The Dream
Chapter 15: A Paper Bag
Vaughn sat at his desk, slowly twirling his coin in his fingers, watching as the light reflected off of it and danced around the room. He put the coin down, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead.
He was tired; he didn't get much sleep last night, or the night before. Come to think of it, he couldn't remember the last time he had actually slept through the night.
Vaughn sighed. What was he, a newborn? He recalled with a smile what his mother would always say about him when the subject of children and babies came up at family gatherings: "My Michael was always such a good baby. He never had any trouble sleeping through the night." To this his aunts and uncles would always say something to the extent of, "How unusual!" or "Remarkable!"
Well, he might have actually slept through the night when he was a baby, but he was sure paying for it now.
It had been a few months, no, almost a year since he had left Sydney's house that night, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. He would never forget the tears in her eyes when he first saw her, and the way she had clung to him, sobbing. He would never forget the surprise and elation he felt when her lips came crashing against his. And he would never forget what happened after that.
He couldn't always be there for her, but he had been there then and that's what mattered. He had hated having to leave her; he still hated to do it. Every time he had to turn away from her and close the door between them, every time she walked away, the clicking of her heels becoming softer as the distance between them grew…
But the next time they would meet, when he listened with anticipation for her footsteps, almost forgetting to breathe when she came into view, her dazzling smile seeming to light up the darkened warehouse.
Those were the good days. The days she came to him smiling and he thanked God for allowing her to have some happiness in her life.
He never knew what to expect when she would come walking into the warehouse. Well, he didn't at first. Now, he had was able to predict her mood by listening to her footsteps as she walked in. Light and quick, and she would come to him smiling; heavy and determined, and she would appear with her face flushed and the anger still smoldering in her eyes; slow and dragging, and there would be sadness and tears.
He could read her eyes too, but only if she let him. Sometimes, she didn't want him to worry and wouldn't show him how she truly felt. It just seemed more fitting that he could tell her emotions by listening to her walk; she always had to walk toward or away from him.
Most of the time he was ready for her. Her footsteps prepared him, and he would know whether he should have his arms outstretched and the tissues ready, or he should pull her in close for the breathtaking kiss that he knew would melt away her anger.
But sometimes, she would surprise him; she was unpredictable.
Once, Vaughn had been ready to dry her tears, but she appeared with a smile. "Did you have a nice day," he had asked.
"No," she had answered, stopping a few feet away from him.
He had been about to ask her why she was smiling, when she ran forward and threw her arms around him.
"But it just got a lot better," she had whispered in his ear, and then she had kissed him.
They usually tried to put business before pleasure, talk and get the counter-mission out of the way. But sometimes pleasure came first.
At least it did at the warehouse, where he usually tried to meet her now. They both liked it better that way. Sometimes it was unavoidable, and to avert suspicion he would find himself sitting near her on a bench in a park, or browsing through the books at the library, voice low, and eyes always cast downward.
She never asked him not to arrange meetings like that; she never said anything, never complained. But he knew that she hated it, not being able to look into his eyes. He hated it too, but he didn't care about himself; he only cared about her.
He wouldn't arrange those secret, public briefings at all if he could have helped it, but he knew that the more she went to the warehouse, the more likely she was to be caught. He didn't want to think about what SD-6 might do to her if they caught her, so he dealt with those few moments of not being able to look at her, not being able to touch her. He met her outside of the warehouse, he gave her the counter-mission, and he waited until he could see her again.
He had become very good at waiting, and Sydney made it all worth it. He was still so much in love with her that it hurt. There were times when she would approach him and he wouldn't be able to think straight; he was in awe of her. She was the reason he couldn't sleep at night. But it was worth it to lie awake, thinking about her. He worried about her every time she went on a mission, but he even worried when she was in LA. Anything could happen to her, even while she was just at home, and he wouldn't be there to help her.
He wanted to be able to be her knight in shining armor and sweep her off her feet and away from wherever the danger was; he wanted to protect her from anything and everything. But in order to do that, he had to be able to see her for more than a couple of hours a few times a week. And it was that thought, more than lack of sleep that was making him absentmindedly twirl his coin. He had held and examined and spun the damn thing so many times, he was surprised that it hadn't melted.
Vaughn put the coin down and sighed, glancing at the clock in his office. It was 5:01, two minutes since he had last looked. He wondered if Sydney had gotten an assignment today from SD-6. He hadn't seen her for almost five days and he didn't think he could take it for much longer.
He wanted her to go on a mission because that meant he would be entitled to at least two meetings with her, and probably more if he could think of a good enough excuse. But he also didn't want her to go. He felt like every time he gave her a counter-mission, he was sending her off to her death, but he never thought of asking her not to go. He could never do that because of what SD-6 might do to her, because of Danny…
"Hey, lover boy," a voice called.
Vaughn straightened up in his chair and looked towards the door. He hadn't even realized that Weiss had opened it and was standing in the doorway. He relaxed again and Weiss continued.
"I have a message from your girlfriend."
"I don't have a girlfriend," Vaughn replied flatly. He hated having to say that.
"You just looked like you were daydreaming about someone."
Before Vaughn could argue, Weiss stepped in his office and waved a crumpled paper bag in the air. "We just got this from Sydney. She's going to…"
Vaughn jumped out of his chair and sprang toward Weiss. "Give me that," he demanded, reaching for the bag.
"Whoa…" Weiss backed away, pulling the paper bag out of his reach. "Calm down, man. You know, I've never seen anyone get so excited over a paper bag. Are you sure she's not your girlfriend?"
Vaughn shot him a look and grabbed the bag. He quickly scanned the first few lines.
"She's going to Cairo again?" he asked without looking up.
"Yeah," Weiss answered, taking a step towards him. "They've scheduled a rendezvous with…"
"Shh!" Vaughn waved a hand at his friend. Weiss gave him a strange look, but he didn't notice.
Vaughn read the note twice before looking up at Weiss. "Are you sure this is the right bag?"
"You know, I don't know. I'm sure lots of people write on bags asking for counter-missions and then throw them away. Let me go ask if…" His sarcastic remark earned an icy stare from Vaughn, and Weiss trailed off and backed away again. "Yeah, it's the right bag."
"This isn't a joke?" Vaughn asked, waving the paper bag in his friend's face.
Weiss shook his head. "What's wrong?"
"Sydney says she's meeting with…"
"Fahim," Weiss interrupted. "I know, I read it already."
"Ahmed Fahim."
"Yeah, how many Fahim's do you think I know?…Ahmed Fahim. So?"
Vaughn thought back to that night almost a year ago, the night he would never forget.
~~~
"So, you think you found the guy?"
"I know I did."
"That's good. I know it may not seem like a lot, but that brings us one step closer to shutting down SD-6."
"He was a bastard."
"What?"
"The guy. He was a bastard, that's how I knew he was the one…He touched me. It was only my arm, but he was greasy and filthy and…"
~~~
Weiss cleared his throat, forcing Vaughn back to the present.
"She's met with him before, a year ago," he finally said.
"I know," Weiss responded. "And she had met with Hassan before she went to Cuba. What's the big deal?"
"I don't know…She just didn't seem to like him much…"
"I don't think she liked Hassan much either. Him blowing that guy away probably didn't help much, but…"
"Forget it," Vaughn said with a sigh. He sat back down in his chair. "I have to think of a counter-mission, so if you don't have any ideas…" He motioned towards the door and picked up his coin again.
Weiss walked over to his desk and snatched the coin out of Vaughn's hand. "Okay, give me that damn thing. Did you even read past that guy's name?"
"Of course. Why?" Vaughn asked, reaching for the coin.
Weiss put it on the desk. "Leave it there," he commanded, and pointed to the paper bag. "Read that line again…There, second to last sentence."
Vaughn followed Weiss' finger and read the sentence.
And then he read it again.
How the hell could he have missed that?
A/N: Well, I hope you're still enjoying it. Don't worry, it should get more interesting in the next chapter or so. It's too hot to think too much; it should be illegal to have 95-degree weather in April. To all my reviewers: I still think you're great! Thanks so much and please keep it up.