Please see Prologue for general info and disclaimers.
*~*
Five hours earlier…
"You know our brilliant friend, William Douglas Tippin?"
Without looking away from her half-painted toenails, Sydney smiled and called out, "What'd he do now?"
"Well, in all his brilliance, he totally spaced and forgot to pick up your birthday cake during his lunch hour. So yours truly now has to drive to the bakery – in rush hour traffic, mind you – and haul that baby back here before any of the guests start to arrive. I swear, I don't know where the hell his head's been lately," Francie griped as she strode into the newly rearranged living room with a purse in one hand, a faded corduroy jacket in the other, and a pair of sunglasses sitting on top of her head. "If I'd known he was gonna be such a flake, I never would've agreed to let him be a co-host."
"But since he is a co-host, you can always blame him for anything that might go wrong tonight."
"Yeah, I know. And don't think I haven't already started creating a shopping list of all the things I'm gonna blame him for because— Hey, I love that color," she declared, apropos of nothing. "Bright pastels are supposed to be in this spring."
Sydney shook her head and laughed as she recapped her bottle of 'Violet View' nail polish. Francie was the only one she knew who could switch topics and moods so seamlessly without purposely setting out to do so. "Yeah, I know. That was my magazine you read that in."
"Oh, right. Thanks, roomie, for the reading material." Plunking her purse down onto the floor, Francie reached into her back pants pocket and pulled out a very wary looking slip of paper. "Okay, so the food's ready to go…Amy's bringing over every CD she and Patrick own…you and I finished putting up all the decorations and moved all the furniture – thanks for your help on that, by the way…Charlie's gonna bring the alcohol…"
"Charlie's part of the organizing committee now?" Sydney questioned as she batted her eyes innocently and attempted to feign a look of nonchalance on her face.
"Don't," Francie stated flatly with a frown. "I don't have time to deal with that right now. Let's just say he asked if there was anything he could do to help and Will was being absolutely no—"
"You don't need to explain," Sydney chirped. "I think it's…nice that he's helping."
"God, I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"
"Probably not."
"Great. Anyway, if I can manage to pick up the cake without giving in to my urge to stop by Will's office and beat the crap out of him, then I think we're ready for a party." She stuffed the list back into her pocket with flourish and then arched an eyebrow as she digested the view of Sydney comfortably seated sideways on their couch, her hands fanning her vibrantly painted toenails. "You're not gonna hang around here…right?"
"Yes, Francie," Sydney sighed, suppressing the desire to roll her eyes. "Once my toes are dry, I'm going to head over to campus. I've got a couple library books I need to renew, and, for some reason, they're not letting me do that online. And then I figured that once I'm done with that, I might take a little drive up to Santa Barbara…watch the sun set while I eat a nice leisurely dinner at—"
"Oh, don't you dare, Syd! I swear, if you try to weasel your way out of this party, I will hunt you down, drag you back here, and shove cake down your throat. After everything I've been through the past few days, we are going to have this party, and people are going to have fun."
"Gee, I really can't wait now," Sydney responded dryly. But when she saw her roommate's face cloud over, she quickly amended, "I'm gonna renew those books and then just drive around or whatever until seven. When I'm two blocks from here, I'll call, let the phone ring twice, and then hang up. That'll be my sign to you that you should start keeping an eye out for my headlights. Okay?"
Francie grinned and leaned over the side of the couch to give her friend a hug. "That's perfect. You know, surprise parties are a lot easier when you let the surprisee in on the plans."
"Yeah, imagine that. Now, go on, get outta here and pick up my cake 'cause I'll be very cranky if there isn't any cake at this party." Once the sound of Francie's mirthful laughter faded and Sydney heard their front door click shut, she swung her feet onto the floor and allowed herself to sink into the couch. Well, you've done it, Syd, she told herself as her eyes floated from the ceiling festooned with ribbons of twisted streamers to the shiny, rainbow-colored 'Happy Birthday' sign that hung above the front door. You're twenty-eight now. You've made it through another year.
She'd never really kept track of the passage of years as she'd grown older, but once she'd joined SD-6, each birthday and annual event began to take on a special significance, usually of the not-so-joyous variety. What did a birthday or a Christmas or a New Year's mean to her? It meant she'd survived another year of lies that shouldn't have been told. Another year of tears that shouldn't have been shed. Another year of deaths that shouldn't have occurred.
"And don't forget the lies," she robotically said out loud before realizing that she hadn't forgotten about them. They were, after all, what comprised 90% of her life. But not tonight. Tonight, she was simply going to be Sydney Bristow, newly minted 28-year-old who was going to celebrate the day of her birth with friends who wouldn't mind if she got plastered. Plastered. Sydney grinned at the prospect of using alcohol to help her forget who she really was while also helping her to believe she was who she wanted to be.
The unexpected clanging of her phone pulled her out of her reverie. The ceiling festooned with streamers was still there, as was the birthday sign. Soon, she promised herself as she rose to her feet and hobbled towards the nearest phone.
"Hello?"
"Joey's Pizza?"
No, she yearned to scream. It was her birthday. This wasn't what she wanted. She wanted cake and presents and laughter and singing and… Peace. "No, sorry, wrong number," she replied, her voice dull and emotionless. Happy birthday, Sydney. Happy fucking birthday.
____________________
Her car was idling. She was idling. Sometimes she felt like her whole life was idling.
I could leave, she told herself as she watched a dark blue MPV pull into the parking lot and slide into a space three down from her. It certainly wouldn't be the first time. But she hadn't driven all that way only to turn around and leave before speaking with Vaughn. She knew that. Besides, she'd signed up for this. She knew that, too.
As she cut the ignition to the engine and felt her car shudder beneath her, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for their conference. She was going to talk to Vaughn because he'd requested a meet, but that didn't mean she had to pretend to be happy about it.
"Can we get this over with? I have a party I need to make sure I'm not late for." Face hardened, back stiff as a board, and words trimmed with annoyance, Sydney slid open the chain link partition that separated her from Vaughn and awaited his reaction to her impolite request.
He'd been standing hunched over a table, reading what appeared to be a file – she wouldn't have been surprised to learn it was hers – when she'd entered the storage space. Probably because of the lateness in hour, he'd rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, discarded the tie that was normally knotted around his neck, and undone the top two buttons to his shirt. This made him look relaxed, which was the last thing she wanted him to be. She wanted him mad, irritated, essentially anything but affable because it was difficult to launch a defensive if someone else wasn't unleashing an offensive at the same time.
He looked up from the table and observed her aggravated expression while groaning internally. Great, it was going to be one of those meetings. "Okay, you're obviously in a hurry, so I'll cut to the chase. Your father spoke with Devlin this afternoon and told him about the little…discussion the two of you had a couple days ago."
Shaking her head, Sydney snorted in disbelief. "And I wonder why we're not close."
"Look, Sydney, I'm not here to— I know you and your father have issues. That's apparent to everyone. But how could you— How could you think blowing him off like that would be a good idea? Especially after what happened a week and a half ago? It took me two hours – two hours, Syd – to convince Devlin that we could still trust you, that you weren't undergoing a nervous breakdown, that you're still a reliable agent. Do you have any idea how—"
"Why do you do this?" The question was a quiet one at first, almost a lament, really. But when she saw Vaughn wrinkle his forehead, his eyes confused, she recognized how she'd caught him off guard and that was all the fuel she needed to attack. "Why do you always do this?" she repeated, her voice now louder and harsher. "Why do you make it sound as if I should be thankful to you for keeping me a double agent and thankful to the Agency for not letting me go? I don't want to do this anymore, Vaughn! Do you not get that? Was I not clear enough when I told you, 'I'm done'? I'm tired of this! It's so easy for all of you, sitting behind your safe, little desks day in and day out, not having to worry about whether the lie you told yesterday or the day before that is going to get you killed. Your name, your character isn't constantly being called into question. But mine is! So don't stand there and act like I should kiss your feet and say, 'Oh, thank you, thank you, Agent Vaughn, for saving my ass and showing me the path to righteousness.' My ass is always on the line because of you!"
The words were meant to sting – to wound – as she hurled them at Vaughn, but he just stood his ground and absorbed each barb with a blank stare. When she paused for a breath and to reload, he quietly asked, "Are you done?"
She wasn't, but the question, polite in delivery, almost as if he was asking her for permission to speak, was so controlled and benevolent that it stole all the wind out of her sails. "Yes," she relented, drawing out the s to show her displeasure. "Was there anything else you wanted besides to critique the way I communicate with my father?"
"Actually, yeah." He bent over and rummaged through his briefcase before pulling out a thin, rectangular shaped item sheathed in a teal paper bag. "I wanted to give you this. Happy birthday."
Her anger falling away from her in chunks, Sydney gawked at the present, dumbfounded. "Vaughn, I can't…"
"C'mon, it's your birthday. You deserve stuff like gifts and parties," he stated, taking a step towards her as he continued to hold out the package.
Covering the little space that remained between them, she accepted the present with a burgeoning blush. "You didn't have to."
"I know. I would've wrapped it properly except that I didn't find it until this morning. I was getting a cup of coffee and walked by this store and… Well, go open it and find out what it is."
She clamped down on her lower lip in order to hide the glee that was close to overpowering her and held her breath as she slowly withdrew a hardback book. Turning it over in her hands, her smile expanded until Vaughn almost believed it would take over her face. "The Outsiders," she said in hushed awe.
"It's a first edition," he chimed in, his happiness at her reaction clearly evident in the way in which he rolled onto the tips of his toes and moved his head closer to hers. "When I saw this in the bookstore, I just knew you should have it. I remembered you telling me how this book inspired you when you first read it."
"I was thirteen," Sydney recalled with a chuckle. "Knowing that someone got published when she was only seventeen made me believe that anything was possible. Vaughn, this is…perfect." When she moved her eyes to find his and noticed how near he was to her, she instinctually took a step backwards, destroying their bubble of intimacy in the process. "I, um…"
"I'm glad you like it," he offered, spiking his hair into odd peaks as he ran a hand through it. "So…this, uh, party that you can't be late for. Does it have to do with your birthday?"
"Yeah. Francie and Will are throwing it for me. I'd invite you, but…"
"You don't need your handler there," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.
"Need. Want. They're two different things." As she felt Vaughn's intense gaze upon her face, she ducked her head and pressed the book against her chest. "I should get going. Traffic was getting pretty backed up when I was driving over here."
"Oh, yeah, definitely. I wouldn't want you to be late to your own party."
"Have a fun night."
"You, too. You've earned it, Sydney. Really. I know twenty-seven hasn't been that great of year for you, so I hope twenty-eight's going to be as wonderful as you deserve it to be."
She'd already been on her way to the door when she heard Vaughn's wish for her. Spinning back around, she hurried towards his stunned figure, placed her right hand on his left shoulder, and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Thank you," she breathed as the hair that had been tucked behind her left ear broke free of its restraint and tumbled over his face.
He didn't move as her hair cascaded over his nose, his mouth, his eyes… Inhaling slowly so as to not disturb the moment, Vaughn felt himself transported back to a time of wonder and innocence. It was his childhood and he smelled almonds. Toasted almonds. But by the time the scent registered in his mind as coming from Sydney rather than a particularly vibrant memory, she was gone and the fragrance of almonds had faded away with her.