Will's a great guy...most of the time. Other times, his curious nature as a reporter becomes a minor nuisance. He asks me about my job. He wonders why I spend so many hours there and why I'm sent on so many business trips. He can't seem to get it into his head that I really love my job.
Do I love my job? It's a question that I never had to ask myself when I thought SD-6 was the CIA. But since becoming a double agent, things have changed dramatically. I have a new purpose. A new goal. It was simply what I did before, serving others, but now it's become something more to me. It's personal. Whether I love it or not, it's important to me. It was this thought I was trying to convey one evening when I got a page from the "bank". Will was annoyed by the intrusion, asked me again why I was still working there, and got pushy to the point of threatening to call the bank and quit for me.
It was just Will being himself. Impulsive. Not taking the time to think before he acted.
But it wasn't so much how he acted. It was how I reacted. Usually I can gauge my reactions to fit a situation. Usually I can stay calm. But that evening, I got upset. Something in me snapped and I snapped at Will. "My job might seem pointless and stupid. But it's far from pointless." I told Will if he knew what I dealt with everyday then he might even be thanking me for doing my job so well. Major slip. I glossed over it the best I could and left before I could be questioned further. I apologized to him later, he admitted he shouldn't have tried to interfere with my job, and I thought the matter was forgotten.
Maybe it wasn't.
What if it wasn't?
"You look worried."
"What?" Pulled out of my musings, I whip my head around to stare at the concerned expression on my handler's face. I've become skilled at split concentration and quickly focus my mind on what Vaughn has just been saying. As his last comment registers, I quickly refute the idea. "No, Vaughn. I'm fine. Go on."
But Vaughn isn't ready to let it go at that. "You seem distracted." And the practiced cool exterior of the CIA agent melts away to reveal the softer side of Vaughn. "Is everything okay?"
"It's nothing. It's..." I meant to say that it's nothing I can't deal with myself, but I pause wondering if this is actually true. What if my friend's have found out something about me? What if Will's getting suspicious about the bank? He's a reporter and newshounds have a knack for sniffing out the truth. My heart still beats faster when I think of how close Will once came to seeing my Kate Jones luggage tags. "My friends."
"Oh." Vaughn's voice rises, anxiously. "Is someone sick? Is Fran--"
"No. No, nothing like that." I quickly correct his erroneous conclusion. Then, I clarify, "My friends want to talk. They want to meet this evening." I take a deep breath, relieved to be able to share my fears with someone else. "And, hopefully, they'll explain why they were following me this afternoon."
Vaughn raises an eyebrow. "They tried to follow you?" he asks in surprise and there is a subtle hint of laughter he can't quite keep from his voice as if we both know how futile an endeavor that would be.
The corners of my mouth twist as I, for the first time, see the humor in the thought. "It's probably nothing. Maybe I'm worrying for no reason."
Vaughn quickly recovers himself and his somber expression returns. For this to concern me, concerns him. "Is this something we should be worried about?"
I cannot answer the question and our fleeting moment of merriment fades and dies. Panic has begun to grip me and I start to pace across the cement floor of the dimly-lit warehouse. "They're my friends. They always ask me where I'm going. What I'm doing. And sometimes...I just get so sick of lying. So now, I keep thinking, could it be: Something I said or forgot to say? Did or forgot to do? Somehow. Caused this. I try to be so careful."
Vaughn blocks my path, stopping my pacing in mid-turn. "No," he replies, firmly. "It wasn't you. Nobody is so devoted to a cause as you are. Or so devoted to her friends. Nobody takes as many precautions as you do. Is as careful as you are when it comes to protecting her friends' interests. But you can't tell them the truth, Sydney." I raise my head to look at him and his gaze connects with mine. In a flash, I know he is keeping back what anyone else wouldn't hesitate to bring up right now. He's thinking of what happened to Danny, but deliberately refrains from the subject and for that I'm tremendously grateful.
"I know." I almost manage a small smile. "I know I can't. But if they know something they shouldn't. If SD-6 found out-- I don't know what I'd do if--" The thought is too terrible. I check my tongue and compose my face, swallowing hard several times before I'm successful.
"There's always witness pro-" Vaughn begins, then gulps on the suggestion, realizing it won't help. The thought of the program reminds him of the original reason we were here. He takes a step back. "Alright," Vaughn says, making a great effort to return to business. "You'll--"
I interrupt. "I'll be getting the finalized details of the mission from Sloane tomorrow. I'll forward them to you as soon as I can. You'll contact me with any changes this might cause for the counter mission. There, you see? Distracted or not, I was listening."
Mingled with his concern over my dilemma there is also a smile in his green eyes if not on his lips. "I never doubted that you were."
It seems our meeting is done. I reach down to pick up my bag from the crate where I've left it.
An awkward silence fills the air.
"Hey." Vaughn breaks it. "I hope all goes well this evening."
I nod. "Thanks. I do too."
"They're your friends, right? Sydney, you know them better than anyone. You'll figure it out."