Your suspicions are confirmed: everything's the same!
Chapter Genre: (new feature!) Angst with a bit o' fluff at the end.
This Chapter: Suspicious!Syd, Druggie!Vaughn, and some not-so-new faces
Suggested Soundtrack: "What It's Like" by Everlast, "So Far Away" by Staind, "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies, and "Favorite" by Liz Phair
Author's Note: More than a week, twenty pages written, nine pages typed, a pen, and ten sore fingers later: here ya go.
Seventeen Again
Chapter Nine: Not-So-New Faces (One Week)
School started on August 25, and by the 29th Sydney was sick and tired of it. Despite the lack of homework on the first day, it appeared in full force on the second; she had something to do in almost every class. She sarcastically thanked the higher-ups at the CIA who designed her schedule as she cracked open her notebook to write a quick essay about what she did that summer. ('Hmm. Took down SD-6, a faction dealing in arms and espionage, was able to finally profess my feelings for my former handler, changed my identity, moved halfway across the countryoh, and I think I went swimming once or twice.') Apparently English teachers had not lost their touch when thinking up essay assignments.
Vaughn had offered to accompany her home both that Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday he merely left Syd at her locker with a lasting look and a nod. She was especially suspicious when he blew her off during their weekly after school band practice on Thursday night. Broaching the subject to Weiss, he told her to think nothing of it, that his friend was not stupid or desperate enough to be "digging" any of the high school girls he recently became acquainted with. Somehow Weiss's words were little comfort.
So it was a very irritable Syd who stormed into the school that first Friday morning of the school year. The four agents had agreed that their after school "tutoring sessions" would occur on Fridays: if the three younger agents had homework, it could be completed in the following two days; people cleared out of the school the fastest on the last day before the weekend (the hallways were deserted by three fifteen); Weiss had no football practice on Fridays. She was not even looking forward to that as she picked up her necessities for first period at her locker. No one was there waiting for her this time, and she could only speculate as to where they were. She had seen both of their cars in the front parking lot, so she knew that they woke up on time and were healthy.
Grunting in frustration, she slammed her locker door and trooped down the stairs to find Anne and her group of friends. One day during lunch, Anne offered to give morning asylum by her locker in Senior Hall. Sydney arrived to see that the "regulars" had already arrived: both Katie/Caty, Summer, Jill Davies, Linda Schlesinger, Bridget Carter (from French 1), and others who she did not have time to remember because something piqued her interest
Vaughn was there, leaning against the white lockers with an American History book cracked open in his lap. Anne was leaning over and poking at it here and there with her index finger, probably trying her best to translate the complicated English words. As soon as she saw Syd poised in the middle of the hallway, she jabbed Vaughn in his side and scooted over to join the rest of her friends. Syd only sighed and collapsed into the newly vacated spot, ignoring his very existence. Instead of greeting him, she pulled out her assignment notebook to look through the year. Despite the chaotic mess of numerous conversations going on around them, their lack of dialogue pressed in on her until she was almost claustrophobic.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, the fact that someone was speaking registered. "I've been looking for you guys everywhere. Where the hell have you been?" Glancing up, she realized it was Weiss and Joe Hall, both carrying large boxes. He sat down Indian-style at the end of their outstretched legs and offered his box to them. "Donuts? They're really good: something called Krispy Kremes?" At this, the rest of the group attacked Joe, leaving him with only a cup of steaming coffee in his right hand.
Eric turned to Sydney, offering her a steaming Styrofoam cup as well. "You need to lighten up on him." He nodded towards Vaughn, whose eyes suddenly darted back down to his book. "He's only doing his job. Plus, he told me about your immense lack of cooking skills and even gave me money so that we could get you a proper breakfast this morning."
"You call this a proper breakfast?"
"Well, it's better than cereal bars and soda."
"Pop!" Everyone yelled from the group to his right. Anne expanded, "It's pop. Not soda, not Coke. Pop. Like the music or the sound that you make when you stick a plunger on the floor and pull it up quickly."
Weiss just blinked at her, and she returned to her previous conversation. "Anyways," He segued, narrowing his eyes and throwing Anne a strange look, "my point is, don't be too hard on the guy. He knows what he's doing." Giving him a long sideways glance, Weiss reached over and ruffled Vaughn's hair, earning a grunt and a swat, but also a smile.
Vaughn then looked up into Syd's face, knowing that she could read his soul through his eyes. They began a silent conversation.
'What the hell have you been doing?'
'You have to trust me. Just like before.'
'Is trust going to become an issue again? Will you ever tell me everything that's going on in your head? I know I tell you.'
'Justwait. You'll see. It's nothing bad, I swear. You just have to—'
'Trust you. I know. And I do. But if you screw me over, you'll be facin' a lot more than a bloody murder from my father. I don't know if I could ever forgive you.'
Anne's loud voice broke their telepathic connection. "So what are y'all doin' this weekend? I hear Bridget Geraghty is having a Happy School Year party or something. Are you going?"
Syd quickly shook her head and smiled sweetly, her dimples blaring. "No. I have to study. Plus, I don't think my parents would appreciate me going to a party hosted by someone I don't even know." During her real high school career, she told many fibs like this to get out of parties or dances when in reality she was just too scared to go.
But Anne saw right through this. "Yeah right. That's bullshit. You're just gonna hook up with Michael and not tell me. Don't even try to deny it," She added, seeing both of them lean forward to glare at her dangerously. "So I'm right in guessing that Michael is unavailable for the weekend. What about you, Greg? What're you doin'?"
Eric remained unfazed. "Football," He grunted in response, devoid of all emotion. "All freakin' weekend. Yay."
"Ha, ha!" Sydney suddenly laughed, a smile cracking upon her lips. "That rhymed! Freakin' weekend "
"You're done," More than one voice announced almost automatically and without glancing up.
Anne was unable to contain her laughter, and the four of them conversed until the bell rang, signaling the mad dash for first hour. But before she left to walk about a hundred feet to the door of her English classroom, Vaughn's hand appeared on her shoulder and stopped her. He hugged Sydney so fiercely that Anne blushed and turned away. Bringing her ear close to his mouth he whispered in the lowest voice he could muster, "I'll explain everything at the debrief. Don't worry. You're so beautiful."
Syd's heart melted immediately; she could no sooner be mad at him than stop breathing. But all she could do was touch a feathery-light kiss upon his cheek as the warning bell rang and they sprinted off in opposite directions.
Their English class was getting their first reading assignment of the year, and despite how desperately she wanted to hide it, she was excited beyond belief. As the two females slid into their seats, twin copies of a thick book were waiting for them.
"War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy's most famous work," Mr. Tressaut announced, brandishing a weathered copy for them to behold. "A story of fate and war set during one of Russia's hardest times. I hope all of you enjoy reading this as much as I did."
It was all Sydney could do to keep from laughing.
'It's long. Like, Tolstoy-long.'
She HAD to tell Vaughn!
It would be a crime to not tell him.
It also reminded her of the beat-up edition that sat on the metal desk in her mother's cell. This thought brought down the bubbly laughter that had risen in her throat. Now that she thought about it, there was a part of her that missed her mother, missed absolutely everyone who she had ever known: Francie, Will, Dixon and his family, even Marshall
Anne noticed Syd's fleeting look of whistfulness and mistook it to mean her friend was unhappy with their actual reading material. "Don't worry, you'll muddle through this somehow. I could practically dictate half the damn book to you right now." Upon seeing Syd's eyebrows knot in confusion she added, "I read this in my sophomore year; it was the book I chose as my prize for winning the best sophomore writing contest. I was hoping we would read Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky or Les Miserables by Hugo first: I just started them at home."
This confused Sydney more than it aided her, and all she could do was stare.
First hour passed eventually, and she parted with Anne at the doors of the music department to reluctantly wait for Vaughn. She still held onto the grudge much like Weiss had on their first day. Leaning against the cinder block wall, she folded her arms across her chest and waited. And waited. And waited some more. The warning bell came and went and Vaughn still declined to make an appearance. Throwing her arms into the air in exasperation, she stormed through the music department — and past a very confused Weiss — to grab her instrument and flip folder from the closet.
He showed up halfway through the hour, slipping through the door by the drum line during the middle of "Battle Hymn" while wiping his nose and rubbing his eyes. Even from her seat across the room, Syd could tell that his eyes were bloodshot. There was the soft clap of wood on wood as the door behind her closed. Olivia Tamme slid into her usual seat next to the computer and under the clock. Syd could smell the stench of cannabis that permeated the air around the girl, and it was stronger than usual. Her eyes were also a darker shade of pink than normal.
It did not take a person trained in the art of espionage to figure out what had transpired.
But that being said, Syd sincerely could not believe her eyes. Perhaps she had actually collapsed in front of her locker from sleep deprivation and this was all a dream. Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it? Vaughn would not be ditching class to get high with a child almost half his age.
Syd could feel his eyes on her as they ran through the halftime show yet again; the heat radiating from across the room stifling her and causing her fingers to stumble over themselves, her instrument no longer spouting practiced music but high-pitched squeaks and puffs of air. Anne shifted in her seat to look at the struggling musician with raised eyebrows. Sydney merely shook her head dismissively and adjusted the piccolo's head under the pretense of keeping it in tune. She would ignore Vaughn until he saw fit to tell her what the hell he was up to. She could be every bit as stubborn as he was, if not even more so: after all, she was the daughter of Irina Derevko and Jack Bristow, the two people who created and perfected stubbornness.
Second hour ended, and Syd hurriedly dragged Weiss down the hall by the collar of his Chicago Bears jersey; the last thing she wanted was a run-in with Vaughn while he might still be high as a kite. She only let go of her friend's clothing when they had reached the pool and the Lincoln ramp.
Weiss attempted to smooth out the wrinkled material as she stood next to the double doors, scoping the throngs of students for Vaughn. "What the hell was that for? If you were that rushed, I would have expected you to pull me into a closet somewhere and have your way with me. Although " He trailed off, his playful smile disappearing. "That's not the reason you dragged me here so fast, is it? Care to share? Come on, now, tell Uncle We — Greg what's wrong." She joined the flowing crowd and began storming up the ramp towards the outside walkway and he tried to follow, dodging shorter students that were walking slower than he wanted to go.
Losing sight of her for a time, he had almost written off Sydney's strange behavior as a particularly volatile case of PMS when he found her again waiting by the water fountain next to the guys' bathroom. She was taping her foot impatiently with her fists jammed into her hips. He sighed heavily but approached her all the same. Pretending to take a drink he asked quietly, "Does this have anything to do with Mike?"
She visibly bristled as the anger boiled up inside of her and overflowed in the form of hot tears, which she angrily swiped away with the back of her hand. "Tell your friend that if he ever wants to have a serious relationship with me, he will have to learn how to open his mouth once in a while. Tell your friend that the next time he speaks to me, he better come armed with an explanation, apology, and lots and lots of compliments." The warning bell rang and she stalked away down the hall to her French classroom and her third hour class, leaving her companion utterly bewildered.
The next time the two met, Sydney again practically pulled Eric by the ear down the ramps and, without even pretending to look for Vaughn, continued down the hallway towards Entrance C. She allowed her friend to split from her side in order to troop to the guys' locker room, and she continued on to her American History class amidst stormy clouds of persistent anger. As the warning bell rang she became aware of two things: the sound of her pseudo name swimming in a French accent floating over the din; and out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall male jumping over the heads of fellow classmates with one hand waving in the air and the other securing the waistband of his jeans. She merely turned into her room and sat in her assigned seat with her back to the door, willing the feelings his voice had awoken to return to hibernation.
American History bled into lunch, which bled into strength training. Sydney had no idea whether she had done, said, or learned anything in those two or so hours of school. What she did remember was the companionable silence that she shared with Anne during lunch: while Syd poked and prodded her home-made salad with her plastic fork, Anne buried her head in the aforementioned Les Miserables with an occasional nibble of a school-made vegetable tray. And while once in a while the latter would flick her eyes over the top of the paperback and open her mouth as if to say something, she did not. Sydney appreciated this more than words could say.
There was a sick, sinking feeling of dread laying like lead in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of passing period before ninth hour. But what about ninth hour itself? How could she spend an entire class hour ignoring the very man who sat barely a foot away from her? The very man who — only a week ago — she would have been content to lock in a closet and ravage at will? Who now she just wanted to beat him senseless and then lock him in that closet (alone) and throw away the key? Sadness and choler and tension were all vying for her attention, volleying her heart and brain in different directions. They congealed to form a solid block of angst that was immovably fixed inside of her.
She finally decided that she would simply switch seats with Weiss more than doubling the distance between her and Vaughn, and try to freeze him out of her consciousness. Besides, the gregarious Mr. Tull would not mind if his best student traded seats for just one day. Her performance might even improve
So when the bell rang to signal the end of eighth hour, Syd darted out of the locker room with a firm grip on her books and purse, ignoring both men waiting for her just around the corner. Vaughn had been slouching against a brick pillar but Weiss had been ready for an apoplectic Sydney and was off and running, towing his friend behind him.
"Jane! Jane! Goddamn it, would you just slow down!" After she climbed the stairs she stopped dead in her tracks, causing the students behind her to topple down the stairs like dominoes, cursing her in both English and Spanish. The other undercover agents waded through the swamp of teens, books, and papers but when they reached the top of the stairs, she took off again at full speed, her arms swinging in an attempt to propel herself further. Weiss just sighed and hurried after her, a disinterested Vaughn forcibly trailing behind.
She stormed into the classroom and took Eric's seat in the back, the door slowly drifting to a close with a click as she slammed her books on the table. Rubbing her temples and closing her eyes, she began to meditate and finally relax for the first time in days — the silence provided by the lack of students was definitely a plus. But Syd's tenuous grip on sanity broke with the soft clearing of a throat from the front of the room. Sydney reluctantly opened her eyes, the fluorescent light reaching around her eyeballs to her brain and embedding its irritating nature into her frontal lobe.
The image of her father's head stretched over the top of his monitor swam into her vision. A look of passive concern settled on his façade behind the blue-green glare from the computer screen. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively but kept his voice even. "After school, Miss Porter?"
"Yes sir," She answered, and almost immediately her classmates began filing in, the final bell beeping loud and clear; apparently while she had been "meditating" the warning had tolled without her knowledge. Weiss and Vaughn were included in the middle of the pack, arguing animatedly with each other until they caught sight of the visibly distraught Syd.
Eric made his way over first, and instead of simply sliding into the middle chair, he claimed Vaughn's seat on the end. This prompted copious amounts of tugging, prodding, poking, and stage-whispered curses. Vaughn eventually shoved Weiss onto the middle seat as well, causing him to be off balance and giving Vaughn the opportunity to reclaim his chosen seat. Weiss had subsequently tumbled to the floor, but he rose quickly and dusted himself off with only a moderate amount of swearing.
Jack hastily called the class to order, rising from his computer to extract a stack of stapled lab packets from his desk and began passing them out. Sydney passively noticed that he was not wearing a sweater vest; instead he was clad in a grey Glenfield sweatshirt with a wildcat logo over his heart concealing a white turtleneck and a pair of jeans that looked like the last time they saw daylight was the day her bought them. "Our lab today has to do with certain chemicals and their reactions with heat. Lab write-ups are due Monday at the beginning of class. Bunsen burners and chemicals are at your stations. Oh, and Mr. Hund," He added to a portly, rowdy junior, "please try not to completely melt your pencil this time." The rest of the class snickered as they rose and gravitated to their lab stations situated along the walls.
Without moving his head, Eric glanced from agent to agent as if to gauge their reactions. Sydney merely extracted a pencil from her purse, grabbed her packet, and headed to the section of counter directly behind them to get started. While she set up their experiment, she heard Weiss and Vaughn having another muted squabble and finally the scraping of their chairs as they rose to join her.
She savagely twisted the Bunsen burner onto the nozzle of the gas jet and turned the handle, but when she went to strike a match to light it, Eric wrestled the fire lighter away form her with an untrusting look. Frowning deeply, she returned to the chemicals. Syd was beginning to detest the silence, but she sure as hell would not be the one to break it. Weiss seemed a little more eager to strike up a conversation while he struggled with the old match. "So how 'bout this weather we're having? It's such a beautiful day; I can't seem to remember what a cloud looks like."
"Greg, there are no windows in this room. And I haven't seen daylight since third hour, so I wouldn't know."
He sighed heavily; his attempt at friendliness utterly shot down. Finally igniting the gas, Eric began looking at his partners expectantly, waiting for one of them to tell him what to do. Instead, when his eyes alighted upon Vaughn, his friend grumbled in a low French accent, "Do not let your friend treat you like that. In France, we would have taught her more respect. Tell her that we can substitute her for someone less touchy."
Weiss turned back to Sydney with an enlightened look lighting up his eyes despite the rage and indignation that filled her own. "Hey, that reminds me, you'll never guess who walked into my four/five math class this morning—"
"Tell your friend," Syd commanded through dangerously gritted teeth, "that if he doesn't shut up and pass the phosphorus in two seconds, he'll be substituting rolled up socks for his balls!"
"Whoa! Retract the claws, Cat Woman!" Eric replied for his friend who, despite the nasty dig, looked quite unfazed, even bored. "Violence is not the answer."
"Damn right. It's the solution."
"Miss Porter!" Mr. Tull called over the class's din. Talk stopped immediately, and all eyes snapped to the tall brunette who was staring back at her teacher with her jaw slackened in shock. Mr. Tull was waving a blue dean's slip at her with an uneasy-looking student standing near the door. They had been so wrapped up in their anger that they had not heard the student assistant enter. "Miss Porter, they request your presence down in the dean's office." The paper wagged again, and she pushed past her fellow agents and walked down the centre aisle, the glares of every student burning into her from three sides. She took the paper without a word and followed the student assistant out of the room.
'What could I have possibly done to earn a dean's referral?' She asked herself, positively livid as she stomped down the stairs to the first floor, parting with the assistant. 'Vaughn's been the one breaking all the rules! I'm Miss Goody-Fucking-Two-Shoes! If either of them planted something on me just for a laugh, I will have absolutely no misgivings about killing them both in the most painful way possible.' She did not bother to avoid the security guard outside of Commons, but forgot to flash the tall African-American man her pass, causing him to call out to her. Turning around and fuming, she was ready to damn the consequences and curse him out when a not-so-new face floated into her field of vision.
"Dixon?"
Fellow CIA agent Marcus Dixon smiled back at her with a friendly and bemused grin. "And where are you going in such a hurry, Miss Porter?"
"The dean's office?" She replied slowly, the pass that had been all but forgotten still dangling from her fingers. Five seconds ago Sydney had been angry at the world and now Now one of her closest friends was standing in front of her in black slacks, a white shirt, blue uniform sweater vest ('I guess they're infectious'), and wielding a walkie-talkie. Her brain had completely shut down like an overloaded computer, plunging the rest of her senses into complete chaos. For now, the small part of her mind that was still functioning decided, she would just go with the flow.
Dixon nodded mutely, but gestured in the opposite direction of her destination. "Right this way. Shall I escort you?" Syd shrugged in indifference, and he radioed for someone to take over for him in Commons. He led her down a rarely used hallway and guided her into a windowless classroom, using one of the numerous keys on his belt to unlock it. Then he revealed a non-descript ballpoint pen and uncapped it. "Just in case there are video cameras. We're free to talk now." He smiled widely at her look of mixed impatience, anger, confusion, and a hint of blankness (up by the patch of skin by her right ear); they combined to concoct a horribly ugly grimace. "It's okay. I'm not gonna bite you, Syd."
"What — what are you d-doing here?" Sydney stammered out as she slid into a desk in the front row. "I — I thought that it was only supposed to be me, Vaughn, and Dad on this mission. Then Weiss was added, and now you? Is there anyone else here, possibly posing as a janitor or something?"
"Well, actually—"
"I take it back. I don't want to know," She cut him off abruptly, running a hand over her tired face. "Just tell me what you are doing here. Please. Before I officially go insane."
Dixon laughed his deep, throaty chuckle and perched himself on the corner of the teacher's desk. "Trouble in paradise?" He asked with an eyebrow raised to chide her.
She groaned in response. "Don't remind me, Dixon. I hate the entire world right now."
"You sound like every teenager ever born, my daughter in particular." She looked up sharply and he rewarded her with a wink. "Don't worry, Syd, it'll get better. I promise. You've survived it once, remember? What's another time around?"
Syd scoffed, "Whoever said these were the best years of your life was on crack." She visibly winced at her word choice. "I mean, I've only been 'back' for a week; I have one hundred and seventy-three more school days to go. How the hell am I gonna survive them all?"
"It'll work out, Syd," He reiterated again. "Plus, the sooner we bust these guys, the sooner we all get out of here and back to the real bad guys."
She smiled gratefully at her older partner as she rested her head on her hand. "Which reminds me: you never told me why you're here."
He returned her grin as he realized that she had seen through his diversionary tactic. "I was scheduled to come in the first place. Do you really think that they would send only four agents to take down an entire Colombian drug ring, even if they included the two most famous doubles in history?" He asked rhetorically. She shook her head anyway, blushing slightly at the compliment. "But I have no idea why they didn't tell you. Kendall and Devlin probably just wanted to screw with everyone's heads all the way from the West Coast."
Suddenly looking at the timepiece on his wrist he jumped off of the desk. "You better be getting back to class. Here." He slid another blue pass out of his back pocket and handed it to her. It was almost identical to the pass still in her hand, but had both "in" and "out" times and was signed by Dead Arroyo himself. Chuckling at her confusion he commented, "Signature stamps killed the cat. Those things are so easy to counterfeit. I'm surprised more kids don't try doing it to get themselves out of class."
Syd rolled her eyes. "They probably do. Remember, I haven't been here that long; I don't know all of their ins and outs yet."
Smiling, he produced the same key as before and unlocked the door. "Your cover story is that Arroyo called you down to ask you how the first week was. He's a really nice man, so it's completely in character for him."
Pausing before she exited the room she inquired, "How did they hire you so quickly? Wouldn't they have to check your background and everything?"
"It was easy for a retired CIA agent to get such a cushy job." A wink, and he recapped the pen.
By the time she finally moseyed back into her classroom, everyone was done with the lab and she had to copy Weiss's sloppy results instead of Vaughn's surprisingly organized set: despite her amiable demeanor while talking with Dixon, she had not forgotten her indignation towards Vaughn. Ninth hour ended, and she parted with Weiss by offering a hug and small peck on the cheek, prompting an unobstructed look of confusion from Anne as she filed out of the classroom. Sydney sluggishly dragged her feet towards her tenth hour math classroom. Practically trailing her purse on the floor, she forced herself into the windowless classroom and took her seat at one of the desks with a discouraged sigh. Glancing around the room, she noticed Mr. Hassan was absent, and a foreign briefcase was perched precariously on a teetering stack of papers. Her brain began to buzz happily. 'Yay! A sub! Hopefully we'll just have to watch a movie and I can sleep all the way through it.'
Her gaze swept over the empty room and finally breezed past the front board. She swung her head back for a double take. Her eyes widened to an extremely painful size and she did not bother to check her volume as she exclaimed, "'Mr. Flinkman'? Marshall?"
"Yes?"
"Does someone want to explain what the hell is going on before my head explodes?" Sydney demanded, gripping the edge of a front lab table so tightly that her knuckles etiolated to white. She had somehow made it through math class — clinging to her last shred of sanity — with Marshall Flinkman as her substitute teacher, and even managed to giggle with the rest as he stuttered his way through the lesson plans. Now it was about fifteen minutes after school, almost every classroom Syd had seen was dark, and their "meeting" had just started. Much to Vaughn and Weiss's mutual surprise, Dixon and Marshall were ushered into the room by Syd and were now sitting at the lab table across the aisle.
Jack sat in his chair at the front of the room, facing the rest of them with his arms crossed over his chest much like he did during class. Gone was the funny, generous, nice Mr. Tull and in his place was the more familiar harsh stare of Jack Bristow. At the moment, that stare was focused on his daughter, sitting on top of the lab table with the other undercover students sitting in the chairs behind it.
Weiss peeked his head around Syd's back and added, "Yeah, I agree. Vaughn and I would also really like to know what's going on."
The eldest agent nodded placidly before replying. "Kendall contacted me this morning to say that two other agents would be joining us. I naturally assumed that they would be from the area, but this is a pleasant surprise. Welcome Marcus, Marshall." He nodded to each in turn, but before he could continue Marshall stood up.
Raising his arm in almost a half wave, half shaking hands with the air, he laughed nervously. "H-hey guys! I-I'm really glad t-to be here. I mean, it's my first real mission. You know, with the CIA, because that one we went on in London, Syd, wasn't really with the CIA 'cause we were still working for Sloane and SD-6 and it didn't really have a good outcome, what with me getting kidnapped and tortured and all. Not that you weren't great, Syd, 'cause you were; you were 'practically perfect in every way,'" He added, adopting an English accent. "But this'll be my first real mission, and I'm so excited! And to be working with you guys again ! By the way, how did the luggage work out for you on the plane ride? It didn't act up, did it? I programmed it to show your basic travel essentials: shoes, socks, shirts, pants, underwear, and bras for you, Syd, you know, 'cause you're a girl and you need that kind of thing—"
"Marshall!" Jack exclaimed in irritation. He proceeded to stare at the nervous techie until he hastily reclaimed his seat while Dixon and Syd shared a reassuring smile with him. Her father turned back to the group at large. "Your first full week has just been completed. Anything of note to report?"
Sydney shook her head. "I haven't signed up for any clubs, so I don't have anything to say, really. So far almost everyone I've met, though, is clean." She shot a look out of the corner of her eye at Vaughn, but he was still gazing fixedly at Jack.
Focus shifted to Weiss, who scoffed and sat back in his chair on two legs. "Are you kidding me? No one on this football team thinks they'll win even one game this season. They don't even try! Apparently this school hasn't been to the playoffs since before I was born, so if any of them are taking anything it's either stupid pills or just really defective. We have nothing to worry about with these guys."
"Still," Jack said, "I believe you should continue to monitor them. We don't know if there is an extremely dedicated athlete who will go to any lengths to enhance his performance." Weiss sniggered into his fist, earning warning glares from both Sydney and Vaughn.
The latter took over the conversation. "I've started my hazing for the Negro/Azul. I should know by Monday if I'm in or not. I'm pretty sure I've got it in the bag, though," He added, a cocky smile threatening a corner of his mouth.
Syd whipped her head around to face him. "Is that where you've been all week? Off with all the druggies?"
The silence that followed her pointed questions was filled with discomfort and tension. Vaughn's eyes flittered nervously about the room's occupants and finally came to rest on the senior Bristow; the younger agent's eyes filled with fear at the glare of warning that remained unbridled and unchecked. Dragging his eyes back to the only woman of the group he answered quietly, "I don't think this is the time or the place to discuss this, Syd, but yes. Now let's get on with the debriefing—"
"Then make it the time and the place, because we are discussing this NOW."
Vaughn showed his unease by indiscreetly tugging on his earlobe, and the ever-present wrinkles broke out over his forehead. She passively wondered if any other girl had seen those worry lines and instantly fell for him just like she had. "Uh "
"Here." From behind the desk, Jack tossed Vaughn his ring of keys, jangling as they sailed through the air and into the clutches of his long fingers. (Mr. Guter always threw the keys to the back closets to the drum line from his director's stand, so they all had to keep their eyes open and be a good catch.) "Mrs. Parks's room next door. You have twenty minutes. Go."
He led the way out of the room and about twenty feet down the deserted hall to the next large faux wood door. She waited impatiently for him to find the right key and unlock the door; she would have just questioned him in the hallway, but she had no idea who could be listening, and going into a classroom to "talk" seemed less conspicuous than cursing each other out in the corridor. The door finally clicked open, and Syd literally pushed him inside before flicking on the lights and shutting the heavy wood behind her.
Vaughn slammed the keys down on the desk at the front of the room, identical to Jack's except for its over-enthusiastic and colorful posters. "What the hell was that about, Sydney? Why are you acting like a child?"
"Excuse me?" She countered in disbelief, stepping closer to him. "I'm acting like a child? Look at you! Running around with your little gang-banging buddies "
"Again, what's the deal?"
"Okay, let's count them off shall we?" She replied sadistically with a hint of sarcasm and a condescending edge. "You blow me off after school Wednesday and Thursday, again during band Thursday night—"
"Is that all? You're angry because I haven't been paying enough attention to you?"
"—You blew me off before school, you come to band halfway through the period followed by Olivia Tamme and both of you are stoned—"
"You know full well that I was not really stoned, Syd!"
"—You're all bad-ass in Chemistry, and nowhere in here do you provide me with an explanation!"
"Oh, so you think you deserve an explanation?"
"Yes, I do."
"Syd, think about it!" He cried, a smile threatening to overtake his façade. "It's my cover! I need to get into one of these gangs so that this mission will be successful, even if it costs me some of my personal freedoms and pleasures." He moved to take her into his arms, but she turned her back on him and stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. Sighing, Vaughn cupped his hands around her shoulders and brought his lips next to her left ear. "I'm sorry I didn't clue you in, but I honestly thought you would figure it out. What didn't occur to me, though, was the fact that you might get jealous." She could practically hear his smile so she sniffed melodramatically, trying to convince herself as well as him that she was still angry with him. Vaughn merely nicked the soft shell of her ear with his tongue and whispered, "It's endearing. And don't try to pretend that my charm isn't working you over."
"Your smooth moves and sweet words do nothing to me " She trailed off absentmindedly, his lips latching on to her pulse and rendering her speechless. She turned around to face him and snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his own appendages found her hips. "Damn you for being so irresistible, Michael Vaughn. You'll get yours; just wait and see."
"As long as I get it from you."
"Lame, Mr. Vaughn, very lame. We're gonna have to work on your pick-up lines, dear."
"Why? I've already got you. Who else do I need?" Then their lips found each other and began a familiar dance known to every generation of lovers. Hands wandered and hips ground as they moved against one another; the couple fought hard and made up as such. Vaughn guided her back into a lab table and lifted her onto it, her thighs cradling his hips instinctively.
Before things could progress further, the door banged open and Weiss poked his head in, covering his eyes but peeking through the gaps between his fingers anyway. "Time's up. Man, even when you guys are fighting we can't leave you alone for more than two seconds. I've made it my personal prerogative to build you two a sex house—without windows, by the way. Oh, and I'm guessing you made up? Or would that be signified by you two humping like rabbits on a lab table?"
"Shut up, Weiss."
"Yes ma'am, as long as I don't have to be the messenger anymore. You two looked like you wanted to do more than just shoot me during Chem."
"Fine. Just leave us alone "
"But Jack wants you back now. And he's mad enough that he had to send his daughter and her boyfriend to another room unsupervised."
"Alright! Just tell him a lie You're a spy You'll come up with a good one."
"Jeez. You guys make me sick. Fine, I will. But if Jack kills me, I am so going to come back and haunt your horny asses."
"As long as you leave now."
"I'm already gone."
TBC . . .
Chapter Ten: Any Given Friday
Chapter Eleven: Good Ole Days
Remember when I said that it would move faster once they got to school? [laughs] Well, I lied. The next nine chapters will bring us up to right before Thanksgiving. This is going to be one frickin' long story…
Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this! Constructive criticism is always welcome!
:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life
