Barely Breathing
With Love, Part II
© 2002
Rating: PG
Spoilers: more what ifs
Pairing: V/S, it's Sydney's turn to vent
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Author's Note: Hello to everyone reading this story. If you read the last chapter, you probably know that I wasn't planning on posting this one until Friday. However, I felt especially prolific today, so I finished Chapter 10 early, and it's posted! Aren't you glad I lied yesterday? Oh, and this chapter is slightly longer. ^_^
Feedback would be so greatly appreciated. It's what keeps me writing! Enjoy!
-Sydney's POV-
I know driving this fast is dangerous, not to mention illegal. But I don't care right now. My meeting with Vaughn was supposed to be one hour ago. I wasn't there; I was home, blissfully unconscious in my soft bed. And now I'm speeding now the streets of Los Angeles, hoping, praying, that he's still at the warehouse.
I turn a sharp right. The car clock blinks 12:05.
Don't panic, I tell myself. Getting a speeding ticket will definitely not help the current situation.
The light ahead turns yellow. I jam the accelerator down hard with my foot, beating the red light just in time. I don't look back. The clock reads 12:07.
--
The warehouse is a twenty-minute drive, thirty tops in heavy traffic. I imagine Vaughn sitting on a crate in the cage, flipping through papers or reading a book. He's the patient kind. I see him in a white, starched shirt with a standard brown tie. His long legs, enclosed in brown slacks, are crossed at the ankles. He swings them impatiently, the only indication of inner turmoil encased in a calm, collected exterior. His jacket is off, slung carelessly over a crate in the corner.
I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if he looks up from time to time, looks up from what he's reading or doing. I wonder if he looks at his watch. I wonder if he sighs. I wonder if he paces. I wonder if he worries. I wonder if he cares.
Of course he cares. I've always known that.
But what will I say to him when I see him? I've already told him, quite forcefully, that the kiss was a mistake, one that can never be repeated. Is there anything else I can possibly say? Do we just casually revert back to our pre-kiss selves? I don't know if I can just walk in there, hand him the codes, sit and talk about my next mission, and then walk out like nothing has changed. In fact, I know I can't. So why pretend?
Because that's what I do: I pretend. It's my job to deceive and, disgustingly enough, I've actually grown used to it. It's too easy to lie, to make up some random story to explain any and every circumstance. I do it everyday to the people I love. And it's so ironic because I do it to protect them, not to hurt them like people usually think.
Okay, so maybe I'm trying to justify my actions just a little bit. But it's the God honest truth. I don't mean to hurt them. In fact, it's just the opposite. And that's not an excuse.
I'm trying to protect Vaughn. I'm trying to protect myself. I'm trying to protect the ones I love. Those are the reasons a relationship with my handler would never work. I'd be going against everything I've worked so hard to accomplish. No part of me can ever accept that, not even my heart.
--
It's 12:15. Traffic is agonizingly slow. The air conditioning is turned up on high because the heat outside is oppressive. The air is so sickly sweet. The soft, jazzy music flowing from my car speakers does nothing to assuage my frustration.
Maybe I should call. But what would that do? What would I say? I'm on my way? He probably knows that already. The bottom line is, I must see him today. He must brief me on my counter-mission before I leave for the Caribbean early tomorrow morning. They still don't know where Dixon is, and I'm so worried. What could have happened to him? It's like he just disappeared.
No SD-6 briefing this time. Sloane is coming with me on the mission. I can't risk not having backup. This gig is that important. Which is why I suspect Sloane is seeing it through personally. He's never done anything like this before. I don't think he's been on a field mission for over ten years.
If everything runs smoothly, I will have the information within a few hours of my arrival. I might even fly back the same day. A break would be nice for a change. I could seriously use a vacation for once.
But I know the mission will not run smoothly. The CIA will make sure of that. With the codes I give Vaughn today, CIA will have already accessed the vault by the time Sloane and I get there. SD-6 will get nothing. Well, maybe a useless scrap of paper or two, but certainly nothing worth knowing. Sloane will be mad, for sure, but my hands will be unmistakably clean. Spotless.
--
Three blocks from the warehouse, I notice the tail. Shit. The word escapes before I can even think. I've been too distracted to look for tails. Grimacing, I shake my head; I've been trained better than to do this.
The car is a rather dirty green color. Whoever it is follows closely and aggressively. I squint at my rearview mirror, trying to make out a face in the dark, foggy image. I can tell the driver is a man, one who is obviously inexperienced in the art of following people. In fact, he makes no attempt to conceal the fact he is tailing me almost bumper to bumper.
The inexperience throws me. No SD-6 agent in his right mind would follow so closely. K-Directorate would never be so careless, much less reckless. The CIA has no one tagging me; I'm on their side, after all. Besides, Vaughn can have me any time he wants, no use following me around the crowded city. Wait...did I just think that? Okay, bad choice of words. What I really meant to think is: Vaughn can meet with me anytime he likes, and he knows I'm entirely on his side. No. Correction. I'm on the CIA's side.
Either the driver isn't an agent of any kind, or he wants me to notice him. He wants me to notice because he's after me, and not information on where I'm going or whom I'm going to meet. Which makes the situation ten times worse.
I figure a confrontation now would be better than one later. I'm driving down a fairly busy street in a residential neighborhood. It's a hot, hazy Thursday, and sidewalk is dotted every several feet with either a dog or a child. A noisy conglomeration surrounds the ice cream truck parked down the street. A commotion here would not go unnoticed. I slow my car and pull up next to the sidewalk. The car behind me does the same. I mentally brace myself for the ensuing confrontation. A car door slams, and I flinch slightly. But I don't turn around. Instead, I direct a steady gaze forward, out the windshield. I wait.
With Love, Part II
© 2002
Rating: PG
Spoilers: more what ifs
Pairing: V/S, it's Sydney's turn to vent
Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me.
Author's Note: Hello to everyone reading this story. If you read the last chapter, you probably know that I wasn't planning on posting this one until Friday. However, I felt especially prolific today, so I finished Chapter 10 early, and it's posted! Aren't you glad I lied yesterday? Oh, and this chapter is slightly longer. ^_^
Feedback would be so greatly appreciated. It's what keeps me writing! Enjoy!
-Sydney's POV-
I know driving this fast is dangerous, not to mention illegal. But I don't care right now. My meeting with Vaughn was supposed to be one hour ago. I wasn't there; I was home, blissfully unconscious in my soft bed. And now I'm speeding now the streets of Los Angeles, hoping, praying, that he's still at the warehouse.
I turn a sharp right. The car clock blinks 12:05.
Don't panic, I tell myself. Getting a speeding ticket will definitely not help the current situation.
The light ahead turns yellow. I jam the accelerator down hard with my foot, beating the red light just in time. I don't look back. The clock reads 12:07.
--
The warehouse is a twenty-minute drive, thirty tops in heavy traffic. I imagine Vaughn sitting on a crate in the cage, flipping through papers or reading a book. He's the patient kind. I see him in a white, starched shirt with a standard brown tie. His long legs, enclosed in brown slacks, are crossed at the ankles. He swings them impatiently, the only indication of inner turmoil encased in a calm, collected exterior. His jacket is off, slung carelessly over a crate in the corner.
I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if he looks up from time to time, looks up from what he's reading or doing. I wonder if he looks at his watch. I wonder if he sighs. I wonder if he paces. I wonder if he worries. I wonder if he cares.
Of course he cares. I've always known that.
But what will I say to him when I see him? I've already told him, quite forcefully, that the kiss was a mistake, one that can never be repeated. Is there anything else I can possibly say? Do we just casually revert back to our pre-kiss selves? I don't know if I can just walk in there, hand him the codes, sit and talk about my next mission, and then walk out like nothing has changed. In fact, I know I can't. So why pretend?
Because that's what I do: I pretend. It's my job to deceive and, disgustingly enough, I've actually grown used to it. It's too easy to lie, to make up some random story to explain any and every circumstance. I do it everyday to the people I love. And it's so ironic because I do it to protect them, not to hurt them like people usually think.
Okay, so maybe I'm trying to justify my actions just a little bit. But it's the God honest truth. I don't mean to hurt them. In fact, it's just the opposite. And that's not an excuse.
I'm trying to protect Vaughn. I'm trying to protect myself. I'm trying to protect the ones I love. Those are the reasons a relationship with my handler would never work. I'd be going against everything I've worked so hard to accomplish. No part of me can ever accept that, not even my heart.
--
It's 12:15. Traffic is agonizingly slow. The air conditioning is turned up on high because the heat outside is oppressive. The air is so sickly sweet. The soft, jazzy music flowing from my car speakers does nothing to assuage my frustration.
Maybe I should call. But what would that do? What would I say? I'm on my way? He probably knows that already. The bottom line is, I must see him today. He must brief me on my counter-mission before I leave for the Caribbean early tomorrow morning. They still don't know where Dixon is, and I'm so worried. What could have happened to him? It's like he just disappeared.
No SD-6 briefing this time. Sloane is coming with me on the mission. I can't risk not having backup. This gig is that important. Which is why I suspect Sloane is seeing it through personally. He's never done anything like this before. I don't think he's been on a field mission for over ten years.
If everything runs smoothly, I will have the information within a few hours of my arrival. I might even fly back the same day. A break would be nice for a change. I could seriously use a vacation for once.
But I know the mission will not run smoothly. The CIA will make sure of that. With the codes I give Vaughn today, CIA will have already accessed the vault by the time Sloane and I get there. SD-6 will get nothing. Well, maybe a useless scrap of paper or two, but certainly nothing worth knowing. Sloane will be mad, for sure, but my hands will be unmistakably clean. Spotless.
--
Three blocks from the warehouse, I notice the tail. Shit. The word escapes before I can even think. I've been too distracted to look for tails. Grimacing, I shake my head; I've been trained better than to do this.
The car is a rather dirty green color. Whoever it is follows closely and aggressively. I squint at my rearview mirror, trying to make out a face in the dark, foggy image. I can tell the driver is a man, one who is obviously inexperienced in the art of following people. In fact, he makes no attempt to conceal the fact he is tailing me almost bumper to bumper.
The inexperience throws me. No SD-6 agent in his right mind would follow so closely. K-Directorate would never be so careless, much less reckless. The CIA has no one tagging me; I'm on their side, after all. Besides, Vaughn can have me any time he wants, no use following me around the crowded city. Wait...did I just think that? Okay, bad choice of words. What I really meant to think is: Vaughn can meet with me anytime he likes, and he knows I'm entirely on his side. No. Correction. I'm on the CIA's side.
Either the driver isn't an agent of any kind, or he wants me to notice him. He wants me to notice because he's after me, and not information on where I'm going or whom I'm going to meet. Which makes the situation ten times worse.
I figure a confrontation now would be better than one later. I'm driving down a fairly busy street in a residential neighborhood. It's a hot, hazy Thursday, and sidewalk is dotted every several feet with either a dog or a child. A noisy conglomeration surrounds the ice cream truck parked down the street. A commotion here would not go unnoticed. I slow my car and pull up next to the sidewalk. The car behind me does the same. I mentally brace myself for the ensuing confrontation. A car door slams, and I flinch slightly. But I don't turn around. Instead, I direct a steady gaze forward, out the windshield. I wait.
