Chapter Two: You Want to Play, Don't You?

He'd been surprised the day she'd knocked on his door. In his muddled, beer-soaked mind, he'd wondered how she'd known where he lived, and whether it was safe for her to be there. Actually, he'd been more concerned that she was seeing him in a dirty white t-shirt and gray sweatpants, three days growth of beard on his face. Even as out of it as he'd been when she'd shown up, he'd wished he could have asked her to come back in an hour, after he'd showered and changed.

He'd been out of the CIA for five days. Been drunk for four and a half.

"What are you doing here?" he blurted as soon as he'd let her through the door. Briefly, he closed his eyes and imagined all the times he'd pictured her standing there. Actually, there hadn't been many. Even in his fantasies, he'd always imagined their relationship would be the sort that would consist of clandestine meetings at the warehouse and seedy motel rooms.

"I came to see how you were," she said, her face an odd mixture of horror and pity.

"I'm not well, Sydney." God, he must have looked pathetic. "Is it even okay for you to be here?"

"Vaughn--"

"Hell, why wouldn't it be?" he answered his own question, running a hand back through his greasy hair. "It's not like we work together anymore. It's not like we're breaking any rules."

"Vaughn--"

"What if SD-6 found you here?" he interrupted. "They probably wouldn't care, either. Actually, they might like the idea of you hanging out with a bitter ex CIA agent. They might even want to recruit me."

He caught an odd flash in her eyes then, a flash of-- something. He couldn't quite recognize it, but it made his stomach lurch. It was almost as if she thought him joining SD-6 wouldn't be such a bad idea, or at least such a ridiculous one.

Then the flash was gone, and she shook her head. "You wouldn't want to join SD-6."

"Why not, Syd?" He must have looked like a crazy person-- unshaven, dirty, wild eyes. "It would be great. You and me, taking them down from the inside. Who needs the CIA?"

She smiled, a pitying smile that made him want to throw up. He'd never wanted to inspire her pity. "You don't, Vaughn. You don't need them."

"Oh, come on, Syd." He staggered to the couch, collapsing onto it, cradling his head in his hands. "I'm past thirty. I've never thought of doing anything else. And I threw it all away because I'm in love with you."

He'd never said the words out loud before. They didn't seem to surprise her. "You have to listen to me, Michael."

He looked up at her, startled. She'd never called him by his first name.

"Michael," she continued. She sat next to him on the couch, wrapping an arm around him. He must have repulsed her. His apartment must have repulsed her. His coffee table had completely disappeared under a blanket of empty beer bottles. "Did you ever think that you joined the CIA for the wrong reasons?"

"What do you mean?" Wrong reasons? He'd never thought of doing anything else.

"We both did," she soothed. He closed his eyes as she rubbed her hand over his back. "You joined to avenge your father's death. I joined to avenge Danny's."

He froze under her touch. No no no, that hadn't been why. Had that been why?

Her voice was satiny soft against his ear. "What if I told you there was a way you could do exactly that-- that we could do exactly that?" She was whispering now, rubbing his shoulders with skilled hands. God, her hands felt good. "That we could get back at the people who took so much from us. Without the CIA, Michael."

The wheels began turning in his brain, alcohol soaked though it was. "You're talking about your mother," he realized.

"Yes." Still the hands on his shoulders, working him, molding him. "And Sloane. But Michael, darling--"

Darling? She'd never called him darling. Never seemed the sort to call anyone darling.

"There's a catch," he whispered.

And her hands stopped, and she stood, suddenly looking very nervous about what she would say next. "We'd have to work for my mother."

He flew to his feet as quickly as if the couch had caught fire. "What?"

"Pretend to work for her," she said quickly. "Take her down from the inside. Like you said we could do with SD-6, Michael."

"I wasn't serious, Sydney!" Oh, God, he was reeling. Spinning. He was going to be sick.

"You need to be calm, Michael."

He looked at her, surprised. Where her voice had once been soft, it was now sharp. Cold, even.

Then just as quickly, it was soft again. Silky. Seductive. "You need to be calm," she said, taking his shoulders and guiding him back down to the couch. She sat next to him, an arm around him again. "You need to be calm, and listen to what I'm telling you."

He ran a hand back through his hair. Damn, he needed a shower. He must have been repulsive to her. "What you're telling me seems so absurd."

"Absurd?" Her voice was soft, but her tone was challenging. "Two weeks ago, if someone had told you that you would be asked to leave the CIA, wouldn't that have seemed absurd?"

He felt a lump rise to his throat, and he willed himself not to cry. Not in front of her.

"Think about it, Michael. You gave them the better part of your adult life, and they threw you out because-- what? You broke rules to help me out? You were too emotionally attached to me? They put my life in your hands over and over, and they expected you not to get too emotionally attached to me?"

It did sound absurd, when she put it like that.

"They broke you, Michael," she whispered in his ear. "Shattered you. And so did I."

His eyes widened. "Oh, no, Sydney, you--"

"I did, Michael." She rose from the couch, tears springing to her eyes.

"Please don't cry, Sydney, I can't stand it when you cry."

She turned to him, eyes so full of pain it nearly broke his heart. "See?" she demanded. "You're at the lowest I've ever seen you, Michael, and still you only care about me, about wiping away my tears. I did this to you, Michael."

"No, you didn't, Sydney." He stood, wanting to put his arms around her but fearing she'd shrug them off. "You never asked me to fall in love with you."

"Yes, I did." Her tears were flowing freely now, and it took everything in him not to wipe them away. Kiss them away. "Every time I called you just because I needed someone to talk to, every time I brought you closer to me than you ever should have been."

"Shh, Sydney, come here." He pulled her to him then, and she didn't resist. Didn't resist as he held her, cradled her. Didn't resist as he began kissing away her tears, finally letting his lips fall on hers, giving her the kiss he'd wanted to give her for so long.

And she looked up at him, eyes full of wonder, and something else, something he couldn't quite identify. Love? She hadn't said she loved him yet. I threw it all away because I'm in love with you…You never asked me to fall in love with you. He guessed he hadn't properly said it, either. Maybe now wasn't the time.

"I broke you, Michael," she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck. "But I promise, I will help you get everything you have ever wanted, everything you hoped to get when you joined the CIA. You just have to trust me. Okay?"

He didn't answer, only kissed her again. But in that moment he knew that he would do anything she asked, just as he always had. Mostly, because he loved her.

And partly because he believed she was capable of helping him get the revenge he'd wanted for so long.