Same stuff…

Chapter Genre: We're back to the fluffy humour.

This Chapter: Pillow talk, possible country-fleeing, the pool table is used for what it was built for, Vaughn gets hit in the head with a dart, a Syd/Weiss affair, and Activities Night

Suggested Soundtrack: "London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do)" by Heather Nova, "In This Diary" by the Ataris, "Life Got in the Way" by Sister Hazel, and "What's Simple is True" by Jewel

Author's Note: This was actually the chapter that inspired me to write the story, although it was very different back in the early stages of development. Back then, it focused more on the actual event, was a lot fluffier, and did not included three of the characters it does now. So I guess you can thank this lame function for spurring me on to actually write this story.

Seventeen Again

Chapter Ten: Activities Night

It was too perfect to disturb, too serene to ripple. Even though her eyes were closed and her mind was clouded with cobwebs from the previous night's dreams, she could feel that it would be a beautiful day. Through the open window above her head, she could hear robins chirping, squirrels and chipmunks scurrying, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and even the distant buzz of a lawnmower. She held her breath in awe of her surroundings, needing only one more thing to make it utterly complete.

And she got it.

The arms around her waist tightened possessively as Vaughn spooned her. "Open your eyes: I know you're awake. Nothing's going to disappear if you do."

She smiled and stretched against him, refusing to rub the sleep from her eyes. "How do you know it won't burst into flames or float away with the breeze?"

"Because I'm nowhere near that light."

She giggled and turned in his embrace, facing him before slowly peeling her eyelids apart. "'Morning."

He laughed shortly, leaning in for an Eskimo kiss. "Try again, hon. It's the afternoon. One twenty-seven to be exact," Vaughn added after peering over her at the digital bedside clock.

Scrambling out of his arms, she stabbed at her eyes and glared at the timepiece less than a foot from her face. "One twenty-seven? How could we sleep so late? We went to bed at eight o'clock! I missed an entire hour of crappy teenager-geared WB sitcoms that I could've been taking notes from!"

"Yeah, but we didn't go to sleep until eleven."

She blushed and dug her head into the crook of his neck, smiling into his skin. "I know, and that's still over fourteen hours of sleep! Now I see why teenagers nowadays spend half of the daylight hours in bed. Who in the world would voluntarily get up earlier than noon when they have to get up at five thirty almost every other morning?" Sighing melodramatically, Syd settled back on her pillow with Vaughn's arm under her shoulders. "What would my father say if he could see us now?"

"How about 'how the hell can she still be asleep when she knows we have things to discuss from yesterday?' 'Cause that's what he said when I told him that you were still conked out."

She sat bolt upright, the soft sheets pooling around her bare waist. "My father's here? NOW? Why the hell didn't you wake me up sooner?" Throwing him a careless jab, her fist landed on his stomach harder than she meant it to, causing him to sputter, gasp, and roll off the bed with a thump. "And never say 'conked out' again. Unless you're making fun of it. 'Cause then that's okay."

"Your dad is in the basement fitting the windows with tinted glass. He didn't want to wake you, thought I'm sure that he would have sacrificed your sleep cycle in exchange for beating the living crap out of me. Although I guess it didn't help that I answered the door."

"You answered the door?" She repeated, blinking stupidly. "Naked? Vaughn, are you sure I'm not talking to a ghost?"

He laughed as she leaned over the side of the bed to poke his chest repeatedly. "Are you kidding me? I may be getting paid to pretend I'm high as a kite, but I'm not stupid. I was wearing a bathrobe. That decided to grow a will of its own and fly open at the most inopportune moment. Needless to say, Jack Bristow can now exchange embarrassing Naked Vaughn stories at family gatherings and picnics."

"He saw Mini Vaughn?"

The large Vaughn groaned and rolled his eyes. "Do you have to call my penis Mini Vaughn? I do have feelings, you know. That hurts my ego, Syd. And his."

"Well, your ego could do with a beat-down. It's almost getting bigger than your real head."

"Wait a second. What are we talking about? I'm lost."

She paused. "I don't know. Sex? Beat-downs? I wouldn't be surprised if we combined the two and went the whips and chains route."

"Well, we don't have time because your father happens to be one floor below us. I have no idea why he's really here, and frankly I don't have the courage to find out by myself. That would require you, my dear, to get out of bed. And put clothes on; you don't want to make the same mistake I did."

"No!" She groaned loudly, collapsing back onto the pillows like a dead fish. "I'm tired and comfortable and I don't want to move!"

"Just think of it this way," Vaughn suggested, pulling himself onto his knees and resting his chin on his folded hands at the edge of the mattress, "the sooner we get him out of here, the sooner we can return to more pleasant activities."

Syd's face lit up. "You mean we can continue our on-line cooking tutorial! Because we really need it. And I'm really hungry."

Vaughn swatted playfully at her arm as he rose. She noted for the first time that he was wearing those ever-present baggy jeans, riding dangerously low on his hips, but denying her a view because of the plaid boxers underneath. Passively, she wondered if he secretly liked them, if he would gladly trade in his trademark suit and tie for the more 'hip' attire. But her thoughts were jolted from her brain by a pillow colliding with her head. "Get dressed already! I'm in enough trouble as it is without Jack thinking that we're having sex while he's on the same block."

"Yeah, he just might think we're human."

"You are human. In his eyes, I'm just another Joe Shmoe who's trying to steal his daughter. And I don't want to enhance the perception of the Evil Boyfriend."

"Oh, he won't hurt you," She scoffed, digging out a random outfit form her drawers. "Much. Okay, so he'll rip you member from member and probably enjoy burying your parts around the globe. But until then, we can have hot monkey jungle sex, right?"

"Whatever. Just get dressed so that I live to do that later, okay?"

"Fine. Ruin my fun. You know, you're cute when my dad yells at you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well, then that makes it all bearable."

"Was that sarcastic?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Jack's real purpose for being there became instantly obvious as the couple trooped down the stairs into the unfinished and cluttered basement. As Vaughn had said, the windows were blacked out with an unknown material, and now the eldest agent was clearing a small space on the previously untouched tool bench.

"Hey Dad," Sydney greeted, bouncing lightly down the stairs in front of a very cautious Vaughn. "What are you doing? Can I help you with anything?"

The senior Bristow glanced up distractedly as he searched for an outlet on the wall behind the bench. "Marshall wanted me to tell you that he'd be happy to do your math homework, Sydney. I trust that Agent Vaughn has already sent him his work as well." It was a statement and not a question, but Vaughn nodded shortly all the same.

Sydney stared between the two men in confusion. "But that doesn't make sense. If Vaughn comes to school with his homework done, it'll subtract from his cover." She could not help but remember just yesterday when she had turned a blind eye to everything even remotely connected to her boyfriend's cover. "And I don't think Marshall is capable of doing anything wrong; even on purpose."

The man next to her smiled smugly. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I gave him the wrong assignment, so even if he does them correctly, they'll still be way off the mark."

"You're a genius, dear," She said, adopting an English accent as she wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him.

He remained unresponsive, probably out of fear; Jack was glaring at him with a large hammer poised at his side. Only when the latter returned to shuffling tools about did Vaughn feel it was safe to start breathing again.

Mr. Bristow hefted a large, rusted toolbox from the dirty cement floor and beckoned them closer. Lifting the lid, he revealed a mundane removable tray of tools, which he flipped over into the lid. On the underside was a small computer screen with a matching keyboard implanted into the bottom of the box. "This is to monitor the cameras you were supplied with in L.A. It can recall images from any of your covert appliances. All you have to do is type in its serial number and your ID." Doing just that, Jack pulled up the image of what was clearly one of the science classrooms at the school.

Sydney stared at the small green-tinted screen with her patented Look of Bewilderment. "But I didn't plant any cameras in the science wing."

Her father's face remained unreadable as he tilted his head ever so slightly. "I know. I did. Your cameras have both been disabled: the mint was stepped on and the lipstick camera is covered in chewing gum. This is a live feed from Mrs. Parks's room."

Vaughn and Syd did not bother to conceal their exchanged looks of pure fear. She instinctively stepped between her father and her boyfriend, stationing her feet shoulder-width apart in a balanced fighting stance. Somehow she kept her voice even as she inquired, "When did you plant this camera?"

"Monday."

"It's been recording ever since?"

"Yes."

"And you can pull up any time frame you want?"

"Correct."

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" His daughter asked, a fake smile denying the appearance of her dimples. She turned to Vaughn, her fingers tightly gripping his forearms and whispered, "Run. I'll hold him off as long as I can. Canada is that way." Flicking her eyes northwards, her smile morphed into a real grin. "Just get a hotel room in Toronto and I'll find you. Now run!"

And he did: up the stairs and out the door, but only drove as far north as Weiss's house, who merely promised to give away all of his best friend's secrets if Jack Bristow showed up on his doorstep with anything remotely resembling a gun or hypodermic needle.

"Michael, what do you want to do?"

"Je ne sais pas. Qu'est-ce que tu veux faire, Jane?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do, Anne?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do, Greg?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do, Michael?"

Sydney felt like screaming. The four of them had been carrying on as such for the majority of the hour in the basement of Weiss's house (his parents were "out"); they only broke off when a good song played on the radio. Vaughn was slaughtering Syd in their game of pool, and Weiss and Anne were haphazardly shooting darts. Most of hers were missing the board completely, bouncing off the tagboard behind it with a dull thwang. Their circular conversation simmered out as each pair concentrated on their respective sport, but a different tangent bubbled up when one of Anne's darts whizzed past Sydney's head and hit the concrete wall behind her.

The senior made a noise of frustration as she stormed over to retrieve it. "Can you believe I used to play softball? And I was really good, too? Sheesh. I can throw a twelve-inch softball over a hundred feet but a little itty-bitty dart? Yeah, no. Your turn Greg. Although I should just surrender now: I suck too much."

"You play softball?" Weiss repeated with mild interest. "I play baseball. What position?"

"Played," She corrected slowly, drawing out the word as she tapped her foot impatiently. "I quit after freshman year But when I did play, I was a three-time all star catcher. Got the trophies and certificates to prove it."

Syd could sense her reluctance about the subject but her curiosity got the better of her. And anyways, she had nothing better to think about; Vaughn was kicking her ass in their third straight game. "Why'd you quit if you were so good?"

A shadow passed over her friend's face, clouding her usually effervescent personality, and she nervously fidgeted with the black dart she was holding. "The girls. And the coaches, but it was mostly the girls. A bunch of bloated bitches with the combined brains of a squirrel. Their hobbies consisted off excluding people who didn't look like them, and they had a habit of spreading nasty rumors about them, too. Just a little hint: stay away from Dana Hansen, Kerri Jones, Lara Andropov, and Charlotte Kohn." Suddenly a staged smile rolled over her lips, its power of deception worthy of Sydney's praise. "But I haven't let my school experience ruin the entire sport. I'm still a baseball fanatic. And now it's time for the true test of character." Syd almost cringed, but noticed that her friend's smile had turned genuine. "Cubs or Sox?"

All three of them blanched. The seriousness of the question threw them off-guard; it seemed as if the girl had asked their opinion on affirmative action rather than their favourite baseball team. Weiss was the first one to recover. "Who's your favourite?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms. "Nope. Nice try, but you can't do that. Answer the question."

With joy, Sydney recalled an earlier conversation on this subject and blinked their unified answer to them in hasty Morse code. Simultaneously they answered, "Cubs."

Anne heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Good, 'cause otherwise I wouldn't be able to be friends with you guys."

The other female laughed as she lined up her pool cue to take a shot. "So what are you doing instead of softball?"

And there was that cloud again. "I do drama. Forensics and the three plays, mostly. You all should join! The forensics team is always looking for new members! You can sign up at Activities Night. Y'all are goin' to that, right?"

Vaughn nodded slowly as he watched the cue ball glide effortlessly into the corner pocket at his hip. Spitting out a few choice slang words at Syd in French, he dug out the ball and smiled slyly at her. She blatantly pointed at her boyfriend, and a dart came sailing out of nowhere and hit him square in the back of his head; this sent the girls into peals of laughter.

"Guess I still have some of those mad skills," Anne choked out between giggles.

Weiss forced a smile but dropped his darts onto the pool table, obstructing his friend's next shot. "You know what? I'm hungry."

Vaughn rolled his eyes. "Aren't you always?"

Anne seized the opportunity. "Sweet! Let's go! Okay, we have Scooby's, Tony's, or John's."

"What's the difference?" Weiss inquired, his interest obviously piqued.

"Scooby's has the fries and shakes; Tony's is known for their hot dogs; and John's is just expensive."

"John's it is! And everything's on Anne!"

"Like hell it is! You're the one with half a freakin' Best Buy in your basement. You can afford two medium pizzas and some pop."

"Damn you Illinois girls. Everyone thinks I'm made of money."

"It's a silent 's', hon."

"Shut up and get in the damn car."

Tuesday after school, Sydney pulled into her driveway and locked her car with a sigh. In just a few hours would be Activities Night and she resented going with a fiery passion; she had homework in every subject that could assign it, and even though Marshall had their math covered, the rest would take a good three hours or more. Cursing her father and his incessant lab write-ups, she began digging in her purse while balancing her belongings on her knee, but when she tried the doorknob it was open.

An intense feeling of unease overtook her as she quietly placed her things on the ledge, the metal keys even deciding to cooperate without a fight. A cabinet door banged closed in the kitchen, and Syd instinctively wrapped her fingers around her largest book: Pre Calculus. Wielding it as she would a real weapon, she crept through the family room and paused before she passed into plain view. Sydney took in a sharp breath as another cabinet door opened and banged shut, and she rounded the corner with a threatening yell.

"Calm yourself, Bristow. It's just me."

The book dropped to the floor with an echoing thump as her hands balled themselves into fists. "Weiss? What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?"

"One at a time, Miss I Like to Bash Friends' Heads in With My Math Book." Weiss stood in front of the sink with an empty plate in his hand, an equally empty glass next to him on the counter, and a bemused expression slapped across his face.

Syd groaned, plucking the book from the tiled floor only to toss it heavily onto the counter. "What are you doing?"

He slid the plate next to the cup and leaned against the counter. "I can't do this anymore! If this goes on for one more day, I swear I will shoot myself in the foot."

"What, your involuntary sex fast? Is that what you were looking for in my cabinets: leggy blonde prostitutes?"

"No," He denied, almost a little too fervently. Gesturing towards the empty utensils he continued, "This! I hate having lunch eighth hour! Did you know that's around twelve thirty? I mean, yeah, we used to take lunch around that time in LA, but we also didn't get up before the crack of dawn to get to school! I'm so hungry, Syd!"

She stared at him in disbelief with her arms folded solidly over her chest. "So this is the reason you scare the freakin' crap out of me: to complain about your lunch hour being too late? Oh, and to steal my food, even though you ate only at about two and a half hours ago? You know I can't cook! And you live closer to Vaughn; why didn't you go and bug him?"

"I know, but I figured you'd be better at it than Mike. I mean, he was the one who set the eggs on fire, not you."

"Yeah, I guess you're — hey!" She cut herself off, knotting her eyebrows in consternation. "How'd you know about that?"

Weiss sneered. "Oh come on! I'm his best friend; don't you think he tells me that sort of thing?"

"No."

"You're right; I guessed. So sue me!"

"If this were Los Angeles, I would."

"Well, it's a good thing that it's not, then." He reclaimed the plate and glass and held them out to her, his lower lip jutting out pitifully. "Food? Please?"

"God, you're pathetic," She gave in, taking the objects and motioning for him to take a seat at the table. "Sandwich okay? That can't explode or spontaneously combust. So how did you get in here?"

"Whoa! Random much?" He commented, flipping through the mail from the day before that was still on the table.

She slammed the refrigerator door closed and rolled her eyes. "Answer the question."

"I walked. And do you know how incredibly easy it is to pick your locks?"

"Are you kidding me? You broke into my house to persuade me to cook for you, even though I can't cook to save my life?"

"I'd say you've got the gist of it."

"I hate you so much."

"Hey Syd! I'm home!" A new voice joined their conversation as the front storm door banged shut. Vaughn's keys clattered onto the ledge and the sound of his shoes dropping to the floor was also audible. "We've got four hours; that's at least eight rounds, a little less if you want to do some homework. Or actually take a shower. Or have the time to even breathe " The new arrival trailed off into silence as he saw Weiss seated at the kitchen table, head peeking over the top of Sydney's math book and shaking from suppressed laughter. "Hello," He said slowly, brow furrowing as his friend's eyes started to water. "Sydney is here, right? I didn't just make a complete fool of myself?"

"Oh yeah, you did," Syd replied, sliding a freshly made turkey sandwich and glass of lemonade in front of Eric before bounding over to Vaughn. "Hi honey. How was your day?"

Vaughn was still slightly befuddled. "How did he Why is he Huh?"

Syd struggled to suppress the urge to giggle shamelessly. "English, please?"

"Are you two having an affair? An extremely nasty, gross, and just plain wrong affair?"

"Yeah, that's right," Weiss answered, his mouth spewing crumbs all over his friend's kitchen table. "Me and her, buddy. She's hot for my sexy body."

"'I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby,'" Syd quoted flatly, shifting her focus back to her boyfriend. "So Four hours, you say? Eight rounds with homework? It'll be a challenge, but I'm sure you can manage it. And now if you'll excuse us, Weiss, my boyfriend and I are going to have sex. A lot of sex. Don't let the door hit your full, lazy ass on the way out."

"Can I keep the sandwich?"

"Um, yeah!"

"See ya."

About four hours later, a very sore Sydney hobbled into the Bishop Gym for Activities Night, the night where all the freshmen and new transfer students would learn about the various clubs that were available. The only person who decidedly had a stake in coming was Sydney; but on the persistent insistence of her father, the other two student/agents were persuaded to attend as well. The three had discussed the previous day that they would pull a Wal-Mart: half of the time they would utilize comm. links and the other half they would have a "three-way". ("We really need to stop calling it that." "Only you are perverted enough to think of it that way, Weiss.") In addition to her necklace, Sydney was also adorned in matching earrings, supplying a visual feed back to Base Camp (Jack's house), where her father, Marshall, and Dixon were going to counsel her on which activities she should choose.

She twisted the blue studs and fiddled with the familiar necklace to turn each of them on. The first sound she heard was her father reprimanding Marshall for apparently knocking something over. She ducked her head to disguise her laughter and gazed around the gym.

In contrast to earlier in the day, there were long lunch tables arranged in a square around the tall walls and bleachers. Blue signs peeked up over the heads of the parents and students milling around inside the pen. Clumps of people had formed at the bases of those signs, gathering leaflets as well as meeting the clubs' officers and administrative sponsors.

She started off with a station to her right, head angling upwards so that Base Camp knew where she was. When Syd was about to ask a question, a voice crackled in her earpiece. "Don't even bother; they meet after school on Fridays."

Masking her confusion, Syd instead thanked the boy who had paused in front of her. Walking away she whispered, "Weiss? Where are you? I can't see you."

A hand abruptly surged in and out of the air farther along the line of tables. "I'm holed up by the FBLA people. If I weren't such a jock, I'd think about joining. But then again Extra tests were never my thing."

"But they're Jane's," Sydney mused quietly, quickly jetting off from the first table. She bypassed the key club and math team, looked longingly at the science club, and found herself in front of the FBLA sign and plucking the flyer in front of its stalk. Skimming, she found it reasonably entertaining, and when Dixon's voice floated into her ear to tell her to go for it, she signed her name on the new member list. "So, where's Vaughn?" She asked when she was safely out of hearing range.

Weiss's tone was sopping with sarcasm. "What, you mean he's not wrapped around your little finger? Or glued to you in an inappropriate manner?" She blushed in spite of herself and he added, "I saw that."

"What? Where are you now?"

"Moving from French Club to Book Club."

Syd's heart almost burst with joy. She had never belonged to a real book club; the time was not available. But that had not stopped her for longing to join one, and this was her golden opportunity. "Score! Hook a sister up!"

A new, accented laugh barraged her eardrum as Vaughn joined their conversation. "You're a little too far gone, now, Syd. Teenage life has corrupted you already."

Weiss scoffed. "Like you care. Now she can talk dirty to you in bed."

"Eric! Her dad is listening! And when her dad is Jack Bristow, it doesn't bode well for the boyfriend."

"And you seem to be the only one who cares."

"No, actually I do too," She pointed out softly, adding a French club paper to her file. "If my father suddenly decides he no longer has a use for him, I'll no longer have a boyfriend to be in bed with."

"Yeah you will," Weiss replied as if stating the obvious.

Sydney's sigh of exasperation was muffled by her chest as she signed the new member list for the French club as well. "How, Weiss?"

"Hel-lo! Me!"

"Get over yourself, Eric. You're as cute as you are smart."

"Oh, come on Syd! That was a double burn!"

"Exactly. It's two-for-one day here at Sydney's Burn Emporium. Now shut up so I can sign up for something without half of the kids around staring at me."

Syd ended up promising to join FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America; Tuesday mornings), French club (Wednesday mornings), Book club (Thursday after school), and considered Forensics (just for Anne). At first, Syd was confused; she had been ready for another science-related organization, but instead had been presented with a team on which one competed in speech giving and acting. It piqued her interest, but her father asked her to hold off until he thought about it; the CIA might not want one of their agents competing in a event against high schoolers in which they might actually win or make a difference in. Before she left the high school, she threw Vaughn a lasting look across the parking lot, appealing to him with her eyes to accompany her home. He silently refused, and Sydney resignedly drove home, ready to spend the next four hours or so on her homework. She secretly hoped that it would not be this way all the time when Jane Porter finally sunk her teeth into the extra-curricular scene.

TBC . . .

Remember, everything I write has a purpose.

Chapter Eleven: Good Ole Days
Chapter Twelve: Any Given Friday

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me what you think: even if you think it was total and complete horsy doo-doo.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life