Conséquence-Alias, PG13-Vaughn

Peregrine

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

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Chapter Eight: Upstairs Downstairs

Weiss catches me on the stairs. "How did it go?"

I make a face and shrug. "Not so good." When I try to move past him, he blocks my way with his arm. "What's up?"

"You don't want to go down there," he cautions, lowering his voice when someone opens the fire door on the floor above us. "Let's go back this way."

I follow him out the door and practically jog to catch up with him. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

Weiss pulls me into the reference library and locks the door behind him. "Derevko passed through Customs this morning. If it weren't for her alias….."

You know that sinking feeling? Well, a tanker just nose-dived in my gut. "She came in as Laura Bristow." No wonder they cancelled my interrogation.

"Yeah." He locks his arms around himself and shakes his head. "Look, I don't know what went down in Taipei, but they think you're a threat. Security was waiting for you. I figure I'd warn you…."

The door knob rattles behind us and Eric points his finger. "This way."

We take the emergency stairs up to the parking deck. We're too late. Two goons are waiting next to my car. "Shit."

"Sorry, man. I tried." Eric disappears down the stairs. I don't blame him for backing off. This isn't his problem and he's taken enough risks on my behalf.

"Mr. Vaughn, will you come with us please?" I read the grunt's nametag. Wilson.

"Have I done something wrong?" I ask as they frisk me.

Wilson rifles through my pockets and takes my car keys. "You won't be needing those anymore."

"What?" I retort, shaking off Wilson's restraining hand.

"Mr. Devlin will explain everything. This way please." And I see that if I don't follow orders, they'll restrain me. So I let them flank me and we take the stairs two at a time. Down through the main office with me on display. The curious half moons of nosy Kilroys peering over their cubes. A tiny gasp from Alma as we pass her station and they practically shove me into Devlin's office.

Devlin and Barnett. Robin Sherwood, head of Personnel. Unsmiling and stern. "What's this about? Can someone please explain why I'm being treated like a felon?"

"Sit down, Agent Vaughn." Ms. Sherwood flash freezes me with an evil glance before stunning me into compliance with her garlic breath. "As of this moment, you are being relieved of your duties."

"May I ask why?" A perfectly reasonable question. Really it is. I mean, I know what I did in Taipei, and I'm no saint, but agents have done far worse than me and continued to serve their country. So why was I being singled out for punishment?

Sherwood plucks a paper out of Devlin's hands. "Failure to back an agent on a critical mission. Failure to follow orders of a senior agent. Indiscriminate use of a weapon. Failed attempt to take out the enemy."

Her unpleasant voice drones on with a whole litany of sins and I let my mind wander. What hole did she crawl out of? Personnel scum. Haladki's old boss. Was she taking some personal interest in this because someone had changed his hairstyle…..permanently? And what genius came up with these charges?

Failed attempt to take out the enemy.

Who the fuck were they kidding? She was more valuable alive than dead. Even I knew that. They should be knocking me around for what I almost did, not slapping my wrist for not pulling the trigger. I start shaking my head vehemently and she stops in mid-sentence, saliva lining her mouth like Cujo. A perfect globule of post-nasal drip threatens to fall on me and I jerk away from her before she contaminates me.

"Is there some problem, Mr. Vaughn? Do you refute these charges?" Sherwood croaks.

I scrub at my hair and glare at them through my fingers. "You're railroading me. You need someone to blame, so you're using me as the fall guy."

They don't deny it and it urges me to say even more. "What about tomorrow morning? What about hearing my side of the story?"

Barnett clears her throat. "You were unconscious."

"So what? Where's the justice in this? What you're doing here…..it's criminal. And what about the right to a fair trial?" I am practically shouting by now and I see that I'm finally getting their attention. No more Mr. Nice Guy. Just like Jackie Chan. Too bad I can't flatten them with some heavy equipment. Then justice would be served.

"When the facts are clear…" Devlin starts, but I cut him off with my next flurry of words.

"There's nothing clear about this case. And whatever facts have been established are being hidden by the three of you. Jack and Sydney Bristow testified, and I have a right to know what they said." I am running out of steam and I know what the next words will be.

"I'm sorry, but that's classified. Eyes Only," Sherwood intones, looking down the twisted veins of her nose at me.

"I see, so what do you plan on doing with me?" I might as well know the worst. "Suspension without pay?"

"Nothing as drastic as that," Barnett explains, pushing a folder across the desk at me. Devlin and Sherwood take that as their cue to leave and I am left with the spotlight on Barnett.

I know how this goes. They call you into a room at some odd time of the day. No one meets your eyes. They look down at their hands, at the floor, at anything but you. The thermostat on the wall is suddenly fascinating. And once the folder changes hands, they look at you nervously.

How will he react? Will he rant and rave? Will he go postal?

And it's like I'm underwater again, because when her words float to the surface of my mind, I hear compliments sprinkled throughout her prose. Dedicated. Honest to a fault. Empathic. All good qualities. But too impulsive. And there's nothing personal in this, but we have to make some adjustments. Good agents are usually reabsorbed. What they really mean is rehabilitated.

I am a line item on someone's balance sheet.

She peers at me patiently, waiting for some reaction. Something, anything, to guide her little shrink's mind. I stare at her mutely and shove the folder back at her. "Is that all?"

"Don't you want to read what's inside?" Oh, I know what's inside. Standard termination agreement that I won't sue them or cause any trouble. Only way to get severance pay. Two stinking weeks after eight years of risking my neck. All for nothing. COBRA forms. Do I want to pay extortion rates for medical insurance? Unemployment insurance and pension booklets. All the usual bullshit that goes along with termination. A nasty word for the cold business of firing your ass.

"Not really," I say after a long beat, enjoying the confusion on her face. "We both know what it says in there."

"It's not what you think. Under the circumstances, they're being extremely generous." She can say that without a snigger. Amazing. How many drama classes did it take to get to this point?

"Generous. Is that what you call it?" I sneer. With a short laugh, I grab the folder and fan the documents out on the table. Scanning the headlines, I am taken slightly aback by what I see. Change of status. A demotion, not a layoff. An hourly slob instead of a salaried stiff. Transfer from Clandestine Operations to Records. A recommendation for regular psychiatric counseling from her majesty, Dr. Judy. "Is this a joke?"

She shakes her head. "It was my idea. Devlin wanted you out, but I convinced him to give you another chance."

Myriad feelings swim through the narrowing channel I call a brain and I stare at her. "Why?"

"Because I think I can save you." Barnett seems to believe what she's saying.

"And what if I can't save myself?" I counter, my words gurgling up from some dark place, full of rotting emotions and a miasma of hate.

She has no answer for that one and I watch as she leaves the room. Two seconds later, the goons are on me and lead me down the hall to my office. One cardboard box is all they give me for eight years of throwing my heart and soul into this job. Wilson and his goon-in-training stand over me as I retrieve my jade plant and the picture of Alice I tossed into the bottom drawer. Several sleeves of CDs and a Discman later, I am escorted to the elevator and led to the cavernous room in the basement that encases the files and records of the LA office. AKA the Morgue and the Mausoleum. Its overseer is my new boss. Pauline Fraehl. A librarian with a cybernetic heart. She is crafty and knows her way through a few loopholes. Trapdoors are her bread and butter and she's cracked her way into more than a few 'eyes only' databases to help us out. In return, we do favors for her. Get her coffee. Buy her lunch. Anything that will get us through the maze of bureaucracy that surrounds the files depository.

Wilson drops my box on a gun-metal gray desk and holds out his hand for the key to my locker. "You'll be retiring your weapon and your permit."

I dig through my wallet and throw my permit in their face. "Here you go. Have a nice day."

They scowl at me and drag their knuckles on the way out. When I turn back to my new home, Paulie emerges from the stacks with a huge smile. "So, I hear you've been exiled to Limbo."

She looks exactly like Fred on Angel. Tiny hands darting everywhere as she talks. Black horn rim glasses that have gone in and out of style since she bought them. Long brown hair butterflied to her head with clips. Nikes peeking under her sun dress. A shy smile as she perches on the edge of the desk. "Is that what they call it?"

"We're the dumping ground for the disenfranchised." Another smile as she takes in my suit and tie. "Armani, right? No need for that here. This is strictly a T-shirt and jeans operation."

It could be worse. I actually like Paulie. She's a geek, but I can think of far worse people to work for. And think of the money I'll save on clothes. "Where do I start?"

She jumps up and wheels a cart over to me. Heaping files threaten to slide onto the floor. "Have fun. Call me if you have a question."

And with that, I embark on my new career as a file clerk. Deported to the dungeon. Out of their hair. Off the Bristow case. One tug and my tie lands on the desk. Another yank and my shirt floats free of my dress pants. I rumple my hair and grab a bunch of files. Endless wandering down the aisles and my mind follows suit.

It's not over. You'll never be free of her.

Not Sydney and not her mother. Forever bound by our fates. With a sigh, I settle into my new domain.

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