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Chapter 7: An Unexpected Confession
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He's a good seven minutes early. Blame it on his upbringing, but Michael Vaughn is not a man to keep a woman waiting. Not only does he consider it a complete lack of respect (not to mention manners) to be tardy, but he believes the way one regards punctuality speaks volumes about oneself. He is easygoing by nature, but not a harried person, not scatterbrained, not confused, not sloppy, not rushed. He'd much rather be early than late, even if today is a supposedly leisurely day. It's supposed to be a day set aside for relaxation, for fun, for friends. And today has been set aside for a friend -- one he knows will also be on time. She's a lot like him in that respect. Professional. A planner who can also acclimate to change. A well-mannered individual who can maintain a poker face in just about any circumstance.

"Son of a bitch!" Sydney's voice is heard over the slam of the warehouse door. "I can't believe him!" Or maybe not.

He sees her round the corner, her expression a mix of anger and sadness. Tears stain her reddened cheeks. His detailed eye notices her hands are shaking. He has an immediate flashback to their earlier encounter....when he had held her bruised hands tenderly in his. His cheeks redden -- he's still mortified at his actions. But he doesn't regret it any more than he regrets the soothing embrace they had shared after a few weeks ago in this very spot.

And as soon as he sees her, he is reminded of his own flaws -- lack of control over his emotions when it comes to Sydney. What else could explain the physical encounter he had with that prick Haladki, his snappish tones with Barnett, his instinctual jaunt to SD-6 headquarters to assist Sydney take down Cole....? Sometimes it's best to screw being practical and give a good ass-kicking....or that's at least what Weiss said following the whole SD-6 takeover thing. Vaughn had smiled, his head still filled with "what-ifs" -- what if he hadn't gone to SD-6? What if Dixon's message had not gone through? What if Sydney had been seriously harmed? What if saving SD-6 was a mistake? He could've gone on forever. Thank God for Weiss and his never-ending lust for alcohol. They made a beeline straight to the bar after the two hour debriefing downtown and Weiss made it his personal mission to ensure Vaughn got completely wasted. That's what friends are for.....

"Are you OK?" he says, careful to maintain his distance from her. He's still thinking about his actions earlier this morning. You're lucky you didn't scare her off for good, behaving like that, he mentally chides himself. You are her handler, damnit, not some infatuated 17-year-old. You will not let it happen again. And that is that. But even as he feels his resolve strengthen, he knows that it may not be a promise he can keep. And sometimes, like this morning, he doesn't care. Because they are friends today, not handler and agent, but just Sydney and Michael (although he knows she will always call him "Vaughn" -- and that doesn't bother him one bit).

She hurls her purse at the chain-link fence like she's pitching for the Mets. It, in turn, bounces off the metal and lands at her feet. "He followed me," she spits, kicking the black canvas tote into the far corner, still not making eye contact with Vaughn. "That sneaky bastard followed me."

Vaughn's mind jumps, his eyes widening. His hand instinctively reaches for his gun. "Who? Is someone here?"

"No, I lost him. He may be a good writer, but he certainly sucks at tailing someone," Sydney says, her fingers latching on to the fence. She rests her cheek against the metal, feeling its coolness soothe her fiery skin. "You know, sometimes I think everyone I know is slowly going crazy."

She finally looks at him, still resting against the fence, a sideways glance that conveys a frustration he knows only too well. "I mean, what can I do? I can't just come out and tell him the truth. I can't tell anyone the truth. I can only pretend to be myself, and that's the best I can do." She pivots with a sigh, her back now against the fence. "It's just getting so hard to keep lying. This pretense is eroding all my friendships...hell, it's even starting to pick away at my sense of self."

"Let's sit down," he advises, wanting to try any method to calm her down. It was odd seeing her so worked up. Usually she was so composed, a marble statue of a ancient Greek goddess. She could have three guns pointed at her head from three different angles and not buckle under the pressure. But she has some sort of disagreement with her writer friend and she goes completely apeshit. This means one of two things, he thinks. Either she has some serious romantic feelings for Will (romance is the one thing that can make women get all emotional, even women as strong as Sydney, he suspects) or this paltry fight was the figurative straw that broke the camel's back (he hates resorting to old, overused clichés, but he can't help himself -- he's not the writer).

"Arghhhhh," she growls, obeying his suggestion and plopping down on a nearby wooden crate. "Vaauuuuggghhhnnnn......" is all she says, her eyes locking on to his. The way she says his name is rough, passionate, full of feeling. For a scant second, he wishes they were anywhere but here in the warehouse, where he is constantly reminded of work, of protocol, of why he can never have her.

"Yes?" He makes sure to keep all emotion out of his voice. He is here in a friendly capacity, nothing more. Despite the burning in his chest, the ache in his fingertips, the tingle running down his spine.

"I...I just don't know if I can deal with this anymore," she replies in this hushed tone. The anger is gone, replaced by unshed tears in her rich brown eyes.

Vaughn thinks it's best to remain silent and let her do the talking. Still standing, he places his hands in his pockets, not knowing what else to do. He wants to go to her, to comfort her, to at the very least give her a sturdy, reassuring, friendly squeeze (at the very most...well, he would rather not even let his mind wander there).

"I mean... I've been so angry at my mother and father for hiding all these things from me. How enraged I was every time my father revealed some other family secret to me...how my brain always got covered in this mist of betrayal. Like I was lost in this -- this heavy fog and all I could think is, 'why keep lying to me?' Well, I just realized that I'm doing the exact same thing to the people I love. And that there's nothing that makes me any different...from her." She spits out the final word as if it's sour, sticking to her tongue, abhorrent. "I'm building the same kind of life....one comprised entirely of lies, Vaughn. I'm no better than my mother."

"Sydney, you know that's not true. You are everything your mother was not. Good, amazing...fighting for all the right things," he says, putting his heart into every word. "You know you're not like her," he repeats, his tone softer, but still full of emotion. He sees in her eyes that deep down, she knows he's right. She knows she's fighting the good fight, that what she does every day is keeping this country safe.

"Is that what all of this," he motions to her abused purse in the corner, "is about? About your mother? Not about Will?" He unknowingly raises an eyebrow.

The look she shoots him in return answers his question. The sorrow in her expression is replaces by a flash of the anger he saw when she first arrived at the warehouse. OK, so it is about Will, too......

"Do you mind....if I ask what happened?" Vaughn asks quietly, moving closer to her, as if drawn by some magnetic force. He is still reminding himself to keep his distance, but moving a few feet closer can't hurt, right? It just proves that I'm an attentive listener, which, of course, I am, he rationalizes.

She shrugs, her attention now on her shoelace. He looks at it too -- why is it so damn captivating? It's not frayed, not broken, not even dirty. It was like he was looking at one of those 3D posters -- the kind that Weiss had in his office back in the mid-90s. Vaughn could stare and stare at the irritating print for 15 minutes and all he would get out of it is a goddamn headache. If you want a picture of sailboats, get a picture of sailboats -- who needs to work at trying to see something in a poster that's really not there anyway?

What the hell is she looking at? She twirls the perfectly white, non-frayed shoelace around her finger as she starts, "Well, he....uh....had something important to tell me."

"What?" Vaughn is surprised at how fast he asks the question. He clears his throat. "I mean....what was it that he said?"

With her dark eyes still downcast, she says in an extremely quiet tone, "That he loves me."

WHAT?!??!!? Vaughn's eyes widen and he swears he just heard his jaw hit the floor. He knew this had been coming for a while, that this Will guy was probably harboring some secret admiration for Sydney (how could any normal, breathing man not?), but Vaughn never thought Will would actually admit to his feelings. It all proves the point that women and men can't be friends. How many women have I been friends with that I haven't tried to hit on....or vice versa? One of us always get brushed off and the friendship still remains intact, although indefinitely injured. Men and women can't be friends outright....there's always some attraction on one side or another. Yes, they can evolve into friends, but when the friendship is initiated, it's done mainly so one of them can try to pursue a more intimate relationship.

Case in point, he thinks, looking at Sydney (his eyes still wide as saucers). "Wow," he breathes, finally. He moves a few inches closer, hands still safe in his pockets. There will be no hand grabbing this time, Michael, he warns himself. He knows what he wants to say next, but can't think of a way to not sound too invested in her answer.

She beats him to it. "I told him that he's a great guy, a wonderful friend....but that's all we can be," she says, still not making eye contact. Poor guy, Vaughn thinks, actually feeling a bit sorry for this Will guy. What would Sydney say if he were to reveal his burgeoning romantic feelings for her? Would she say that he's a great guy and a wonderful friend...and that their relationship could never be anything more....? Hell, it shouldn't -- and it can't, he reminds himself. We -- Sydney and I -- can never be. We will always remain separated by our jobs, by protocol...by the always-present danger that surrounds her every move.

"Oh," is all Vaughn can say. He wants to know more, every detail, every word exchanged, but he will not ask. Instead he waits, hoping she will elaborate.

And after a slow, tortuous minute, she does.

"And then he got all weird....super defensive....and said that I was in love with someone...and he demanded to know who it was." Her eyes dart away from the shoelace and move over the room, finally focusing on a distant wall. Vaughn's mind is reeling. He doesn't know what to think, let alone say. Is Sydney in love with someone? Who? And...could it be....no...there's no way....but she did mention that Kings game a few weeks ago....and.....no....don't even think this, Vaughn.

"And I told him he was mistaken." Her gaze is still fixed on that wall. He lets out a pent-up breath that he wasn't even aware of holding.

"Then he brought up the bruises on my hands and he was getting so out of control for a moment there," she shakes her head, remembering. "I've never seen him like that before. I mean...part of me felt angry that he could just start accusing me of all this stuff, y'know...having the nerve to stand there and assume these bruises were inflicted by some anonymous man I'm completely in love with. But then, I couldn't help but feel sorry for him....and feel guilty that I had caused him so much pain...."

She hesitates, looking like something is weighing heavily on her mind. Her eyes raise to meet his and there's an immediate connection that keeps Vaughn silenced. If he were to make an attempt at talking, it would undoubtedly be complete gibberish. For Sydney's brown eyes are troubled, but sparkling at the same time. And this becoming pink tint creeps over her prominent cheekbones. He can't even string two thoughts together, let alone real, meaningful words.

She bites her lip, still keeping eye contact with him. He can't remember when she's ever looked so beautiful, so mysterious, so goddamn perfect.

He can't help but smile. It's not a full-fledged smile, though, more of a half-smile, with just one corner of his mouth curving upward. He doesn't thnk he could manage a full smile at this point. She has somehow paralyzed his thoughts, his movements. She opens her full lips slowly and takes a deep breath.

The next words out of her mouth completely floor him.

"And perhaps the worst thing -- about all of it -- is that I flat-out lied to him about being in love with someone."

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Note: So what do you think? I'm still trying to decide what I should have happen next....any suggestions?