Conséquence-Alias, PG13-Vaughn

Peregrine

Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.

AN: To the person who thought this was getting murky, sorry if you are confused. Do you read mystery and suspense novels? There are often many interwoven story threads and that is what I am doing here. I never throw something out without a reason and I generally resolve everything unless I plan on writing a sequel. This story is self-contained, meaning it will be resolved by the story's end. And when I write, I write for myself first. So if I lose a few readers along the way, that's their problem. And when you look at Alias, I think the plots can be somewhat confusing. I rest my case.

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Chapter Seven: Inquisition

Judy Barnett and Devlin. Manila folders resting on the table in front of them. Faces schooled into impassive expressions.

"Please have a seat. We have a lot of ground to cover." Terse. Slightly reddened jowls brought on by too much fine whiskey. Broken blood vessels on his nose. The handsome but florid coloring of an Irishman given to drowning his sorrows. The Boston accent, barely diminished after all these years on the Left Coast. The product of Boston Latin School and Harvard before the Agency got a hold of him. But Barnett is an anomaly….she doesn't fit into the government's idea of a shrink. And I wonder at her continued presence. Do they think I'm mentally unstable? That I'd pull a gun on one of them?

Barnett pulls out a pad of paper and points to a digital recorder. "I'll be taking notes and taping our conversation."

Agency SOP in cases like this. I nod and wait for the questions. Devlin pushes a folder at me and says, "You've probably heard about Stephen Haladki."

I open the folder and try not to gag at the crime scene photos. Technicolor nightmares of pallid flesh with perfectly rounded char holes in his forehead. The burn marks where a bullet creased his skull, separating his wiry hair with a permanent part in the middle. Death gives him no dignity, but I don't care. He made my life miserable and I'm glad he's gone. Why are they showing these to me? "Weiss filled me in."

"We estimate his time of death as approximately 7PM on Friday night." Devlin stares at me, expecting me to flush or give myself away in some way. Like I had anything to do with this.

"And you want to know where I was…." On my way to Taipei, as I'm sure they already knew.

"Your friend Weiss vouched for you, but we'd like to hear your version of the story." Oh hell, they were really painting me into a corner. In trying to help, Eric had made things infinitely worse for me. He'd covered for me, but had forgotten to tell me what it was we were supposed to be doing.

"We went to a Lakers game." I see them looking down at their notes before Devlin looks up and taps his pen impatiently.

"Did they win?" Barnett asks quietly, dropping her little bomb as she smiles apologetically.

Tap, tap.

Devlin waits for my answer and I scour my brain for scores. Fatigue slows me down but I finally blurt out, "Yeah. I don't remember the exact score, but …"

"It was 72-70." Another little smile from Barnett, not so contrite this time. "So, Mr. Vaughn…."

"Please, call me Michael." Anything to keep up the pretense of a friendly conversation.

"OK, Michael, you and Agent Haladki have had your share of differences. Would you say that's a fair statement?" Barnett to the plate again.

"It's no secret that we didn't get along."

"In fact, you threatened him with bodily harm on more than on occasion," Devlin asserts bluntly.

More than one occasion? "That's not quite true. I got angry when he poked his nose into my business and I threatened to kick his ass, but that's hardly…." I saw what they were doing. Hanging this on a likely candidate. So if they didn't get me for Taipei, they'd nail me for capping the ratfucker (1).

"But the intention is the same," Devlin says.

"Maybe, but I didn't do this." In fact, I could hand them the perp on a silver platter. Like it would make any difference. Like they would do anything to Jack Bristow. I remembered his confession and how it shattered Syd. And I remembered my part in it. I was a different man that day. Sure the law was on my side. Ignorant of my father's journal. Until now. Until Taipei and the day that changed everything for me.

"Perhaps not, but we know you weren't at a Lakers game." Barnett is one cool customer, coming up from behind and whacking me over the head like that.

"So where was I?" I ask flippantly, startling a response out of Devlin, who flashes me this look. Like what the fuck? Perps weren't supposed to turn the tables. I wasn't supposed to act this way. My profile spelled compliance. Falling into line. Never the odd man out.

Devlin leans over and whispers something to Barnett and I suspect that forcing their hand has moved things forward. Skipping over Haladki to their real business. Devlin sits back in his seat and puts me in his crosshairs. "You were in Taipei. On an illegal mission to spring Will Tippin. And while it was an honorable thing to do…"

"It had disastrous results," Barnett finishes with a shake of her head.

"Is that what they told you?" My gut is churning with anxiety but my voice is calm and measured. I hide my shaking hands in my lap, but I'm sure that her X-ray vision can see right through me.

"Why don't you tell us what happened?" Barnett asks reasonably, stretching her lips into another one of those patently phony smiles.

Is this my punishment for caring too much? I open my mouth to speak but the words die in my throat. Refusing to budge. "I don't really…know…what happened. They drugged me."

"Then tell us what you remember," Devlin requests, peering at me over the top of his reading glasses.

I want to be anywhere but here. On the driving range. Hiking with my dog. Watching a Kings game. Swimming through the sewer system of Taipei. Anything but this. "I almost died."

It's not what they expect to hear and I'm glad that I've surprised them. "Go on," Barnett urges with a gleam in her eyes. "What were you thinking when you came up for air?"

Oh, she's a clever one. Trying to get inside my head so she can explain my motivations for some other crime. Deliberately forcing me to relive that horrible moment when I broke through to the surface. "Not much."

"Of course not. Most people would have been numb…." Barnett nods like she's been there.

"I was happy to be alive." A bald-faced lie, but she didn't have to know that.

"Of course you were. So what else do you remember?" Barnett gets up and my eyes follow her as she pours herself some coffee. Fifteen years too old for me. I know I should remember that, but she is my exact type. Full-figured and blonde. I look away, remembering why she is here. To nail me to the wall.

Devlin has faded from the picture, taking a back seat to this smooth- talking shrink and I see why they've hired her. She's sharp as a tack. Doesn't miss a trick. And not too proud to use her looks when she needs to. "I remember garbage…..and shit floating around me. In my hair. On my clothes…."

"I get the picture. But what was your state of mind?"

She takes the seat at the head of the table and presses her breasts against the table. Seeing more of her than is prudent. When I screw my eyes closed, Sydney is superimposed on top of the good doctor. Blue hair and scanty clothes. Leather bra under lace. I remember that she smelled so decadent that I wanted to lap her up. Making it hard to focus on our mission. I open my eyes and stare hard at Judy's ice-blue eyes. "Like I said before, not much. My survival skills kind of kicked in…."

"And you called Agent Weiss for help." She looks at her pad and waits for me to verify this fact. I know Eric didn't squeal on me, so they got the goods from someone else. No matter.

"Yeah. He got me into the embassy, where I spent the night."

"And you were about to fly home when Jack Bristow caught up with you?" Devlin takes center stage again and starts that infernal tapping again.

"That's right." Rolling Stone interrupted. Rock hard fist clenching my arm.

"He said you were less than cooperative," Devlin reports, reading off his pad.

"Did he tell you why?" Let's put this back on poor Jack. After all, he's the real villain here, isn't he?

Devlin almost smiles but catches himself in time. "Jack can be…very persuasive."

"He had a gun and was ready to use it," I say snidely, "Which didn't exactly leave me a choice."

"That's what I don't understand," Barnett interjects. "Why would you have even hesitated to help Sydney Bristow?"

The question lingers in the air and I hang my head in contemplation. Let them think I feel shame….something other than the indifference that I felt that day at the airport. "Because, I knew she could take care of herself, and because……I am done with her."

They both look confounded at my revelation. Deeply disturbed. "When you say done…." Barnett starts, but I cut her off.

"She's someone else's problem now," I say with finality, sitting back and watching the hamsters spin the wheels in their tiny little minds, unable to contemplate that I want off the Bristow case. Forever.

Devlin throws down his pen and rubs the bridge of his nose. "It's not that simple, Mr. Vaughn."

"Sure it is. Assign someone else as her handler. End of story."

Judy actually smiles at my naiveté. "I wish we could, but you see, she's implicated you…."

"Implicated me," I echo stupidly. "What does that mean?"

Lambert chooses that moment to interrupt the meeting. He ignores me completely and goes over to mutter in Devlin's ear. A long beat as they glance at me and make up their minds about something.

Devlin finally says, "Something's come up. We'll continue this in the morning."

Without a backward glance, the three of them walk out and leave me sitting there with my head in my hands.

How could Syd do this to me?

But I know the answer. It's in her blood. It's who she is. And she can't help but protect her mother. No matter the cost. As I saunter to the stairs, my dream comes back to me in vivid color. Haunting me as I take the steps two at a time. And I know I am close to a truth that will chain me forever.

1 Ratfucker-- A term used to describe an infiltrator who has been planted in an organization.

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