Chapter 8 – Interlude – Aunt Trish, Take 1
Notes: See Chapter 1.
[An undisclosed location somewhere in the ether]
It was the shriek of surprise and the flurry of curses in French that made him open his eyes.
"Michael, what on earth are you doing here? You have no business being here."
In the middle of an empty, non-descript room, Aunt Trish sits at a table, in her favorite purple caftan, aglitter with crystals around her neck and fingers.
He looks around, and then remembers. He looks down and to his utter surprise he is wearing the same clothes just before he got shot… His pats his chest quickly and he pulls the opening of his shirt out to look at his chest. There is no gunshot wound, no sign of blood anywhere on him.
"Where the hell am I?"
"You were just like your father when he was young. Absolutely abominable manners. Never mind that he worked for the CIA, though your mother did her best to raise you right." She sighs. "You are in the middle of my séance, is where you are. Here I am, trying to help poor Heloise contact her late husband, and you show up."
He can tell something has gone horribly, horribly wrong for him.
"Why did you just refer to me in the past tense?"
Trish gives him a long, hard look.
"Michael, you're dead."
"No, I can't be…I have to get back…to Eric…my—my partner, he's been shot."
"Dude, I'm right behind you."
He turns around to see Weiss. "I guess that must mean I'm dead too," Weiss says, deadpan.
"We have to get back, we can't let Sark take the File," Vaughn begins, trying to look for an exit—and finding none---out of the room.
"Chère*, dear, calm down. And before your manners deteriorate completely, introduce me to your friend there."
Vaughn lets out a frustrated sigh. "Eric, this is my Aunt Tricia, or Trish, as I call her. Aunt Trish, this is my partner at work, Eric Weiss."
"Hello," Eric begins hesitantly, stepping out from behind Vaughn.
"Well, hello, Eric," she purrs, giving him a thorough once over. Weiss looks momentarily surprised, but then wiggles his eyebrows back at her. Trish giggles.
Feeling his face heating up from embarrassment Vaughn scrubs his hands against his face. "Aunt Trish, can we get back to the dilemma at hand? I'm not going to stay here, wherever it is. I need to get back to where I was before, and I think you're the only one who can help us."
Trish sighs. "I suppose I should. It's not your time yet to be here anyways. You have that red hanky I sent you?" Vaughn fishes it out from his jacket pocket and waves it at her. "Well, I am surprised. You actually took it with you on the job."
"Well, someone told me to," he said, thinking of Sydney. All the more reason for him to go back. He had to make sure she was all right, of course.
Trish looks at him consideringly. "Yes, you and Eric need to go back. Your work is not finished yet, and the red hanky will help you."
"What is the red hanky for?" Vaughn asks her.
"Think of it as a…ah…karmic 'Get out of Jail' card. I got it from a little wizened old man during my travels in the Far East many years ago. He says it allows the carrier of the hanky to go back in his life and relive it from the moment he last touched it in the hopes that he will be able to make the right choice and live out his life as it was meant to be."
"Do you have any more of those? Because I could sure use one, working with Action Man here," Weiss interjects, but a glare from Vaughn silences him.
Trish laughs. "No, chère. I only received one. But the old man told me that not all people who have carried his hankys have benefited from its effects. In fact, some people were doomed to make the same choices over and over again, learning nothing." She drills Vaughn with a piercing stare. "I hope in my giving the hanky to you as a gift--you don't end up with the same fate as those unfortunate few."
"No, I hope not," he says, still skeptical of the hanky's powers, but willing to do anything to get back. Trish sighs, and then she tilts her head to look at him from a slightly different angle.
"Michael, hold the hanky out. Close your eyes, both of you, and count to three and you will be back to where you were when Michael last touched it. You will not remember any of this…unless you come back after making another wrong choice. All right?"
"All right," Weiss and Vaughn say in unison.
"Merci, Tante* Trish," Vaughn adds at the last moment. She nods and smiles at him warmly.
"D'accord*. Do it."
With a look and a nod, Eric closes his eyes. Vaughn closes his and then they count to three.
"1—2—3---"
[CIA van, blocks away]
Vaughn absently fingers Aunt Trish's hanky in his pocket. "How long has she been in there?" Weiss asks him.
Note: Chère means 'dear', Tante means 'aunt' and D'accord means 'OK' in French.
Notes: See Chapter 1.
[An undisclosed location somewhere in the ether]
It was the shriek of surprise and the flurry of curses in French that made him open his eyes.
"Michael, what on earth are you doing here? You have no business being here."
In the middle of an empty, non-descript room, Aunt Trish sits at a table, in her favorite purple caftan, aglitter with crystals around her neck and fingers.
He looks around, and then remembers. He looks down and to his utter surprise he is wearing the same clothes just before he got shot… His pats his chest quickly and he pulls the opening of his shirt out to look at his chest. There is no gunshot wound, no sign of blood anywhere on him.
"Where the hell am I?"
"You were just like your father when he was young. Absolutely abominable manners. Never mind that he worked for the CIA, though your mother did her best to raise you right." She sighs. "You are in the middle of my séance, is where you are. Here I am, trying to help poor Heloise contact her late husband, and you show up."
He can tell something has gone horribly, horribly wrong for him.
"Why did you just refer to me in the past tense?"
Trish gives him a long, hard look.
"Michael, you're dead."
"No, I can't be…I have to get back…to Eric…my—my partner, he's been shot."
"Dude, I'm right behind you."
He turns around to see Weiss. "I guess that must mean I'm dead too," Weiss says, deadpan.
"We have to get back, we can't let Sark take the File," Vaughn begins, trying to look for an exit—and finding none---out of the room.
"Chère*, dear, calm down. And before your manners deteriorate completely, introduce me to your friend there."
Vaughn lets out a frustrated sigh. "Eric, this is my Aunt Tricia, or Trish, as I call her. Aunt Trish, this is my partner at work, Eric Weiss."
"Hello," Eric begins hesitantly, stepping out from behind Vaughn.
"Well, hello, Eric," she purrs, giving him a thorough once over. Weiss looks momentarily surprised, but then wiggles his eyebrows back at her. Trish giggles.
Feeling his face heating up from embarrassment Vaughn scrubs his hands against his face. "Aunt Trish, can we get back to the dilemma at hand? I'm not going to stay here, wherever it is. I need to get back to where I was before, and I think you're the only one who can help us."
Trish sighs. "I suppose I should. It's not your time yet to be here anyways. You have that red hanky I sent you?" Vaughn fishes it out from his jacket pocket and waves it at her. "Well, I am surprised. You actually took it with you on the job."
"Well, someone told me to," he said, thinking of Sydney. All the more reason for him to go back. He had to make sure she was all right, of course.
Trish looks at him consideringly. "Yes, you and Eric need to go back. Your work is not finished yet, and the red hanky will help you."
"What is the red hanky for?" Vaughn asks her.
"Think of it as a…ah…karmic 'Get out of Jail' card. I got it from a little wizened old man during my travels in the Far East many years ago. He says it allows the carrier of the hanky to go back in his life and relive it from the moment he last touched it in the hopes that he will be able to make the right choice and live out his life as it was meant to be."
"Do you have any more of those? Because I could sure use one, working with Action Man here," Weiss interjects, but a glare from Vaughn silences him.
Trish laughs. "No, chère. I only received one. But the old man told me that not all people who have carried his hankys have benefited from its effects. In fact, some people were doomed to make the same choices over and over again, learning nothing." She drills Vaughn with a piercing stare. "I hope in my giving the hanky to you as a gift--you don't end up with the same fate as those unfortunate few."
"No, I hope not," he says, still skeptical of the hanky's powers, but willing to do anything to get back. Trish sighs, and then she tilts her head to look at him from a slightly different angle.
"Michael, hold the hanky out. Close your eyes, both of you, and count to three and you will be back to where you were when Michael last touched it. You will not remember any of this…unless you come back after making another wrong choice. All right?"
"All right," Weiss and Vaughn say in unison.
"Merci, Tante* Trish," Vaughn adds at the last moment. She nods and smiles at him warmly.
"D'accord*. Do it."
With a look and a nod, Eric closes his eyes. Vaughn closes his and then they count to three.
"1—2—3---"
[CIA van, blocks away]
Vaughn absently fingers Aunt Trish's hanky in his pocket. "How long has she been in there?" Weiss asks him.
Note: Chère means 'dear', Tante means 'aunt' and D'accord means 'OK' in French.