This Chapter: Gawkwardness with Shadow, another mission, and Shay becomes more human before even more "Gawkwardness with Shadow"
Suggested Soundtrack: "Farther Away" by Evanescence, "My Way" by Limp Bizkit, "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers
Author's Note: And the tests begin. For the meaning of the title, read the translations closely. Or, you know, type it into a translator. Whatev. Enjoy!
Chapter Four: Piger
"Comment est-ce que tu est tombée amoureuse de Vaughn? Est-ce que c'était un coup de foudre?" ["How did you fall in love with Vaughn? Was it love at first sight?"]
"Occupe-toi de tes oignons! N'en parlons plus." ["Mind your own business! Don't talk anymore."]
"Je m'en fous. Est-ce que tu l'aimes?" ["I don't give a damn. Do you love him?"]
"Pas de commentaire. Ne t'en fais plus." ["No comment. Never mind it."]
"Encore. Il faut que tu dises." ["Try again. You've got to tell me."]
"Mon Dieu! Arrête, s'il te plaît! Je ne peux pas l'aimer. Je ne l'aime pas. Tu piges?" ["Oh, my God! Stop, please! I can't love him. I don't love him. Understand?"]
"Menteuse. Dite-moi la vérité." ["Liar. Tell me the truth."]
"Tu es un cauchemar! S'il te plaît, si tu avais besoin de quelque chose—" ["You're a nightmare! Please, if you needed something—"]
"Syd?"
"Oh, grâce à Dieu! I mean, yes?"
"Can I talk to you a moment?"
"Of course, Eric. I'll see you later, Shay." Sydney mouthed a thank-you to her friend as they strode toward Sydney's desk at a faster-than-normal clip. Her vacation lasted two days — the longest she ever had — before Dixon reeled her back in. The analysts were making progress, but Sydney really did not know why she needed to be there. Weiss's confusion matched her own, and he went on a mission to acquire what information he could. Hopefully, he actually succeeded. "So..." she prompted, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned against her desk.
"I have a question," he began, glancing quickly over his shoulder to assure no one else could hear them. "Did you feel really weird when Shadow questioned you? 'Cause I definitely did. She kept looking at me — looking at me — and it was totally distracting."
She rolled her eyes and pushed off her desk, circling around and digging in her briefcase. "That wasn't your interview," she corrected matter-of-factly. "And I doubt she would ever look at you, let alone repeatedly."
Weiss glared at her in confusion, still making sure Shay remained safely out of earshot. "What do you mean, 'wasn't my interview?' How would you know? What makes you such a Shadow expert?"
Sydney shrugged as she balled up a piece of paper and tossed it into her trash can. "I just know. Do you really think such an extraordinary person would conduct an ordinary interview? She'll probably ignore everything you said today."
Narrowing his eyes, he watched her meaningless movements in scrutiny. She thought he might move away from the subject, but when he thrust a meaty finger in front of her nose, she sighed resignedly. "You've already been cleared! She's already questioned you!"
Rolling her eyes again, she arrested her movements and acknowledged, "Yes, she has cleared me, but that has nothing to do with anything. She never questioned me, or even asked for my file, as far as I can tell."
"Then how do you know you're really off the hook?"
"I already told you," she repeated, tone strained as she became agitated, "I just know. She's unconventional. Therefore, it only follows that her questioning methods should be unconventional."
He thought for a moment, neglecting to check behind him before speaking. "I'll go for that," he agreed, nodding as she continued to stutter through her papers. "And if you are right, I can't wait to see Lauren after her 'show' interview. If I thought Shay put me through Hell, imagine what she'd do to Lauren."
"It'll be the best three hours of my life. I'll record it and sell it on eBay. It'll be more popular than the Paris Hilton sex tape or the TMX Elmo." They both turned around to see Shadow smiling at them through her heavy eye make-up. She wore her hair in high-riding pigtails, contrasting drastically with a shredded homemade skirt, severely slashed Russian concert tee, fishnet stockings, and her omnipresent boots. This no longer surprised them; what did, though, was the absence of her black nail polish. Instead, her fingernails were neatly manicured and obviously fake.
Sydney sighed mentally. 'Here comes another mission.'
And right on cue . . .
"Come on," she said, backing towards a hallway. "Dixon wants us in the briefing room. Or, rather, I told Dixon to want us in the briefing room." She led the way down the hall to the conference room, sashaying her hips to such an extent that she nearly hypnotized Weiss, and Sydney had to slap the back of his head to awaken him.
"Where are Vaughn and Lauren?" Dixon asked as they entered, Sydney and Weiss taking seats while Shay stood as usual. Jack and Marshall already resided within the room. "Did you tell them about the briefing?"
Shadow smiled sadistically, her gaze drawn to something beyond the glass-paneled walls. "You could say that. . . ."
Before Sydney could whip around, Lauren burst into the room followed quickly by her husband. "What the hell do you mean by this, Sydney?" She slammed a small scrap of paper down on the table before the startled CIA agent and continued to rant, "I cannot believe you would be so callous as to blatantly disrespect me like this! You are the vilest, the most arrogant person I've ever—"
"Excuse me, Ms. Reed," Jack interrupted, anger boiling beneath his calm veneer as he stood, "but what right do you have to come in here and accuse my daughter of anything? She has done nothing but try to aid you in whatever way she can—"
"Oh, please, Jack; don't feed me that bull. Sydney has been nothing but a thorn in my side since the day she rose from the dead!"
"Well, excuse me for living!"
"Technically, she didn't rise from the dead, 'cause she was never dead, and if she really did, she'd be like one of those ugly-lookin' zombie guys from Dawn of the Dead and I couldn't close my eyes for a week after seeing that one, but I've been sleeping fine since Sydney got back and she's as pretty as ever, so—"
"Don't pick a fight with everyone, Lauren."
"Stop taking her bloody side, Michael! I'm your wife; you should be defending me when she says such slanderous sh—"
"My daughter has absolutely no reason to say anything about you, because obviously your remarks say everything about your character. . . ."
"I can speak for myself, Dad."
"Daddy won't save you now, little girl—"
"Alright, THAT'S ENOUGH!" The room immediately fell silent as all attention focused on Shadow at the front of the room. Her usually smooth brow knotted in anger as she took control of the crowded room. She pointed to Marshall and commanded, "You need to shut up—" at Jack "—you need to tell the truth for once in your life—" at Weiss "—you need to stop leaving notes on my desk—" at Sydney and Vaughn "—you need to learn communication skills—" at Lauren "—and you need to speak American."
Shay sat down with a clunk and a large, satisfied huff in Dixon's usual seat.
Sobered by Shadow's outburst, the other agents quickly found their seats around the tables, and Dixon took a place near the monitor. "Sydney," he began, as if loathe to bring up the topic again lest a riot ensue, "will you read the note you left Lauren?"
"I didn't leave this woman anything!" she retorted indignantly, not deigning to touch the paper in front of her. "Especially not something slanderous, considering that 'libel' is the one that's written down. . . ."
"Just read it. Please," Dixon pleaded, one second away from pounding his head against the monitor.
With a begrudging sneer, she pulled the paper towards her and read, "'Not happy with your field rating — or lack thereof? Come to conference room 4G for help! Although I've seen your evasive driving skills, and there's—'"
"'—Not much hope left for you,'" Shadow finished, the sadistic grin lacing across her face yet again. "Yep, that was me. Not Sydney. Way to jump to uninformed, unsupported, stupid conclusions, Agent Reed. That's the first quality the United States looks for in its field-rated agents. Great job supporting my note, there."
Had it been any other agent — perhaps barring only Jack — Sydney thought Lauren would have lunged at her. As it was, the NSC liaison dug her nails into her palms and pursed her lips to the size of a period.
"Anyways," Shadow transitioned, peering up at Dixon, "what's this briefing about?"
Their director frowned severely at the new agent but continued all the same. "Analysts are still sifting through some codes in association with the specs acquired last week. While they're making headway, they're nowhere near there. So, in the meantime, we've decided to follow a different lead." A picture of Mikhail Polhov popped onto the screen beside him. "Vaughn said Polhov recognized Sydney as her Covenant alias Julia Thorne. Since she cannot remember her time as a double inside the Covenant and never reported to Kendall about seeing Polhov, we have questions about whether his connection with her can be useful or not." He paused and Shay stood, signaling the beginning of the assignments.
"We can't go in with you as Julia Thorne," she explained matter-of-factly, "because last time, frankly, didn't work out so well. So I was wondering if we could play off of any possible fear of you Polhov may have when not thinking Julia's there to do the Covenant's dirty work." She stared at Sydney through narrowed eyes, as if she still formed the decision in her head. Sydney returned the glare blankly, trying to hide the fact that if she had to go on another mission with Vaughn this soon, she just might scream.
Either Shadow ignored her or she did not care, because she reached behind the monitor and extracted six black folders and began tossing them at agents. "Again, everyone's going on this mission." Lauren did well to keep her groan to herself. "Marshall, Lauren: you're on comms. We'll be using the crystalline pieces Marshall developed for the mission in Kiev. Make them extra-strength this time, okay?" He nodded vigorously.
"The thing is," she stated, pacing between the two tables, "Sydney can go on the mission, but she can't be seen. Don't worry, Barbie—" Lauren cringed under her glare "—I'll make sure the bane of your existence still plays a part.
"Polhov owns a library in Russia — obviously a cover for something, but you don't need to worry 'bout that now — and our intel says he'll be paying a visit very soon. So Jack and Weiss will be on outdoor surveillance. Syd and Vaughn will be indoors . . . doin' their thang—" Lauren again shifted uncomfortably "— and I'll be one of Julia Thorne's friends, Kristi Maple. She's an exchange student from NYU whose identity I decided to steal for the day." She stopped pacing in the middle of the conference room and glanced at each agent in turn. "Any questions? No? Good. Wheels up to St. Petersburg in two hours. You're dismissed."
Lauren rose and immediately headed for Sydney, but Shadow cut her off, falling into stride beside Sydney and leading her down the scenic route to their desks. While Sydney remained grateful, she could not hold back her tempestuous confusion. "Why did you write Lauren that note?"
"Fun, huh?" Shay remarked wryly, grinning like a lioness reflecting on the kill.
Sydney shook her head. "Not when it frames me. You must have known she would think it was me."
"Hey, she's the one who blew up the balloon. Is it my fault I popped it?" She stopped walking as she saw Weiss approaching her desk with a piece of paper. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have someone's dreams to crush. Enjoy your cover, by the way."
As the strange agent stalked off, Sydney moved to one side of the bustling hallway and opened her dossier for the first time. Its contents made bile rise in her throat.
Alias: Tasya Yagoudin, twenty-eight.
Grad student recently transferred from Moscow.
Fiancé: Yury Mishenka, alias Michael Vaughn.
What she could only assume was Shadow's writing scrawled hurriedly: 'BTW: They like kissing. A lot.'
For once, she resided not in a dream but remained in reality. Windowless, whitewashed walls surrounded her on every side. The bland smear of existence common in Communistic ideology congealed in every nook of this post-Stalin library. Instead of the rich, luxuriant libraries filled with cathedral ceilings stocked to the steeple with embossed, leather-bound books in first and second editions common in Moscow and some of the cities west of the Ural Mountains, Sydney faced low, grey ceilings and bookcases that ended a good foot below the cinderblocks and books with plastic covers that crinkled when touched. Wooden, unpadded chairs mingled with round, wooden tables near electrical outlets and broadband ports: the only modern improvement to the entire building.
Sydney and Vaughn cloistered themselves around one of these ports, craftily concealed from view with stacks of books and their laptops. In her long, wavy, brown and highlighted wig, she jotted down notes in Russian while he typed an essay on the Kyoto Accord. He took frequent typing breaks to highlight in research articles and textbooks and to run his fingers through his black hair.
Suddenly, a hand alighted upon the top of her thigh, nearly making her jump. Vaughn leaned on it and whispered in her ear, "I have no idea what I'm writing. Can speak Russian just fine, but reading it . . . Not so much."
"Well, when we get back to the States," she responded, hiding her wry smile in her notebook, "maybe you should invest in a Russian dictionary. Or lessons."
"Only if you give them to me," he replied automatically. They both ceased moving and looked at one another, tension spilling into the age-old chasm between them. Both thought the same regretful thoughts, and he ducked his head shamefully as he amended, "Sorry. I'll get back to my essay now."
Both continued to labor away until twin dialogue boxes popped up on their laptops: 'Shadow in play. Stand by for transmission.' Being on Polhov's turf, they deemed it too risky to utilize normal communication with the States and their backup, so Marshall modified not only the comm links, but also provided the op-tech laptops designed to transmit to an off-site CIA-controlled server through which Sydney and Vaughn could communicate with those not on point. The crystalline comm pieces, however, still posed a problem. Since they were still in the early stages of development, they could only work static-free if porous objects stood between the links, and even then distance was limited to one hundred yards. So as long as Shadow stayed within sight, they would be all right.
That thought did not comfort Sydney as she reached up and twisted the diamond stud in the cartilage of her ear, turning on her comm piece. Vaughn tweaked his own white speck as he pretended to tug at his earlobe in thought.
A pale woman rounded the corner of the entrance hallway, blonde hair tied behind her head in a loose bun. The sound of her rustling, knee-length black skirt and heels made it all the way across the library to where the couple sat, and she readjusted the pair of square faux frames perched at the end of her small nose. Her calf-length suit jacket gave the allusion of height as well as an air of importance. A crystal leaf necklace caught the light and glimmered from the hollow of her throat.
The touch of red resided in the pinstripes traversing her ensemble.
Clutching two books to her chest, she readjusted her messenger bag as she paused to talk to the receptionist, her countenance pleasant for once. The librarian hesitated, a look of uncertainty passing over her face before she nodded towards the agents' end of the library.
Shay left the woman without a thank-you, and as she strode confidently towards the couple, her free hand floated up to her neck and twisted the crystal gem, turning on her own comm link. Halting to read the description on one of the stacks, Shadow scolded without moving her lips, "I don't see you kissing. . . ."
She disappeared down an aisle.
Sydney sighed audibly and glanced at her partner out of the corner of her eye. He peered at her as well. The same thought ran through each of their minds simultaneously. 'If it's for the mission . . .' His typing ceased as one of his hands gravitated towards her own, and she merely stared as the shadow engulfed her—
"He's here." Shadow's low voice broke each of them from their trance, and as inconspicuously as possible, they surveyed the entrance. Polhov, his neck fat spilling over his black turtleneck and grey suit, leaned against the receptionist's counter and chatted pleasantly. Her face drawn in seriousness, the librarian pointed towards the stacks where Shadow disappeared, and Polhov followed her finger in interest. Sydney ducked her head beneath the table under the pretense of rooting around in her laptop case. Vaughn tapped her lower back when the man slipped in between the bookcases, and they considerably quieted their movements as they listened on their comms intently.
Just as she returned to taking notes full force, she heard a crash twofold, once on the comm and simultaneously twenty-five feet away. If Sydney strained, she could see the two between the shelves. They both stooped and picked up papers as if they had knocked into each other. "Sorry," Polhov said in Russian, "I should watch where I'm walking." He handled a worn paperback and held it up for scrutiny. "Dostoyevsky? Good choice, but Tolstoy's better."
"Neither of them can compare to Hawthorne or Twain," Shadow responded in the same language, slightly less-than-perfect accent. She grabbed the book and stuffed it into her bag.
Polhov smiled in bemusement as he offered his hand to help her up. "You are American," he commented in English, thick accent making his words nearly indistinguishable.
Shay nodded coyly, blushing and ducking her head as she readjusted the should strap. "How could ya tell?" She asked, New York lilt peppering her words. "I'm studying abroad this semester. I'm Kristi Maple." Her hand shot out from her side to shake his own. "And you must be Mikhail Polhov. I've heard so much about you! We gotta talk."
He allowed her to lead him to a table at the head of the aisle, still in slightly obstructed view of Sydney and Vaughn. She sat down her belongings and took his hands in hers confidentially. Her eager smile almost split her face as she gazed directly into his eyes. "I actually came here today in the hopes that you'd be here. I've been dying to meet you since, like, forever. Julia said you could help me if I had any problems and, well, it seems like I may be in over my head with a certain bookie—"
"Julia?" Polhov repeated sharply, snatching back his hands and peering at her warily. "Julia who? I do not know who you speak of."
"Sorry." Shay chuckled nervously, rolling her eyes at herself. "You must know a million Julias. I'll be more specific: Julia Thorne."
His face warped into a spectrum of hatred and malice, and his hand flicked almost imperceptibly. "Julia Thorne is no friend of mine," he said, voice dangerously low.
Movement from the entrance hallway garnered Sydney's attention, and Sydney gripped Vaughn's arm tightly. "He alerted the guards with some kind of silent alarm," she whispered hurriedly, intending both Vaughn and Shadow to hear. "We gotta get out of here now." She typed, "Beta Team, meet us at the front entrance." She and Vaughn began packing as quickly as possible, still listening to Shay and Polhov. But when their voices suddenly stopped, the two agents raced through the stacks only to find their previous table vacant.
"Shadow? Shadow?" Sydney whispered harshly, frantically searching for a secondary door out of this section of the library. Vaughn's hands skittered across the drywall, trying to find any hint of a secret portal, and at last, his fingers alighted upon a large crack, which he began to pry open.
The receptionist again pointed in their direction, and Sydney began aiding her partner. Just before the security guards rounded the end of the bookcase, the heavy door swung open, and the two agents slipped inside.
Pitch black surrounded them. Both the floor and walls felt cold and wet, and Sydney assumed they were in some sort of secret passageway left over from the Communist era. Shadow's words immediately repeated themselves in the back of her mind: ' . . . obviously a cover for something, but you don't need to worry 'bout that now. . . .' But she did! It was a BIG worry now! Sydney took a deep breath and swallowed her anger, reaching out to her right, blindly searching for the nearest wall as she felt Vaughn strike out to his left to do the same.
Just as she found it, though, the ground gave way, and she plummeted down a set of stairs, elbows, knees, and head scraping against the jagged cement steps. Vaughn stage-whispered after her, and she gingerly pulled herself to her feet. "Well," she croaked, the darkness swirling as she tried to stem the blood from a rip in her knee, "I think I found the stairs."
Vaughn rushed down to meet her, stumbling over her when he reached the bottom. "Sorry," he apologized sheepishly, grabbing an injured elbow and receiving a hiss in return. "Do you think there's a light switch nearby? Or a flashlight in your bag?"
"Now why the hell would there be a flashlight in my—" she halted, her hand stumbling upon a round, plastic cylinder with a button "—bag?" Shadow packed the bags; she knew what Polhov really used the building for. Of course she would prepare for all possible events! "Okay, let's go," Sydney prompted, extracting both the light source and her gun. "They can't be too far ahead of us."
This time the walls positively excreted moisture, signaling they were, in fact, underground. Sydney swung the flashlight back and forth in front of her, trying to see any other hidden objects that might be barring their path. Vaughn kept pace at her side with his gun drawn and ready. The hallway began to bend, and at its pinnacle stood a large steel door without a handle. The two agents glanced at each other in the semi-darkness, communicating fears and reassurances without words.
At the same instant, they struck away from the wall and kicked in the heavy door.
It skidded across the wet concrete and only came to rest as it nudged a motionless body. The harsh light obstructed her vision for a moment, but as her surroundings faded back in, her shoulders slumped in incredulity.
Shadow stood in the middle of the round room surrounded by at least five incredibly still bodies, her face and clothes smeared with blood and dirt. She dusted off her hands as she picked up two of the men's guns and stepped over strewn arms and legs. "You guys missed all the fun. Sorry." Smiling brightly at the other two agents, she let out a loud breath. "I tried to tell you guys I had things under control, but Marshall hasn't gotten these comms right yet. Oh well. Everyone still had a good time, right? Okay, let's split. The door at the end of the hall should lead to an outside set of stairs. We can find the van from there."
At first, Sydney and Vaughn followed Shadow without question, merely exchanging confused looks. But when that door at the end of the hall required a ten-digit password, and Shadow by-passed it without technical assistance, Sydney could hold her confoundment no longer. "Why didn't you tell us what this place was used for?" she whispered harshly, throwing glances over her shoulder to make sure they were not being followed.
Shadow rolled her eyes as the keypad beeped and the door swung open. "I told you, you don't have to worry about it. If you had just stayed upstairs and made out like I told you to, he wouldn't be dirty, you wouldn't be bloody, and I wouldn't have to baby-sit your sorry asses." Sydney glared at the back of her skull, knowing Shadow would notice, possibly even call her on it. "The KGB built it to interrogate prisoners during the Cold War. But you probably already guessed that. Your mom used to own this place before Polhov took over. And I used to work here."
Vaughn's gaze immediately shot to his partner, but she merely ducked her head and tried to ignore Shadow's news. It was just another revelation, just another bad thing her mother did. Not surprising, right?
But it hurt all the same.
The three emerged into daylight, squinting in the unobstructed lumination, and Shadow called Weiss and Jack over the crystal comms, ignoring Sydney's labored breathing and the sparkle of tears in her eye.
~*~*~*~
"—And that's why they installed wire fences around the Eiffel Tower. Not suicide jumpers: me."
Shadow's listeners gasped in astonishment. "Are you kidding me?" Weiss exclaimed, almost completely forgetting about his beer. "That's the best story I've ever heard! Aside from Mike's first college frat party, but we'll let that slide."
"Tell another, Shay," Sydney urged, leaning forward in her chair hopefully.
The strange agent slid even further down into her chair and rested one leg on an unused table while she toyed with a bottle cap. She glanced down at the shiny object and smiled slyly, obviously thinking of another time and place. "Nah," she answered humbly, "you don't want to hear another one of my war stories. You've probably already heard them a hundred times. Although there was a pretty good one from Greece when I was with MI-5. But Barbie doesn't look drunk enough to enjoy it yet, so it'll have to wait for another day. Don't you know how to get your woman drunk, Vaughn? I thought every man knew that."
Vaughn laughed shortly — merely to appease Shadow — while the woman sitting on his knee huffed indignantly. After the mission, Shadow commanded them to follow her to a bar she knew (no questions about it), everything on her. So Vaughn, Lauren, Weiss, Sydney, and Shadow sat around a round table in a surprisingly well lit bar and pool hall, trading "war stories" and the like. Most of the proletariat clearly avoided them, tending to congregate around the darker, smokier pool tables. Even the waitress kept herself at a distance: if anyone wanted a refill, they either rose and asked, or Shadow yelled for one from her slouched position.
So far, their conversation gravitated toward the light-hearted and comfortable side, but Sydney knew deep in her stomach that it would not stay that way for long. Shadow would see to it that everyone felt uneasy at least once. But despite the charged atmosphere, Sydney was having a surprisingly good time. Yes, Lauren and Vaughn radiated their coupleness, but the combination of Weiss's humour, Shadow's disdain, and her beer created a pro-happiness aura. As long as the majority of the group sided with her, there was no reason why she should randomly remember she had a briefing to read or report to file. Sydney vowed she would stay as long as the general mood stayed non-icky.
Shadow called over her shoulder for another basket of peanuts, and when they arrived, Weiss dug out a handful and coaxed, "Come on, Shay. There's got to be something else you haven't told us yet."
"Oh, there's a hell of a lot of stuff I haven't shared," she scoffed, swinging her sweating beer bottle by its thin neck. Vaughn, Weiss, and Sydney all peered at her expectantly, and she tacked on, "But that doesn't mean I'm going to tell you, either. A girl's gotta keep some secrets. Especially when they deal with the national security of several nations." She glanced meaningfully at Sydney but left her statement at that.
"Why does she have to be so cryptic, Michael?" Lauren stage-whispered, not realizing everyone could hear her.
Without lifting her eyes from the peanut basket on the table, Shadow replied in an Oxford British accent, voice dangerously low, "That's how you get yourself killed dearie." Her gaze lifted and drilled into the blonde agent, and Sydney felt ice frost the hairs on her arms.
To dispel the icicles, Weiss cleared his throat sharply and shifted in his backwards chair, letting his hands and beer dangle off the back. "Have you ever had a partner?"
The giant pendulum swing of the conversation stopped, interrupting itself, and began doing the Macarena. Shay did not move, per se, but the realignment of her chin and the way her fingers faltered around her bottle signaled that he had hit a nerve. After that split second of hesitation, she continued on, but the imperfection had shown. They all became interested.
"I did once. Only once," she began simply. "I trained with Special Forces throughout high school, and my freshman year of college, they transferred me to England where I worked with MI-5 as the FBI liaison. My partner was Riley Blankenship, but we called him Rey. He had a little friend named Jules that kept hanging around and making lame comments. He would follow us when we went out and snarked at me in this low British accent. Anyway, Rey and I got a little closer than either government would like and, long story short, when we were on a recon mission in Russia, the KGB captured him. They tortured him, trying to get him to reveal me because the mission was still active, and I was still in play. But as we were . . . involved . . . he felt the need to protect me. So they killed him. I recovered his bruised and bloody body the next day.
"I haven't exactly felt the need to have another partner." To the inexperienced ear, her voice remained smooth throughout her mini-speech, but to Sydney, the poisonous venom edging Shadow's tone spoke volumes.
'It all makes sense now,' Sydney though with a tinge of sadness. 'Well, not everything, but a lot more than before.'
Shadow suddenly smiled and glugged the remainder of her beer. Gesturing at the only couple with her empty bottle, she ordered, "Get up off your asses and get us another round. If you get a little lightheaded on the way, Barbie, just put your head between your knees." Her intonation implied a sexual pun; Lauren shot the agent a sharp look, and Vaughn pretended to ignore her while Weiss and Sydney sniggered behind their hands. Shay shifted in her seat to face Weiss, shutting out Sydney in the process. "So . . ." she began, averting her eyes to a stain on the table, "are you going to stop following me around like a lost dog?"
He raised an eyebrow, still conscious of Sydney's presence. "What do you mean?"
"All guys who get involved with me end up dead. Aren't you afraid that you'll wind up in a ditch without your head?"
Sydney smiled to herself as Shay stared down her friend. This was his test. In her mind, she crossed her fingers for the oblivious Weiss. For his sake, she hoped he would not be stupid ('for once in his life') and answer sensibly.
But she need not have worried. Weiss's other eyebrow raised, and he asked without hesitation, "Why would I? I'm a big boy; I can take care of myself. I can weigh risks, and I've weighed them." Perhaps the deciding factor was when he returned her glare pound for pound, lightning bolt for lightning bolt. Even Sydney would not have attempted such a feat. 'Wow. Weiss must have grown some balls since the time his last girlfriend beat him up.'
Finally, Shadow nodded and broke the staredown, possibly because Vaughn and Lauren were returning with yet another round of beers. Before they broke into earshot, though, Shay shifted in her seat yet again, leaning across the table briefly to whisper, "You pass," before slouching again. As each set down a tray of five long-necks and five mugs respectively, Shay scoffed, "God, took you long enough, Barbie. What, did you get lost in the tables and chairs? Or did you really have to put your head between your knees?"
Lauren pouted huffily, and Sydney smiled.
Hope you enjoyed this one! Like I mentioned in my profile, my website is now up and running! Shadow is up there, but resist the temptation! When I'm done here, then go reread it. ;) Reviews tell me what you like --- and don't like.
:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life