Barely Breathing

From Russia, Part I

© 2002

Rating: PG

Spoilers: basic stuff

Pairing: V/S, but not so much in this chapter

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.

-Vaughn's POV-

Tuesday. I wake up and instantly know that I will need two cups of coffee today instead of one. Memories of yesterday slam into me. Monday. Yesterday was the Mother of all Mondays. Yesterday was the Monday I kissed Sydney Bristow, on the lips. Yesterday was the Monday she kissed me back. Yesterday was the Monday I ruined everything. Which reminds me I have extra coffee to make.

What will I saw to her when I see her on Thursday? What can I say? I'm sorry? You're right? It was a mistake? But then I would be flat-out lying. I would be lying through my teeth, lying to her face. Because the truth is, I'm not sorry I kissed her. I'm not sorry I finally acted on months and months of lingering looks flung back and forth, caught in an endless cycle.

Okay, I admit, my timing wasn't the greatest. But the opportunity presented itself. And I took it. I took it in both hands and held on tight, because I knew I was going to get the ride of my life.

The water is slowly turning cold; I don't know how long I've been lost in my thoughts in the shower. Reluctantly, I turn the water off. I step out and get dressed for another day at work.

---

-Sydney's POV-

The ringing of a telephone disrupts my slumber, not to mention the delightful dream I am having of Vaughn. I groan out loud and turn over before finally surrendering to the persistence of the person on the line.

"Hello?" I ask groggily, trying to suppress a yawn.

"Ms. Jones, this is your six o'clock wake up call. Are you awake?"

Are you awake? What kind of question is that? I'm talking to you on the phone, aren't I? I flop back onto the bed, already knowing it's going to be a long day.

--

I drive up the steep road leading to Engle's villa, one of several located around the world.

Rounding a bend in the road, I am met with huge iron gates. I pull up to the intercom system. The blinking camera turns toward me. A voice comes on. They already know I'm here.

"May I help you?" It's a male voice.

"Oui, tell Monsieur Engle that Mademoiselle Clozier is here to see his collection. Sonia Clozier."

The next second, the gates swing open. I let out a small sigh of relief.

--

I walk into the lobby, feeling tense and strung tight like a spring. Instinctively, I smooth out the tight, white dress that fits me like a second skin. The silk material is so sheer I can feel the smallest breath through the fabric. I have on a short blond wig, cut in a fashionable European style. On my shoulder is a chic white bag bearing the name of an expensive French designer.

A handsome man comes up to greet me. I give him my most dazzling smile. He's young, and he smiles hesitantly in return. He's probably wondering if it is unprofessional to flirt with a client. A beautiful client. A beautiful, wealthy client. Obviously not, as his small grin blossoms into a huge smile, complete with straights rows of bleached white teeth. This seems almost too easy.

"Mademoiselle Clozier? I am Jean-Claude; I will be your guide today."

"Oui, mais where is Monsieur Engle?" I ask with a thick accent. "I was told that he would be here." I know perfectly well Engle is somewhere in the jungles of South America, but I feign ignorance. Engle does not know SD-6 gained knowledge of the location of the codes, which is probably why this villa is not heavily guarded. Engle likes his books, but there is nothing he can't replace here with the millions he is making a week.

Jean-Claude looks sheepish. "Monsieur Engle is currently out of the country," he says in flawless English. "But I would be delighted to show you around."

I throw him a smile, which he positively laps up. "D'accord. We must start; I have an important appointment at noon." I punctuate my sentence by pulling out my white compact and staring at my reflection for a full minute. I pout my full lips seductively while touching my shock of blond hair. Snapping the compact closed, I turn and give clueless Jean-Claude a playful wink. "Lead, I will follow."

He blushes to the tips of his ears. I resist the urge to laugh out loud. Instead, I follow him as he leads me up a winding staircase and into an enormous, three-story room. Shelves line the walls, extending from the floor to the ceiling. A huge, crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling in the middle of the room. There must be thousands of books in here.

"Excusez-moi," I interrupt just as Jean-Claude opens his mouth to speak. "Where is the little girl's room?"

He looks stunned for a moment, but quickly recovers. "Uh…oui, I will show you."

He leads me back down the staircase to a room on the right. Then he bows and exits, leaving me alone in a bathroom the size of my bedroom in Los Angeles. I lock the door behind me. Rushing to the sink, I bend down and attach a small explosive device to the wall covering the pipes. I set the timer to five minutes. I rush over to flush the toilet, and then proceed to wash my hands. Seconds later, I walk out of door, only to be greeted by a blushing Jean-Claude.

"Shall we?" I ask, giving him a sly smirk.