be at that party at a hockey game?"
"Sure, we might. Or maybe we won't. But a few of the people on the guest list have seats near ours, and even if they don't talk to us - and common courtesy dictates that they will - at least we'll have gotten that hockey game, right?"
"Right," she smiled. "But- what do I tell Sloane?"
"If he should ask, either before or after your trip, what you were doing in Halifax, tell him that there was a piece of art for sale at the museum that you knew your father would like. A friend saw it when she was there on business, and mentioned it to you."
"Won't he ask why I didn't get it?"
"I don't think that he'll have cause to, because you will actually be getting this- this statue. We've arranged for you to purchase it- you can give it to your dad, or you can change your story a bit, and give it to Francie or Will or somebody. But we need a good excuse, and that's as good a one as we could come up with on such short notice."
"It's a good one," she reassured him quickly. "It's really fine. I was just wondering. And I only needed to know how long we'd be staying so I'd know how much to pack. My entire wardrobe, apparently, if we're going to be going to things as varied as the ballet and a hockey game. Not that I mind- it's going to kind of be like a vacation, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he smiled, "I guess it is. Now, that's about it for now. I won't officially meet you at the airport- your ticket will be waiting at the counter, and we'll board separately. Our seats aren't even together- we'll be taking separate cabs, as well. Devlin thought it would be best if we didn't make contact until we reached the hotel."
"Fine. And what will we be- posing as there?"
"I'm sorry?" he asked, and Sydney got the feeling that he was being deliberately obtuse.
"Our cover story, Vaughn," she pressed. "What will it be? Who will the hotel staff know us as? How will we be introducing ourselves to other people?"
"We- erm- we'll be posing as Mr. and Mrs. Green. As- as husband and wife." He spat it out in a hurry, his words tumbling over themselves in his haste to get further reassurances out before she could speak.
"But the couch in our suite is a Hide-A-Bed, so I'll take that, of course, and I'm really sorry if this will bother you, but Devlin thought it would be easier than my idea, which is that we would be posing as old college friends, and-"
"Vaughn!" she broke in, laughing. "It's fine. It doesn't bother me at all, actually- it will be fun, fooling everybody. Will my ticket be under my real name, though, or my married one?"
"Oh- yours. Sloane might get a little suspicious if you went to Halifax, but somehow got there and back in three days without flying." He looked immensely relieved that she wasn't upset, though if you had asked him why he'd thought she would be, he wouldn't have been able to tell you.
"Fine, then," she smiled. "I'll see you very early Tuesday morning, then."
"Very." he agreed, smiling. "Until then, stay safe, okay?"
She paused at the door and, looking back over her shoulder, she smiled. For a brief moment, it was as if there was an unspoken understanding between the two of them. She nodded slightly.
"I will, Vaughn. You, too."
Then she was gone, and Vaughn was left alone to think about the upcoming trip, and study the reindeer that dotted his tie.
***
Needless to say, Francie and Will were not happy at the recent developments. Their usual Christmas evening activities would have to be altered to suit two until Sydney could get home, and they badgered her to give it up right up until the very afternoon that she was scheduled to leave.
"I'm so sorry, guys! I swear, if we didn't need this account so badly, I'd turn it down in a heartbeat." Sydney said for what had to be the hundredth time in three days, then turned to glare at her suitcase reproachfully, and tug again at the zipper. "But it's my job, after all, and, well . . . Ugh, this stupid thing will not close!"
Will hauled himself obligingly up off the bed to sit down on the suitcase. Sydney pulled again, this time achieving the desired result. She smiled triumphantly at her friends, but their answering expressions were not so cheerful.
"I understand, Syd, really I do, but- coming home on Christmas Eve? Why not the day before? I mean, travelling anywhere at this time of year is almost dangerous, and those people work you so hard . . ."
Worry swam in Francie's words as well as her eyes, and for just a moment, Sydney thought about calling Devlin and demanding that somebody else take over.
The feeling passed quickly, and though she told herself that it was because she knew she was doing something good for her country, deep down, she wondered if it mightn't be something a little more. Maybe the opportunity to spend some honest, open time with Vaughn, actually looking directly at him and speaking openly with him in public, was just too incredible a chance for her to pass up. The amusing hesitation he'd showed, and the rather embarrassed look that had crossed his face when he had divulged their cover story, was still running through her mind, and a smile crept onto her lips.
"Sydney?" Francie was saying, and Sydney quickly shook herself free from her preoccupation.
"Sorry- what was that?"
"I just said that if you were sure you couldn't get out of it, to have a safe trip. What's up with you?"
"Nothing." Sydney muttered, hauling her suitcase off her bed with an effort, and dancing abruptly sideways so it didn't crush her toes, "I guess I just want to get going, is all, and- ugh!" she stumbled sideways after trying to take a few steps with the case. Clearly, this called for a quick re-evaluation of her strategy.
"Hey, Will?" she glanced at him. "A little help, here?"
***
LAX, Sydney learned the next morning, was ridiculously busy so close to Christmas, especially at three thirty in the afternoon.
As she wove her way through the crowds, she found that herself narrowly missing being mowed down by any number of frazzled-looking travelers. Some of them were waiting for late flights, some were panicking when they discovered that theirs were ahead of schedule, and some were just plain unpleasant. One woman in particular, juggling an armful of babies and two heavy-looking suitcases, looked ready to trample anybody who got in her way in order to make her flight on time. Sydney barely dove to the side in time, and activity continued to swirl around her as she escaped into the restroom.
Once inside, dabbing at her lips to even out the hastily-applied berry-dark lipstick, she took the opportunity to glance unobtrusively at the other two occupants of the washroom. A liberally-pierced teenager, with jet black hair and emerald eyes surrounded with thick make up, adjusted her tank top and brushed at her jeans. An elderly woman dug through her purse, humming Christmas carols too loud and off key. Hardly anything to be wary of, but training will tell, and Sydney's was particularly chatty as she sized them up anyway, just in case.
Her face finally arranged to her satisfaction, she angled her arm so she could see her watch. It was a gift Marshall had prepared for her when he'd drawn her name in the Secret Santa exchange at work the week before- Versace, with a built in laser and decoder attachment to check the time. She had, she saw, twenty minutes to get to the flight gate, which was located halfway across the airport. She gathered her carry-on and took off, slight anxiety making her wobble slightly on her heels. This was one flight she was definitely not going to miss.
Vaughn was trying to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs, such as are provided by air terminals. It was somewhat difficult, as he kept slipping down off of the seat, but he barely noticed, so intent was he on searching the throngs for a familiar face. He finally spotted her racing toward the gate, her hair rippling out behind her and barely concealed anxiety on her face. It was hard for him not to smile when her tense expression was quickly replaced with one of relief when she saw that she still had almost five minutes before boarding began, and then began searching for a seat.
She chose one directly behind him so they wouldn't have to make eye contact, but could still converse if they wanted to.
"What took you so long?" Vaughn wondered, trying to brace the soles of his shoes against the floor to keep himself in place, "I was beginning to worry you'd miss the flight."
"I got held up at home," she explained, checking her watch against the terminal clock, and fiddling with the controls of the former to set it four hours ahead, "Francie and Will weren't too eager to let me out of the house. I was almost afraid they'd tie me to a chair and force-feed me fruitcake and eggnog!"
At that, he found it impossible not to smile.
"Not fruitcake!" he sympathized in mock horror, and could almost picture the rueful expression on her face as she nodded.
"Yes, fruitcake. Every year, we go through the same thing- Francie bakes about twenty loaves of this stuff nobody wants to eat, and then she expects us to pretend we enjoy it."
"What do you do?" Vaughn wondered.
"Well," Sydney sounded apologetic, "she always manages to finish it before the Christmas Food Drive, so every year Will and I generously choose to inflict our suffering on twenty homeless families."
"I suppose we all have our self-serving moments," Vaughn grinned, then both of them glanced up as their flight was called to board.
"All set?" he wondered, getting to his feet and reaching for the case that held his laptop.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Sydney decided, reaching for her own carry-on. "Let's go."
Once on board the plane, they found that their seats were located directly across the aisle from each other's, which might provide the pleasant opportunity for a chat sometime later on in the flight. In the meantime, though, Sydney stowed her carry-on in the tiny compartment above her seat, then settled down as best as she could, pulling out a book and beginning to read. Vaughn, in turn, switched on his laptop and opened a game of solitaire, which he began to play with characteristic strategy.
The flight attendant, however, nabbed him before they even started moving, and asked that he put it away until they were in the air. He obliged, and settled back into his seat to wait as they began to move.
The plane rose into the air with a minimum of bumps, and steadily gained altitude. By the time it leveled off, Vaughn's laptop had gone into sleep mode, so he had to re-load the entire game and start from scratch.
Otherwise, the ride promised to be particularly uneventful. Clouds cuddled up to the belly of the plane, so all that was visible out the window was an expanse of white nothingness. Sydney found herself leaning over the lap of the fat, middle-aged man dozing beside her, and wondering if any of them were snow clouds.
"Almost looks like you could walk on it, doesn't it?" Vaughn smiled, and she glanced over her shoulder, returning the grin with one of her own.
"Yes, it does. But I don't suppose I should try it."
"No," he agreed, "I don't suppose you should. Otherwise, your family might wonder what happened to you."
"They might," she smiled, and he offered his hand.
"Michael Vaughn."
"Sydney Bristow." She took his in hers, and they shook. This, she decided, with a rush of delight, was going to be one of the best Christmas holidays she had ever had.
Author: Freelancer Starbuck and Andi Horton
Website: www.geocities.com/freelancer_starbuck
Disclaimer: Not ours!!
Feedback: YEAH BABY!
Archiving: Contact one of us for permission...
Rating: G (fluff much?)
Summary: A Christmas mission evokes unexpected emotions in our two favorite agents!
Author's Note: Lets try this again! The last time I tried to post this, it didn't exactly work, so I'm reposting. Andi and I have worked for months on this story, tweaking it and manipulated it until it turned into this! We have it posted on the SD-6 boards right now too, and even though it's late, we decided y'all deserve to see it too.
***
"Can you believe there's not even a whole week left until Christmas?" Francie whined, peeking cautiously at the calendar as if she expected the numbers to leap off and attack her. "I mean, where does the time go? I still gotta buy things for almost all of my friends, and my family, and it's just gonna be a major headache from here on in."
"Well," Sydney said pointedly, looking up from where she was hastily slathering a bagel with cream cheese, "if you had started shopping back in November, the way I told you to, this wouldn't have happened."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Francie swished her hand at her friend impatiently. "Look, I gotta get to the mall early, so can I count on you for supper?"
"Oh, gee, I don't know, France," Sydney said hesitantly. "I got a call about- about work, and they seemed to hint that I was going to be pretty busy tonight."
Francie smiled ruefully, and nodded.
"Fine. I'll order enough Chinese for both of us, then. How does that sound?"
"Great." Sydney flashed her a smile, downed the bagel in record time, and headed out the door before Francie could tell her she had cream cheese on her nose.
LA in the winter may seem like a paradox to many. Snow was an accepted rarity - all right, then, pretty well a non-event - and softwood trees a thing of children's storybooks. Sydney drove through the balmy city with Christmas carols playing on her stereo, and along the way she saw palm trees decorated with red tinsel, plastic reindeer grazing on lush green lawns, and fake, cotton snow decorating the windows of several shops.
She wasn't heading towards the Credit Dauphine building- SD-6 had closed for Christmas break the day before. Rather, she was heading to a meeting with Vaughn, since the CIA didn't go on break until Christmas Eve Day, and even then a few unfortunate saps had to drudge away on what should have been a holiday.
After making quite sure that she was not being followed, she swung into a vacant parking spot across from a deli, and slipped around back, into the warehouse she found there.
Vaughn was waiting for her, and when they saw each other, they both blinked.
"Is that cream cheese?" he asked, just as she gasped,
"Are those reindeer?"
"Huh? I- oh, yeah. They are." he peeked down at his red tie, which was liberally peppered with miniature renderings of such mammals. "It's, uh- a gift. From my mom. Last year."
"It's very sweet," Sydney smiled. "Now, what was that?"
"Huh? Oh- cream cheese. I think." He pointed to the white dot on her nose, and, blushing furiously, she swiped it away.
"Thanks. Gosh, I ate so fast today, I- well, Francie put off her Christmas shopping until the last minute, as usual, so now she's in a total panic, and I had to weasel out of going with her because of the phone call. Why am I here, anyway? Sloane isn't going to be pulling anything until after Boxing Day."
"No," Vaughn agreed, "he's not, but Sloane isn't the CIA's only objective, and because it's also cold and flu season, we're short-staffed enough that Devlin asked me to make you an offer."
"What sort of an offer?" Sydney asked suspiciously.
"A job offer. You see, the USA recently had some military intelligence documents stolen. Highly sensitive information, and highly classified. We suspect a wealthy quasi-terrorist who's got a finger in every pie that suits his fancy. He makes a business out of stealing just such documents from every nation in the world, and selling them to the highest bidder."
"Who, in this instance, is . . ?"
"Well, America has no shortage of enemies, of course, but in light of the recent developments across seas, Iraq seems a particularly potent threat to us. At least, one of the largest. But that doesn't mean he won't be approached by other countries, too, so our principal objective is simply to get them back."
"Do we know where the papers are?" Sydney asked, and Vaughn nodded.
"As a matter of fact, we do. Charles Wallace spends his Christmases in Canada, where he has distant relatives, and our sources would indicate that he's taken the papers there- perhaps even to sell them. He's hosting a large charity function this Thursday night at his home in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and you are going to be there, posing as a guest. You're going to get into his safe, and get every document there, just to make sure we make a clean sweep of it all."
"Thursday?" Sydney looked at him in dismay. "Vaughn, Christmas Eve?!"
"Yes, I know, it's not ideal. But remember the time difference- if you get in and out quickly, you'll be back here in time to have a few drinks with your friends before you go to bed."
"I suppose I should be pleased, then," she said dryly, and Vaughn's lips twitched.
"I suppose so."
"Well," she sighed, "when do I leave?"
"We board the plane the day after tomorrow at-"
"We?" Sydney looked at him sharply. "Vaughn-"
"I'm going with you," he confirmed it before she could even ask the question. "I will be with you the whole time, and I'll be handling you from outside the house while you're on point."
"Really? Well- good. It'll be nice to have somebody to talk to. I mean- it'll be almost Christmas, after all, and it's nice to have friends around you at Christmas."
"Yeah," he smiled, "it is."
"So- we'll be leaving Thursday night? Right after we get the papers?"
"According to plan, yes."
"We'll be there- what, almost four whole days, then?"
"More like three days. We board the plan Monday at four in the afternoon our time, and arrive in the Halifax International Airport roughly seven hours later, at three in the morning their time."
"Ouch," Sydney whistled appreciatively. "Hope they give us nice pillows."
"Oh, they will." Vaughn assured her. "I have connections."
"Connections in the pillow department?" her smile was sweet, genuine, and truly amused, causing Vaughn to give her a rather embarrassed grin back.
"Yeah, sort of."
"Hey, I'll take whatever I can get. But back to what I was just saying- why will we be there for three whole days? I mean, wouldn't it be better if we just got in and out?"
"Well, Devlin suggested that we maybe make some connections with people who will be at the party before we arrive. I mean, Halifax is a small enough city that if nobody knows who you are, people start to notice. So we'll be going to the ballet, and some sort of museum fundraiser brunch, and a hockey game."
"A hockey game?"
"Yeah. I got us box seats to a Mooseheads game."
"More of your 'connections', I suppose?" she twinkled at him, and he smiled back.
"Something like that."
"But will we be running into the sort of people who will be at that party at a hockey game?"
"Sure, we might. Or maybe we won't. But a few of the people on the guest list have seats near ours, and even if they don't talk to us - and common courtesy dictates that they will - at least we'll have gotten that hockey game, right?"
"Right," she smiled. "But- what do I tell Sloane?"
"If he should ask, either before or after your trip, what you were doing in Halifax, tell him that there was a piece of art for sale at the museum that you knew your father would like. A friend saw it when she was there on business, and mentioned it to you."
"Won't he ask why I didn't get it?"
"I don't think that he'll have cause to, because you will actually be getting this- this statue. We've arranged for you to purchase it- you can give it to your dad, or you can change your story a bit, and give it to Francie or Will or somebody. But we need a good excuse, and that's as good a one as we could come up with on such short notice."
"It's a good one," she reassured him quickly. "It's really fine. I was just wondering. And I only needed to know how long we'd be staying so I'd know how much to pack. My entire wardrobe, apparently, if we're going to be going to things as varied as the ballet and a hockey game. Not that I mind- it's going to kind of be like a vacation, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he smiled, "I guess it is. Now, that's about it for now. I won't officially meet you at the airport- your ticket will be waiting at the counter, and we'll board separately. Our seats aren't even together- we'll be taking separate cabs, as well. Devlin thought it would be best if we didn't make contact until we reached the hotel."
"Fine. And what will we be- posing as there?"
"I'm sorry?" he asked, and Sydney got the feeling that he was being deliberately obtuse.
"Our cover story, Vaughn," she pressed. "What will it be? Who will the hotel staff know us as? How will we be introducing ourselves to other people?"
"We- erm- we'll be posing as Mr. and Mrs. Green. As- as husband and wife." He spat it out in a hurry, his words tumbling over themselves in his haste to get further reassurances out before she could speak.
"But the couch in our suite is a Hide-A-Bed, so I'll take that, of course, and I'm really sorry if this will bother you, but Devlin thought it would be easier than my idea, which is that we would be posing as old college friends, and-"
"Vaughn!" she broke in, laughing. "It's fine. It doesn't bother me at all, actually- it will be fun, fooling everybody. Will my ticket be under my real name, though, or my married one?"
"Oh- yours. Sloane might get a little suspicious if you went to Halifax, but somehow got there and back in three days without flying." He looked immensely relieved that she wasn't upset, though if you had asked him why he'd thought she would be, he wouldn't have been able to tell you.
"Fine, then," she smiled. "I'll see you very early Tuesday morning, then."
"Very." he agreed, smiling. "Until then, stay safe, okay?"
She paused at the door and, looking back over her shoulder, she smiled. For a brief moment, it was as if there was an unspoken understanding between the two of them. She nodded slightly.
"I will, Vaughn. You, too."
Then she was gone, and Vaughn was left alone to think about the upcoming trip, and study the reindeer that dotted his tie.
***
Needless to say, Francie and Will were not happy at the recent developments. Their usual Christmas evening activities would have to be altered to suit two until Sydney could get home, and they badgered her to give it up right up until the very afternoon that she was scheduled to leave.
"I'm so sorry, guys! I swear, if we didn't need this account so badly, I'd turn it down in a heartbeat." Sydney said for what had to be the hundredth time in three days, then turned to glare at her suitcase reproachfully, and tug again at the zipper. "But it's my job, after all, and, well . . . Ugh, this stupid thing will not close!"
Will hauled himself obligingly up off the bed to sit down on the suitcase. Sydney pulled again, this time achieving the desired result. She smiled triumphantly at her friends, but their answering expressions were not so cheerful.
"I understand, Syd, really I do, but- coming home on Christmas Eve? Why not the day before? I mean, travelling anywhere at this time of year is almost dangerous, and those people work you so hard . . ."
Worry swam in Francie's words as well as her eyes, and for just a moment, Sydney thought about calling Devlin and demanding that somebody else take over.
The feeling passed quickly, and though she told herself that it was because she knew she was doing something good for her country, deep down, she wondered if it mightn't be something a little more. Maybe the opportunity to spend some honest, open time with Vaughn, actually looking directly at him and speaking openly with him in public, was just too incredible a chance for her to pass up. The amusing hesitation he'd showed, and the rather embarrassed look that had crossed his face when he had divulged their cover story, was still running through her mind, and a smile crept onto her lips.
"Sydney?" Francie was saying, and Sydney quickly shook herself free from her preoccupation.
"Sorry- what was that?"
"I just said that if you were sure you couldn't get out of it, to have a safe trip. What's up with you?"
"Nothing." Sydney muttered, hauling her suitcase off her bed with an effort, and dancing abruptly sideways so it didn't crush her toes, "I guess I just want to get going, is all, and- ugh!" she stumbled sideways after trying to take a few steps with the case. Clearly, this called for a quick re-evaluation of her strategy.
"Hey, Will?" she glanced at him. "A little help, here?"
***
LAX, Sydney learned the next morning, was ridiculously busy so close to Christmas, especially at three thirty in the afternoon.
As she wove her way through the crowds, she found that herself narrowly missing being mowed down by any number of frazzled-looking travelers. Some of them were waiting for late flights, some were panicking when they discovered that theirs were ahead of schedule, and some were just plain unpleasant. One woman in particular, juggling an armful of babies and two heavy-looking suitcases, looked ready to trample anybody who got in her way in order to make her flight on time. Sydney barely dove to the side in time, and activity continued to swirl around her as she escaped into the restroom.
Once inside, dabbing at her lips to even out the hastily-applied berry-dark lipstick, she took the opportunity to glance unobtrusively at the other two occupants of the washroom. A liberally-pierced teenager, with jet black hair and emerald eyes surrounded with thick make up, adjusted her tank top and brushed at her jeans. An elderly woman dug through her purse, humming Christmas carols too loud and off key. Hardly anything to be wary of, but training will tell, and Sydney's was particularly chatty as she sized them up anyway, just in case.
Her face finally arranged to her satisfaction, she angled her arm so she could see her watch. It was a gift Marshall had prepared for her when he'd drawn her name in the Secret Santa exchange at work the week before- Versace, with a built in laser and decoder attachment to check the time. She had, she saw, twenty minutes to get to the flight gate, which was located halfway across the airport. She gathered her carry-on and took off, slight anxiety making her wobble slightly on her heels. This was one flight she was definitely not going to miss.
Vaughn was trying to sit on one of the hard plastic chairs, such as are provided by air terminals. It was somewhat difficult, as he kept slipping down off of the seat, but he barely noticed, so intent was he on searching the throngs for a familiar face. He finally spotted her racing toward the gate, her hair rippling out behind her and barely concealed anxiety on her face. It was hard for him not to smile when her tense expression was quickly replaced with one of relief when she saw that she still had almost five minutes before boarding began, and then began searching for a seat.
She chose one directly behind him so they wouldn't have to make eye contact, but could still converse if they wanted to.
"What took you so long?" Vaughn wondered, trying to brace the soles of his shoes against the floor to keep himself in place, "I was beginning to worry you'd miss the flight."
"I got held up at home," she explained, checking her watch against the terminal clock, and fiddling with the controls of the former to set it four hours ahead, "Francie and Will weren't too eager to let me out of the house. I was almost afraid they'd tie me to a chair and force-feed me fruitcake and eggnog!"
At that, he found it impossible not to smile.
"Not fruitcake!" he sympathized in mock horror, and could almost picture the rueful expression on her face as she nodded.
"Yes, fruitcake. Every year, we go through the same thing- Francie bakes about twenty loaves of this stuff nobody wants to eat, and then she expects us to pretend we enjoy it."
"What do you do?" Vaughn wondered.
"Well," Sydney sounded apologetic, "she always manages to finish it before the Christmas Food Drive, so every year Will and I generously choose to inflict our suffering on twenty homeless families."
"I suppose we all have our self-serving moments," Vaughn grinned, then both of them glanced up as their flight was called to board.
"All set?" he wondered, getting to his feet and reaching for the case that held his laptop.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Sydney decided, reaching for her own carry-on. "Let's go."
Once on board the plane, they found that their seats were located directly across the aisle from each other's, which might provide the pleasant opportunity for a chat sometime later on in the flight. In the meantime, though, Sydney stowed her carry-on in the tiny compartment above her seat, then settled down as best as she could, pulling out a book and beginning to read. Vaughn, in turn, switched on his laptop and opened a game of solitaire, which he began to play with characteristic strategy.
The flight attendant, however, nabbed him before they even started moving, and asked that he put it away until they were in the air. He obliged, and settled back into his seat to wait as they began to move.
The plane rose into the air with a minimum of bumps, and steadily gained altitude. By the time it leveled off, Vaughn's laptop had gone into sleep mode, so he had to re-load the entire game and start from scratch.
Otherwise, the ride promised to be particularly uneventful. Clouds cuddled up to the belly of the plane, so all that was visible out the window was an expanse of white nothingness. Sydney found herself leaning over the lap of the fat, middle-aged man dozing beside her, and wondering if any of them were snow clouds.
"Almost looks like you could walk on it, doesn't it?" Vaughn smiled, and she glanced over her shoulder, returning the grin with one of her own.
"Yes, it does. But I don't suppose I should try it."
"No," he agreed, "I don't suppose you should. Otherwise, your family might wonder what happened to you."
"They might," she smiled, and he offered his hand.
"Michael Vaughn."
"Sydney Bristow." She took his in hers, and they shook. This, she decided, with a rush of delight, was going to be one of the best Christmas holidays she had ever had.