Conséquence-Alias, PG13-Vaughn
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
AN: For those who
thought he didn't care…he cares very much. Perhaps too much. Perhaps it will
be his downfall. Remember, everything is not what it seems. And she has secrets
too.
******
Chapter Five: Firing Line
Normal people go to their normal jobs.
They mesmerize me. Worker bees. Darting to and fro, cell phones in hand, lattes sloshing as they gather at the gates. A soft voice at my elbow, nudging me back to reality.
"You coming?" She still cares about my welfare.
Why? I want to shout. Why do you care what happens to me?
"In a minute. I need…." I don't know what the hell I need right now. Not her understanding, or her friendship. Better if she hates me now. Get it over with. My gut churns from the battery acid they served on the plane and I make a dash for the nearest men's bathroom. The porcelain bus beckons and I puke my guts out. Long minutes pass and the last dry heave finally passes, but my guilt still remains. The feelings I tried to suppress….all there in black and white. Glaring at me like a mile-high billboard on Hollywood Boulevard. Shouting out my sins to the world.
Look what he did. He tried to murder his girlfriend's mother.
I drag my carcass to the sink and blanch at the way I look under the wonderfully flattering fluorescent fixtures. Forty miles of bad road paved all over my face. The gaggle of lines on my forehead. Unshaven mug. Ghastly. A set of luggage parked under the mad glare of my green eyes. Alive with electricity and emotion. Feeling what I didn't expect to feel.
Girlfriend.
Why did I say that?
I'm not going to trivialize your relationship with her by calling it a crush.
A crush. Was that what this boiled down to? Does puppy love make you follow someone down the road to hell? Is infatuation the reason I spent an entire day looking for her?
There's a line that we've been sworn not to cross. We're about a mile past that.
Try ten miles. I dance with death and this is what I get. An emotional sledgehammer pasting a kick-me sign on my butt. Jack Bristow will be first in line. And when she sees the real me….when it all comes out in my hearing….sweat breaks out on my brow. What I did was indefensible. Turning my back on a fellow agent and going rogue….we all know how that ends. No one rides off into the sunset. The guy doesn't get the girl. There is no happy ending.
I don't know how to be Sydney's handler without making it personal.
The intimacy of our warehouse meetings. Our joined hands on the pier. The hug she so desperately needed. Reaching out for me when no one else was there for her. The way I opened up to her in the train station. This has never happened before. Not with Sharon. And definitely not with Alice.
Tidal waves and raw sewage aside, I cannot unravel feelings that are so tightly wound, so inextricably bound to my very core. They are part of me. And like the darkness, I must find a way….
Find a way.
Weiss admonishing me. Yeah, that's a fifty dollar word for taking me down a
peg or two. Fully vested and all, he's got a point. I have to work my way through
this. Alone.
*****
Two Bristows standing across the concourse. Waving hands. The flash of dark
eyes. Angry words lost to the din of passengers and sky caps. The devil on my
shoulder whispers in my ear.
Leave them behind.
My conscience won't let me move a muscle.
She's defending your honor. How can you turn your back on that?
I feel her eyes on me and when I raise my head, it's like one of those Kodak moments. The hundred yard stare. Disheveled and rumpled. Not the spit-shined Vaughn she is used to. She shakes off her father's restraining hand and glides through the crowd like we are the only two people standing there.
"Vaughn, you….are you OK?" Syd looks like she wants to move closer, but her father's presence is putting a damper on things.
"That's my line," I say dryly, ignoring the flip flop of my stomach as I catch her scent. How can someone who's been through the ringer smell so damned good? And why the hell am I noticing?
It's good to hear her laugh, but the best part is the flash of her dimples as she smiles. Jack looks disgusted and starts to move toward us. "I guess I'll see you at…."
"Yeah," I say, ducking my head. "I better go."
"Let me know if you need anything," Syd calls after me.
"Sure." I wave my hand and manage to avoid a collision with her father, who
merely glares at me in that way he has. Flat, cold eyes and the down-turned
line of his mouth. The face that haunts my dreams for the rest of the weekend.
******
Sunday is a blur of reading the newspaper and watching the game. By the time
night rolls around, I'm down half a case of beer and my finger is sore from
clicking the remote. Midnight comes and goes and I finally collapse in my easy
chair, Donovan snoring at my side. Dreaming doggy dreams that sound infinitely
better than the ones that drag me down into slumber and send me back to reality,
screaming and sweating.
Jack Bristow with his gun at my temple. Impaling me with needles. Breaking bones with his bare hands and a huge grin of the purest pleasure. Another face. Overly white and haughty. Arched eyebrows. Irina. The two of them rubbing their hands together in glee.
I was wrong. He was more than an even trade. But he hasn't cracked yet….
She catches Jack in an embrace and I turn away at the sight of them kissing. Can't stomach the thought of him turning traitor. I try to rise up but am clamped down by a set of hands. Strong as iron. Unyielding. I tip my head back and am caught up in Sydney's eyes. Dark and mocking. Triumphant. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Fruit of their loins. She leans over me and catches my mouth in the kiss I've always dreamed of. Sensuous and stirring. Opening my lips with hers, exploring me fully. When I am ready to yield and spill my guts, she bites down hard on my tongue. Screams of agony tear me from yet another nightmare.
I sit up, scratching my head and shaking and the thought that won't die rises once again. So palpable I can taste it.
How did they escape? Did they make a deal with her?
It won't leave me. Not now and not for the rest of the night. I pace back and forth with my afghan wrapped tightly around me, shuddering in the warm night from a coldness that has nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the dawning realization that I have no answers. Thoughts I can barely fathom trip me up and by the time the sun peeks over the eastern ridge of Laurel Canyon, I am no closer to the truth. But the day of reckoning is here and we are all accountable.
******
Monday morning arrives like it always does. The inevitable end to the weekend.
The let down you feel when you wake to the grating sound of the alarm, knowing
it's only moments before you set your feet on the floor, grab your clothes,
and head for the shower. You might sit on the toilet for awhile and ruminate,
or you might let the hot water wake you up completely. Then you nick yourself
shaving. Your coffee spills all over the counter and you curse when you realize
there aren't enough beans left to make another pot. You are almost out the door
when you realize that you've left your pager and your cell phone on the bedroom
floor. Uncharged. Dead batteries. On your second attempt to leave, you trip
over your dog and sprawl head first on your front walk. Your next door neighbor,
who already thinks you're a kook, has a real laugh at your expense as you pick
up all your tech toys and stuff them in your briefcase.
Once you make it out to the freeway, you realize you've missed your traffic window and you'll be an extra hour late. No time to stop at Krispy Kreme. No coffee. No donuts. LA beckons and when you finally get the very last parking spot on the top deck of the parking lot, you see that the minute hand has inched past the nine. Devlin will be tinkled pink. Late again for the Monday morning meeting. On this day of all days. The day when it all comes down.
Most of my days start this way, but I never notice the minutes ticking by like I do now. The way I stroll down the corridor to my office The people I greet by first name. The guy on the end cube who always disses the Kings. The cute secretary who harbors a not so secret crush on me. What's her name….Alma. And the knot of people around Weiss's office door….real unusual. Leaning forward as he tells them something. The guy with the inside scoop, that conspiratorial air to his voice as he preaches to the choir. I hear a familiar name.
Haladki. Shot execution style. Dumped in the La Brea Tar Pits.
I pass by his window and our eyes meet. As I walk past, I see the flash of guilt in his eyes. Unacknowledged by me as I continue on my journey to Conference Room B. A commotion as he pushes through the crowd and runs after me. Catching my arm before I push through the door. I look down at his fingers and he drops his hand.
"Did you hear about Haladki?" Weiss is breathless from his morning jog and I think mean thoughts about too much pizza and beer.
"Yeah." I finally look him full in the face and he steps back a little at what he sees in my eyes. He betrayed my trust. I might forgive him in time, but I won't forget what he did. "I'm late for my meeting."
"We'll talk later." The same words that Jack used. A friendlier tone, but no less ominous sounding. Not what I want to hear right now.
"Whatever." I turn my back on him and slink into the conference room.
*******
