AN: This one's all Vaughn! (it might be confusing, b/c it goes back to the
end to ATY…)
I seriously have no idea where this story is going…I'm making it up as I go along. Yeah, no planning ahead. Oh well. :)
Oh, and this one's really choppy. It's…stupid, although the subject isn't! lol
5/?
--
Vaughn sat at his desk in the American Embassy in Spain. He stared at the sky-high stack of paperwork on his desk, nearly covering everything.
"Michael! We're heading out for lunch. You coming?" Vaughn's partner, Erin Duval asked, stopping at his desk.
"No…I've got work to do."
"Don't we all," she sighed. "But don't let that ruin your fun. You have to go out and enjoy the sun."
"Maybe later."
Erin sighed again, but in a playful way, and left.
She reminded him of Sydney. In a strange way. Erin was what you would call cute. She was short…shorter than Sydney by inches, bubbly, blonde and blue-eyed. That part resembled Alice. But Erin was also extremely quick at her feet and hands, and would have you tied and gagged within seconds. Needless to say, she came in handy during missions. What kind of missions would an American Embassy be involved in? That was the first question Vaughn had asked since he arrived, one lone suitcase in hand. Plenty, was his answer. He was still a CIA agent, just one who was relocated to Spain. So he still enjoyed the perks of missions. No one here called him Vaughn though. That name was solely reserved for Sydney.
And the missions. Vaughn was currently undergoing training as a field agent. He spent the afternoons in the gym with an instructor, learning the basics.
If Erin ever came in contact with Sydney in that fighting type way…they both would be up for a challenge.
But that would never happen. He himself would never get the chance to come in contact with Sydney either. He'd give anything to be able to see her again. Even if he was who she was fighting. It wouldn't matter. Just to see that face…stop it Vaughn! Just stop it.
Every night, before he fell asleep, two things would plague his mind. Sydney. And their last encounter. Both, he remembered too well.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
- FLASHBACK -
Vaughn stopped running as he saw the lights blink and flicker. Then came the deafening roar. Sydney appeared from the left hallway, running at top speed, her cyan colored hair framing her face. She waved her arms at him, but he didn't budge. His gaze was transfixed on the liquid behind her. Sydney's face showed desperation as her hands gave him a little shove. That did it. He snapped out of his trance and ran after her, his leather trench coat flapping around him.
Oh God, please let her make it, he thought. That was his only conscious thought as he watched her slip through the opening. She had made it. But he was too late. Her fingers had slipped from the door, and the thick door had slid shut with a deafening bang.
He was unable to stop the momentum he had built up with his running, so he put out his hands to the door. It worked. He stood stock-still, after slamming into the door, his gaze fixed on Sydney's, as he realized what had happened. He watched as Sydney proceeded to break the square window using the red fire hydrant. Red…that's funny. He had always thought that he would die bleeding to death, lying in some stranded place…but no. He was about to die drowning, with Sydney's face as the last thing he saw. But that face mirrored desperation and fear. He would have liked it to be peaceful and happy…but he couldn't be picky. Not now.
He motioned crazily for her to go. She can't be caught just because of me…she can't. But Sydney, being herself, refused to oblige. She continued with a fervent attitude, banging on the glass. It wasn't working. Nothing was happening. No dents in the glass…However, it was surprisingly peaceful.
He couldn't stop it. He inhaled a large quantity of the liquid, and moments later, his vision began to blur. It reminded him of thousand of tiny ants crawling into his line of vision…crawling faster and faster…
The next thing he knew, he was lying on the backseat of a van, sprawled all over the seat. He heard the sound of rough coughing, and was surprised to find out that it was coming from himself.
"Vaughn?" Jack's deep voice asked, hovering over him from the driver's seat.
"Who's Vaughn?" a drowsy voice questioned from the passenger side.
"Hm…" Vaughn said.
"Are you all right?"
If he were not so out of it, Vaughn would have been shocked to hear Jack Bristow's concern. After all, he seldom showed it. No…he never showed it.
Vaughn's throat was too parched. His lips formed words, but no sounds came out. All he could do was nod.
Jack sighed. "You're just like Sydney."
Next to the whole "respect" thing, that was the closest thing he had ever gotten as a compliment from Jack Bristow.
"Sydney?" the not so drowsy voice asked now.
"Where is she?" Jack asked.
Vaughn cleared his throat. Or rather, he tried to. It felt like sandpaper.
Jack grabbed the Thermo he had in the cup holder, and handed it to Vaughn, opened.
Vaughn nodded his gratitude, and swallowed the liquid.
"I don't know."
"What?" Jack had to strain to hear the barely existent voice.
"I don't know where she is," Vaughn started. He coughed. "Last time I saw her, she was banging on the window."
The cold Jack Bristow returned.
"I motioned for her to go, but…"
"She didn't listen," Jack sighed.
"Who're you talking about? Sydney?"
Jack looked impatiently at the passenger. "Mr. Tippin, be quiet."
Will…Vaughn thought. The reporter. Sydney's friend…
"What's wrong with Sydney?"
Jack ignored him this time. "We have to get you on a plane back to LA immediately."
"I'm going to put you two on the next plane out of Taipei."
Vaughn protested. "I'm not leaving."
"You have to."
--
An hour later, Vaughn found himself on a private jet back to LA…with Will. Will's face was still bloodied, and it caused Vaughn's stomach to churn. Normally, he wouldn't be fazed by the blood, but for some reason, he was now. Will was studying Vaughn silently, pretending to look past him whenever Vaughn glanced back.
Vaughn dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wet handkerchief. But it was still usable, Vaughn argued with himself. He handed it to Will, and Will took it.
"Are you all right?"
Will nodded, pressing the handkerchief to his cheek. Vaughn could see the blood soaking through the cloth.
"Who're you?" Will asked, holding the reddened handkerchief in the air.
"Michael."
"Michael. That's it?"
"Vaughn."
"Michael Vaughn," Will repeated. "How do you know Sydney?"
"We work together," Vaughn responded, not liking this conversation one bit. He felt like he was being interrogated.
"CIA?"
Vaughn hesitated. Sydney told Will. Right. Vaughn remembered Sydney telling him about it. "Right."
--
Vaughn walked into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. The first thing he did after they landed in LA was put Will in the Witness Protection Program. Will had been a very difficult person to work with, and Vaughn was glad it was over. But he received a call from Devlin, informing him about his new job. He was no longer Sydney's handler. They had given that job to another senior officer, one who obeyed the rules…and one who was already emotionally attached to another. The emotionally attached part, Devlin didn't say, but Vaughn could tell that was what he meant. He was not allowed to return to the office in LA.
Great, Vaughn thought. How the hell am I supposed to move my stuff in two hours? He asked himself, glancing at his watch. The plane was leaving in three hours, but he would have to get there early. Then he remembered. The CIA would take care of these things. Or at least, they would have to. He would just have to pack and leave.
- END FLASHBACK -
Vaughn picked up a pen and started to write a report about the last mission he and Erin had went on. They had broken into a vault in downtown Madrid, to steal a file on another Rambaldi artifact. Honestly, Vaughn was sick of hearing about Rambaldi and his inventions. It was Rambaldi this and Rambaldi that. The ancient man ruined my life, Vaughn thought. The whole prophecy, the manuscript, and then the stupid circumference. The manuscript almost killed Sydney, as did the prophecy. But the circumference was the cause of this whole thing. Being separated from Sydney. Literally. Tons of countries lie between him and Sydney.
Some days, he really wished he hadn't joined the Agency. Why couldn't I have gone to med school? Or even law school? At least then my life would be normal.
I seriously have no idea where this story is going…I'm making it up as I go along. Yeah, no planning ahead. Oh well. :)
Oh, and this one's really choppy. It's…stupid, although the subject isn't! lol
5/?
--
Vaughn sat at his desk in the American Embassy in Spain. He stared at the sky-high stack of paperwork on his desk, nearly covering everything.
"Michael! We're heading out for lunch. You coming?" Vaughn's partner, Erin Duval asked, stopping at his desk.
"No…I've got work to do."
"Don't we all," she sighed. "But don't let that ruin your fun. You have to go out and enjoy the sun."
"Maybe later."
Erin sighed again, but in a playful way, and left.
She reminded him of Sydney. In a strange way. Erin was what you would call cute. She was short…shorter than Sydney by inches, bubbly, blonde and blue-eyed. That part resembled Alice. But Erin was also extremely quick at her feet and hands, and would have you tied and gagged within seconds. Needless to say, she came in handy during missions. What kind of missions would an American Embassy be involved in? That was the first question Vaughn had asked since he arrived, one lone suitcase in hand. Plenty, was his answer. He was still a CIA agent, just one who was relocated to Spain. So he still enjoyed the perks of missions. No one here called him Vaughn though. That name was solely reserved for Sydney.
And the missions. Vaughn was currently undergoing training as a field agent. He spent the afternoons in the gym with an instructor, learning the basics.
If Erin ever came in contact with Sydney in that fighting type way…they both would be up for a challenge.
But that would never happen. He himself would never get the chance to come in contact with Sydney either. He'd give anything to be able to see her again. Even if he was who she was fighting. It wouldn't matter. Just to see that face…stop it Vaughn! Just stop it.
Every night, before he fell asleep, two things would plague his mind. Sydney. And their last encounter. Both, he remembered too well.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
- FLASHBACK -
Vaughn stopped running as he saw the lights blink and flicker. Then came the deafening roar. Sydney appeared from the left hallway, running at top speed, her cyan colored hair framing her face. She waved her arms at him, but he didn't budge. His gaze was transfixed on the liquid behind her. Sydney's face showed desperation as her hands gave him a little shove. That did it. He snapped out of his trance and ran after her, his leather trench coat flapping around him.
Oh God, please let her make it, he thought. That was his only conscious thought as he watched her slip through the opening. She had made it. But he was too late. Her fingers had slipped from the door, and the thick door had slid shut with a deafening bang.
He was unable to stop the momentum he had built up with his running, so he put out his hands to the door. It worked. He stood stock-still, after slamming into the door, his gaze fixed on Sydney's, as he realized what had happened. He watched as Sydney proceeded to break the square window using the red fire hydrant. Red…that's funny. He had always thought that he would die bleeding to death, lying in some stranded place…but no. He was about to die drowning, with Sydney's face as the last thing he saw. But that face mirrored desperation and fear. He would have liked it to be peaceful and happy…but he couldn't be picky. Not now.
He motioned crazily for her to go. She can't be caught just because of me…she can't. But Sydney, being herself, refused to oblige. She continued with a fervent attitude, banging on the glass. It wasn't working. Nothing was happening. No dents in the glass…However, it was surprisingly peaceful.
He couldn't stop it. He inhaled a large quantity of the liquid, and moments later, his vision began to blur. It reminded him of thousand of tiny ants crawling into his line of vision…crawling faster and faster…
The next thing he knew, he was lying on the backseat of a van, sprawled all over the seat. He heard the sound of rough coughing, and was surprised to find out that it was coming from himself.
"Vaughn?" Jack's deep voice asked, hovering over him from the driver's seat.
"Who's Vaughn?" a drowsy voice questioned from the passenger side.
"Hm…" Vaughn said.
"Are you all right?"
If he were not so out of it, Vaughn would have been shocked to hear Jack Bristow's concern. After all, he seldom showed it. No…he never showed it.
Vaughn's throat was too parched. His lips formed words, but no sounds came out. All he could do was nod.
Jack sighed. "You're just like Sydney."
Next to the whole "respect" thing, that was the closest thing he had ever gotten as a compliment from Jack Bristow.
"Sydney?" the not so drowsy voice asked now.
"Where is she?" Jack asked.
Vaughn cleared his throat. Or rather, he tried to. It felt like sandpaper.
Jack grabbed the Thermo he had in the cup holder, and handed it to Vaughn, opened.
Vaughn nodded his gratitude, and swallowed the liquid.
"I don't know."
"What?" Jack had to strain to hear the barely existent voice.
"I don't know where she is," Vaughn started. He coughed. "Last time I saw her, she was banging on the window."
The cold Jack Bristow returned.
"I motioned for her to go, but…"
"She didn't listen," Jack sighed.
"Who're you talking about? Sydney?"
Jack looked impatiently at the passenger. "Mr. Tippin, be quiet."
Will…Vaughn thought. The reporter. Sydney's friend…
"What's wrong with Sydney?"
Jack ignored him this time. "We have to get you on a plane back to LA immediately."
"I'm going to put you two on the next plane out of Taipei."
Vaughn protested. "I'm not leaving."
"You have to."
--
An hour later, Vaughn found himself on a private jet back to LA…with Will. Will's face was still bloodied, and it caused Vaughn's stomach to churn. Normally, he wouldn't be fazed by the blood, but for some reason, he was now. Will was studying Vaughn silently, pretending to look past him whenever Vaughn glanced back.
Vaughn dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wet handkerchief. But it was still usable, Vaughn argued with himself. He handed it to Will, and Will took it.
"Are you all right?"
Will nodded, pressing the handkerchief to his cheek. Vaughn could see the blood soaking through the cloth.
"Who're you?" Will asked, holding the reddened handkerchief in the air.
"Michael."
"Michael. That's it?"
"Vaughn."
"Michael Vaughn," Will repeated. "How do you know Sydney?"
"We work together," Vaughn responded, not liking this conversation one bit. He felt like he was being interrogated.
"CIA?"
Vaughn hesitated. Sydney told Will. Right. Vaughn remembered Sydney telling him about it. "Right."
--
Vaughn walked into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. The first thing he did after they landed in LA was put Will in the Witness Protection Program. Will had been a very difficult person to work with, and Vaughn was glad it was over. But he received a call from Devlin, informing him about his new job. He was no longer Sydney's handler. They had given that job to another senior officer, one who obeyed the rules…and one who was already emotionally attached to another. The emotionally attached part, Devlin didn't say, but Vaughn could tell that was what he meant. He was not allowed to return to the office in LA.
Great, Vaughn thought. How the hell am I supposed to move my stuff in two hours? He asked himself, glancing at his watch. The plane was leaving in three hours, but he would have to get there early. Then he remembered. The CIA would take care of these things. Or at least, they would have to. He would just have to pack and leave.
- END FLASHBACK -
Vaughn picked up a pen and started to write a report about the last mission he and Erin had went on. They had broken into a vault in downtown Madrid, to steal a file on another Rambaldi artifact. Honestly, Vaughn was sick of hearing about Rambaldi and his inventions. It was Rambaldi this and Rambaldi that. The ancient man ruined my life, Vaughn thought. The whole prophecy, the manuscript, and then the stupid circumference. The manuscript almost killed Sydney, as did the prophecy. But the circumference was the cause of this whole thing. Being separated from Sydney. Literally. Tons of countries lie between him and Sydney.
Some days, he really wished he hadn't joined the Agency. Why couldn't I have gone to med school? Or even law school? At least then my life would be normal.