Irina chose to break the stand-off by untying Sydney's gag and hands
-albeit carefully. Once again she unconsciously smoothed away the dirt
from her daughter's face, and Vaughn was relieved that Sydney suffered her
mother's attentions without comment. Coming back to herself, Irina
abruptly stopped her caresses and seemed to move as far away from Sydney as
she could.
Tossing the key that would unlock his handcuffs into the centre of the
room, she left silently.
As soon as they heard no more footsteps, Sydney launched into action, tearing frantically first at her bound feet, and then clumsily opening his imprisoned hands. Vaughn couldn't help the groan of pain, and relief, that escaped him as he slowly moved his shoulders but ignoring their brutal throbbing, he held Sydney, who as suddenly as she had started moving, now looked like a marionette doll ... sans strings.
"I'm sorry." She whispered after minute.
"I'm not." He assured her, enjoying the feel of her silken hair against his jaw. "N'Etre pas d'honteux, la femme-votre privilège enclot le repos, et est la sortie du repos."
At that, she pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him. Bruisingly, desperately, passionately.
He should have stopped her. Should have tried to talk, but it was Sydney. Sydney's mouth clinging to his...Sydney's strong, slim arms winding around his neck to pull him closer -it could never be close enough- to her ... Sydney ... Sydney ... his alpha and his omega.
Following her down to the dirty floor of the warehouse, Vaughn felt a sharp pang of regret, pierce through the haze of ache, need, lust and love. It shouldn't have been like this. The loop threatened to begin again, but then Sydney's teeth nipped and worried the curve of his neck, and that accursed loop was silenced, and once again all that mattered was her and himself . They were far away from the ever-present grime of the warehouse; there was no contingent of leering henchman waiting outside; no Sark, no Irina. Just the two of them .... together ...finally.
It could have been a minute, or it could have been an hour later -time now measured by them in kisses and caresses- but suddenly Vaughn found himself poised above Sydney who stared so hopefully and trustingly up at him. The blinding need that had coursed through him, was sated -temporarily- as he just marveled at her, at being with her.
"Comme je voit mon âme reflété dans nature; Comme je voit par une brume, celui avec inexpressible et beauté, Voit le courbé tête, et bras a plié le sein-le femelle je voit... la pièce hors de cela-la réponse de la même manière ungovernable; les Cheveux, le sein, les hanches, le tournant de jambes, les mains négligentes qui tombant, tout diffusé-la mine trop diffusée; Baisser piquée par le flux, et le flux piquée par le grossir d'ebb-love-chair et délicieuxment le faire mal." The words seemed specifically written for Sydney and since he had none of his none -she defied the everyday lexicon- he was content to borrow, from those wiser. He wanted to stop talking, to let loose his primal need for the succor of her flesh, but he had to tell her. If he had learned nothing else from Irina's 'exercise', it was that the only people -person- he was fooling, was himself...and possibly Sydney. They would never be able to be 'purely professional'. Too many factors had bound the inextricably together forever.
How strange it was that their imprisonment, their lesson in obedience, had finally freed him from the shackles of the CIA code, his father's code, and most of all his own doubts and fears. It should have been strange, but it wasn't. Everything made sense with her in his arms.
He loved her. Everything he was, belonged to her. It had been like this for a very long time, and finally he found no shame in telling her so. "Ceci est le femelle forme; Un divin nimbus exhale d'il de tête payer; Il attire avec féroce indéniable attraction! Je suis dessiné par son souffle comme si j'étais non plus qu'une vapeur impuissante-toutes chutes de côté mais me et il."
Her tears didn't scare, didn't make him wonder if he had said too much, or pressed to hard. No. He knew exactly why she cried, and if he hadn't felt free before, he would have at that moment.
Pulling him down so that his face was only inches from her, Sydney kissed him tenderly, sweetly, with none of the desperation and fear of their first. Trailing kisses to his ear she whispered the three words he had so often dreamt about. "I love you Michael Vaughn."
There was no more to be said, not then anyway. Instead, he kissed her as she guided him into her. ***********************************************************************
"I didn't want this to happen, you know." The words might have had a sting to them, if she had not been curled so completely to his side, interspersing her words with little, suckling, kisses. " I tried so hard not to love you Vaughn. But you made it impossible. I think I first realized it on the pier...God, it scared me so much. You scared me so much. You still do. No one's ever loved me like you do. No matter how bitchy I get, no matter what I say... Why?"
He rolled on his side towards her, taking his time to try and find the right words to tell her. "Honestly Sydney, I just don't know. I mean, I could love you because you are so brave, or because you never give up, or because you're just so beautiful...and I do, but I love you in a way...I can't really explain..... Anam Cara. That's about as close to it as I can come..... You're my soul friend."
One tear slid down her cheek, and he gently thumbed it away. Another followed, and he did the same. Again. And again. Until there were too many tears for him to wipe away. Knowing there was nothing he could say, Vaughn just held her to him as close as he could.
"What are we going to do Michael?" Sydney mumbled from her haven "You know as well as I do, she's not going to stop at the tape. I don't know what makes me sicker. The fact that she taped us, or the fact that I'm hoping she 'only' wanted to tape us."
A note of hysteria entered her voice, and Vaughn forestalled her impending breakdown the only way he could. He kissed her. It was desperate and hard at first, but soon the frenzy left though the desire didn't.
It was tempting, so tempting, to forget what they were talking about. To forget the horror of the situation that they were in and focus only on the witchery of her moans and sighs, but he couldn't. They couldn't. Regretfully Vaughn pulled away from her kiss, resting his forehead against hers as he struggled for an answer.
"Frankly Syd, I don't know what's going to happen, or why she really engineered this whole thing. All we can do is take it one step at a time and see what happens next."
"And us Michael?" She asked fearfully, raising her head from his chest so she could look into his eyes. Eyes that always told her the truth "What happens to us?"
"I hate how this happened Syd." He replied after a silence a little too long for her liking "I hate that I can't shake the feeling that there was something more I could have done, so we wouldn't have had to suffer this humiliation. I hate the fact that they tried to pervert this to suit their purpose...but Syd, I could never regret us. Ever. So, what happens to us is completely up to you. If you want us to go home and try and forget this and hope for the best, then I'll abide by your wishes. But Syd, I want more. I want you. And ultimately, I want it all with you."
Vaughn found himself a little surprised at his eloquence, but he knew that about this Sydney could have no doubts. There were too many ever-changing variables in her life, for her to doubt his commitment to her, and to them.
It was exactly what she needed to hear.
"We should go." He said, breaking the curiously peaceful silence.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
Vaughn knew he should have told her 'no'. That they still had to be vigilant. That they still had to think of SD-6, and the CIA for that matter; that their lives were still very much on the line, but his earlier epiphany left room for only one answer.
"Sure."
They moved swiftly, eager for the seeming privacy of his apartment. Eager to feel safe -if only when in each other's arms. Upon exiting the warehouse, they were surprised to find none of Irina's cohorts waiting. Surprised, but not unhappy. It made slipping into the shadows that much easier.
*************************************************
Though the physical resemblance was strong, Sydney was really nothing like her. In fact she reminded Irina of Jack, when she first knew him...all those years ago when the cold steel hadn't entered his eyes. Sydney was passionate, headstrong, brave, but so naïve. Strangely so, considering she had been a spy -and a very good one - for so many years. Her daughter still saw things in black and white.
Her lover -Michael Vaughn- now he was a different matter. Originally she had written him off as an updated copy of his father; genuinely believing the rhetoric they tried to brainwash them with at Langley. She didn't hold that opinion for long. That transcript of the meeting they had had in the carwash, had proved extremely illuminating to Irina. Even the scribe had noted that 'subject beta' had seemed 'agitated' that 'subject alpha' had thought him married.
She had quickly revised the importance Michael Vaughn would play in her plans, and this time around she was definitely on the mark.
Michael Vaughn was not his father, and he wasn't going to try to be him. The choices he made were his own. He knew what being a 'company man' meant, and he knew that's what he wasn't prepared to be. His loyalty did not lie first and foremost with the CIA. They lay with Sydney. No matter what. She had thrown in two tests to be sure, namely Noah Hicks and Will Tippin's release for The Page. Each time, he had passed. Brilliantly.
In another life, or another incarnation, Irina would have called this man her son-in-law, and she had the feeling she would have been happy, possibly even proud to do so.
Shaking her head to dispel such uncharacteristically sentimental thoughts, Irina spotted Sark enter the room from the corner of her eye.
"Yes?" Her displeasure was obvious. She had told them all specifically that she was going to be the only one in the room while they were recording, and that no one could enter till she said so.
"They left about ten minutes ago." Sark wanted to say more, but decided just to play the dutiful third in command. Irina was so dangerous primarily because no one could predict how she would react to things. " So when do we send the tape?"
"What tape?"
The only reason Sark knew he had heard right, was because of the amused smile playing over Irina's face.
" David, David, David." Irina began at length " What's the one thing a good agent needs to be able to do?"
He wasn't sure if her question was rhetorical or not, but he had to ask, "What?"
"Misdirect."
"I thought that was reserved for magicians." Sarcasm was not going to help him, but for the first time in a while he had been shocked out of his usual smug comfort.
"How truly different from magicians are we? We depend on sleight of hands, tricks of lights, the power of persuasion and most of all misdirection. Who do you think tipped Arvin Sloane about Page 47. It was so easy, so goddamn easy. All I had to do was let him find out through the grapevine that we wanted it, and he fell for it, hook, line and sinker, taking the CIA with him, and I'll grant you it was important. But prophecies are tricky things -you know I think I just stole that line from somewhere, but for the life of me I can remember where- especially two-parter ones written by mediaeval mystics with a penchant for paranoia. I suppose it's not their fault that they didn't know about Page 48. After all we've had it for years in our possession and it was only in the last year that our people figured it out."
"So you mean."It was the first time in forever that Sark could remember being scared. This woman thought of everything. Once she had you in her sights, she owned you.
"That's right David.it talked about them. I think it went something along the lines of spilt blood binding hearts blood. Poetic...if you like doggerel, but the long and the short of it was that Rambaldi predicted that Sydney and Michael Vaughn, together, would be able to stop me. They were the 'vulgar cost' as such."
Irina found herself a little disappointed that David had taken so long to figure it out. She had a feeling Sydney or Michael Vaughn wouldn't have taken so long, but she quickly dismissed the thought. It was never wise to plan too far ahead. The last time she had done that, she had had to take an unscheduled trip into the Pacific and suck on tire air.
"So what was the point of this then? There's no tape, you obviously never had any intention of making one, and somehow I doubt you're trying to help your daughter's love life. What are you not telling me Irina?"
He didn't think she would tell him. So it was typical of Irina to actually answer his question, with a question of her own.
"Why is Arvin Sloane's most dangerous enemy Sydney?" Fairly sure, he wasn't meant to answer her, Sark waited -as patiently as he could till she decided to continue. " He tried to take away everything from her. To leave her with nothing. The person most dangerous to you, is the person who has nothing to lose. I gave Sydney two things she could lose, just as I did Agent Vaughn. And because those are the two thing neither are ready to give up, that neither can ...very simply put, I've won"
"How.?" It was making sense in a Machiavellian way, but there were so many gaps she hadn't filled in. Things he just had to know. Luckily Irina seemed to be in a good, or at least a loquacious mood.
"Nothing in Sydney's life has ever been an accident, with the exception -amusingly enough- of meeting Agent Vaughn. Ms Calfo has been in deep cover for years, but I assure you she's one of our most loyal agents. Not to mention our best. She walks a very fine line every day, and she has never forgotten which side she belongs to...You'd be wise to remember that David." Sark tried to interrupt but she continued, apparently oblivious "It was easy for Francine to switch Sydney's birth control with placebos, and also to administer the estrogen supplements. Congratulate me David, I'm going to be a grandmother in 9 months time."
The End
Vaughn recitation in French was from'I Sing The Body Electric' by Walt Whitman. The verses are out of order the way he tells it to Sydney, but in their situation, it actually makes more sense for him to quote those bits to her, at the particular times he does.
I translated it, so forgive me if my translation is rusty. It's been way too many years since I have done some serious translating and I'm seriously rusty...geez, redundant much?
I'll put the translations in the order that they appeared, and below that, I'll also have a copy of the poem in English. Whitman is a highly erotic poet. If there is anyone who hasn't read him (my God have you people been living under a rock?) I suggest you read Leaves of Grass as soon as you can. You can even find copies of it free online.
BTW Anam Cara is Gaelic.
Translations:
1) N'Etre pas d'honteux, la femme-votre privilège enclot le repos, et est la sortie du repos;
Be not ashamed, woman-your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest;
2) Comme je voit mon âme reflété dans nature; Comme je voit par une brume, celui avec inexpressible et beauté, Voit le courbé tête, et bras a plié le sein-le femelle je voit.
As I see my soul reflected in nature; As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible completeness and beauty, See the bent head, and arms folded over the breast-the female I see
3) la pièce hors de cela-la réponse de la même manière ungovernable; les Cheveux, le sein, les hanches, le tournant de jambes, les mains négligentes qui tombant, tout diffusé-la mine trop diffusée; Baisser piquée par le flux, et le flux piquée par le grossir d'ebb-love-chair et délicieuxment le faire mal;
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it-the response likewise ungovernable; Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands, all diffused-mine too diffused; Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb-love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching;
4) Ceci est le femelle forme; Un divin nimbus exhale d'il de tête payer; Il attire avec féroce indéniable attraction! Je suis dessiné par son souffle comme si j'étais non plus qu'une vapeur impuissante-toutes chutes de côté mais me et il;
This is the female form; A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot; It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction! I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor-all falls aside but myself and it;
This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day. This the nucleus -- after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again. Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul. The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters. As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.
As soon as they heard no more footsteps, Sydney launched into action, tearing frantically first at her bound feet, and then clumsily opening his imprisoned hands. Vaughn couldn't help the groan of pain, and relief, that escaped him as he slowly moved his shoulders but ignoring their brutal throbbing, he held Sydney, who as suddenly as she had started moving, now looked like a marionette doll ... sans strings.
"I'm sorry." She whispered after minute.
"I'm not." He assured her, enjoying the feel of her silken hair against his jaw. "N'Etre pas d'honteux, la femme-votre privilège enclot le repos, et est la sortie du repos."
At that, she pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him. Bruisingly, desperately, passionately.
He should have stopped her. Should have tried to talk, but it was Sydney. Sydney's mouth clinging to his...Sydney's strong, slim arms winding around his neck to pull him closer -it could never be close enough- to her ... Sydney ... Sydney ... his alpha and his omega.
Following her down to the dirty floor of the warehouse, Vaughn felt a sharp pang of regret, pierce through the haze of ache, need, lust and love. It shouldn't have been like this. The loop threatened to begin again, but then Sydney's teeth nipped and worried the curve of his neck, and that accursed loop was silenced, and once again all that mattered was her and himself . They were far away from the ever-present grime of the warehouse; there was no contingent of leering henchman waiting outside; no Sark, no Irina. Just the two of them .... together ...finally.
It could have been a minute, or it could have been an hour later -time now measured by them in kisses and caresses- but suddenly Vaughn found himself poised above Sydney who stared so hopefully and trustingly up at him. The blinding need that had coursed through him, was sated -temporarily- as he just marveled at her, at being with her.
"Comme je voit mon âme reflété dans nature; Comme je voit par une brume, celui avec inexpressible et beauté, Voit le courbé tête, et bras a plié le sein-le femelle je voit... la pièce hors de cela-la réponse de la même manière ungovernable; les Cheveux, le sein, les hanches, le tournant de jambes, les mains négligentes qui tombant, tout diffusé-la mine trop diffusée; Baisser piquée par le flux, et le flux piquée par le grossir d'ebb-love-chair et délicieuxment le faire mal." The words seemed specifically written for Sydney and since he had none of his none -she defied the everyday lexicon- he was content to borrow, from those wiser. He wanted to stop talking, to let loose his primal need for the succor of her flesh, but he had to tell her. If he had learned nothing else from Irina's 'exercise', it was that the only people -person- he was fooling, was himself...and possibly Sydney. They would never be able to be 'purely professional'. Too many factors had bound the inextricably together forever.
How strange it was that their imprisonment, their lesson in obedience, had finally freed him from the shackles of the CIA code, his father's code, and most of all his own doubts and fears. It should have been strange, but it wasn't. Everything made sense with her in his arms.
He loved her. Everything he was, belonged to her. It had been like this for a very long time, and finally he found no shame in telling her so. "Ceci est le femelle forme; Un divin nimbus exhale d'il de tête payer; Il attire avec féroce indéniable attraction! Je suis dessiné par son souffle comme si j'étais non plus qu'une vapeur impuissante-toutes chutes de côté mais me et il."
Her tears didn't scare, didn't make him wonder if he had said too much, or pressed to hard. No. He knew exactly why she cried, and if he hadn't felt free before, he would have at that moment.
Pulling him down so that his face was only inches from her, Sydney kissed him tenderly, sweetly, with none of the desperation and fear of their first. Trailing kisses to his ear she whispered the three words he had so often dreamt about. "I love you Michael Vaughn."
There was no more to be said, not then anyway. Instead, he kissed her as she guided him into her. ***********************************************************************
"I didn't want this to happen, you know." The words might have had a sting to them, if she had not been curled so completely to his side, interspersing her words with little, suckling, kisses. " I tried so hard not to love you Vaughn. But you made it impossible. I think I first realized it on the pier...God, it scared me so much. You scared me so much. You still do. No one's ever loved me like you do. No matter how bitchy I get, no matter what I say... Why?"
He rolled on his side towards her, taking his time to try and find the right words to tell her. "Honestly Sydney, I just don't know. I mean, I could love you because you are so brave, or because you never give up, or because you're just so beautiful...and I do, but I love you in a way...I can't really explain..... Anam Cara. That's about as close to it as I can come..... You're my soul friend."
One tear slid down her cheek, and he gently thumbed it away. Another followed, and he did the same. Again. And again. Until there were too many tears for him to wipe away. Knowing there was nothing he could say, Vaughn just held her to him as close as he could.
"What are we going to do Michael?" Sydney mumbled from her haven "You know as well as I do, she's not going to stop at the tape. I don't know what makes me sicker. The fact that she taped us, or the fact that I'm hoping she 'only' wanted to tape us."
A note of hysteria entered her voice, and Vaughn forestalled her impending breakdown the only way he could. He kissed her. It was desperate and hard at first, but soon the frenzy left though the desire didn't.
It was tempting, so tempting, to forget what they were talking about. To forget the horror of the situation that they were in and focus only on the witchery of her moans and sighs, but he couldn't. They couldn't. Regretfully Vaughn pulled away from her kiss, resting his forehead against hers as he struggled for an answer.
"Frankly Syd, I don't know what's going to happen, or why she really engineered this whole thing. All we can do is take it one step at a time and see what happens next."
"And us Michael?" She asked fearfully, raising her head from his chest so she could look into his eyes. Eyes that always told her the truth "What happens to us?"
"I hate how this happened Syd." He replied after a silence a little too long for her liking "I hate that I can't shake the feeling that there was something more I could have done, so we wouldn't have had to suffer this humiliation. I hate the fact that they tried to pervert this to suit their purpose...but Syd, I could never regret us. Ever. So, what happens to us is completely up to you. If you want us to go home and try and forget this and hope for the best, then I'll abide by your wishes. But Syd, I want more. I want you. And ultimately, I want it all with you."
Vaughn found himself a little surprised at his eloquence, but he knew that about this Sydney could have no doubts. There were too many ever-changing variables in her life, for her to doubt his commitment to her, and to them.
It was exactly what she needed to hear.
"We should go." He said, breaking the curiously peaceful silence.
"Can I stay with you tonight?"
Vaughn knew he should have told her 'no'. That they still had to be vigilant. That they still had to think of SD-6, and the CIA for that matter; that their lives were still very much on the line, but his earlier epiphany left room for only one answer.
"Sure."
They moved swiftly, eager for the seeming privacy of his apartment. Eager to feel safe -if only when in each other's arms. Upon exiting the warehouse, they were surprised to find none of Irina's cohorts waiting. Surprised, but not unhappy. It made slipping into the shadows that much easier.
*************************************************
Though the physical resemblance was strong, Sydney was really nothing like her. In fact she reminded Irina of Jack, when she first knew him...all those years ago when the cold steel hadn't entered his eyes. Sydney was passionate, headstrong, brave, but so naïve. Strangely so, considering she had been a spy -and a very good one - for so many years. Her daughter still saw things in black and white.
Her lover -Michael Vaughn- now he was a different matter. Originally she had written him off as an updated copy of his father; genuinely believing the rhetoric they tried to brainwash them with at Langley. She didn't hold that opinion for long. That transcript of the meeting they had had in the carwash, had proved extremely illuminating to Irina. Even the scribe had noted that 'subject beta' had seemed 'agitated' that 'subject alpha' had thought him married.
She had quickly revised the importance Michael Vaughn would play in her plans, and this time around she was definitely on the mark.
Michael Vaughn was not his father, and he wasn't going to try to be him. The choices he made were his own. He knew what being a 'company man' meant, and he knew that's what he wasn't prepared to be. His loyalty did not lie first and foremost with the CIA. They lay with Sydney. No matter what. She had thrown in two tests to be sure, namely Noah Hicks and Will Tippin's release for The Page. Each time, he had passed. Brilliantly.
In another life, or another incarnation, Irina would have called this man her son-in-law, and she had the feeling she would have been happy, possibly even proud to do so.
Shaking her head to dispel such uncharacteristically sentimental thoughts, Irina spotted Sark enter the room from the corner of her eye.
"Yes?" Her displeasure was obvious. She had told them all specifically that she was going to be the only one in the room while they were recording, and that no one could enter till she said so.
"They left about ten minutes ago." Sark wanted to say more, but decided just to play the dutiful third in command. Irina was so dangerous primarily because no one could predict how she would react to things. " So when do we send the tape?"
"What tape?"
The only reason Sark knew he had heard right, was because of the amused smile playing over Irina's face.
" David, David, David." Irina began at length " What's the one thing a good agent needs to be able to do?"
He wasn't sure if her question was rhetorical or not, but he had to ask, "What?"
"Misdirect."
"I thought that was reserved for magicians." Sarcasm was not going to help him, but for the first time in a while he had been shocked out of his usual smug comfort.
"How truly different from magicians are we? We depend on sleight of hands, tricks of lights, the power of persuasion and most of all misdirection. Who do you think tipped Arvin Sloane about Page 47. It was so easy, so goddamn easy. All I had to do was let him find out through the grapevine that we wanted it, and he fell for it, hook, line and sinker, taking the CIA with him, and I'll grant you it was important. But prophecies are tricky things -you know I think I just stole that line from somewhere, but for the life of me I can remember where- especially two-parter ones written by mediaeval mystics with a penchant for paranoia. I suppose it's not their fault that they didn't know about Page 48. After all we've had it for years in our possession and it was only in the last year that our people figured it out."
"So you mean."It was the first time in forever that Sark could remember being scared. This woman thought of everything. Once she had you in her sights, she owned you.
"That's right David.it talked about them. I think it went something along the lines of spilt blood binding hearts blood. Poetic...if you like doggerel, but the long and the short of it was that Rambaldi predicted that Sydney and Michael Vaughn, together, would be able to stop me. They were the 'vulgar cost' as such."
Irina found herself a little disappointed that David had taken so long to figure it out. She had a feeling Sydney or Michael Vaughn wouldn't have taken so long, but she quickly dismissed the thought. It was never wise to plan too far ahead. The last time she had done that, she had had to take an unscheduled trip into the Pacific and suck on tire air.
"So what was the point of this then? There's no tape, you obviously never had any intention of making one, and somehow I doubt you're trying to help your daughter's love life. What are you not telling me Irina?"
He didn't think she would tell him. So it was typical of Irina to actually answer his question, with a question of her own.
"Why is Arvin Sloane's most dangerous enemy Sydney?" Fairly sure, he wasn't meant to answer her, Sark waited -as patiently as he could till she decided to continue. " He tried to take away everything from her. To leave her with nothing. The person most dangerous to you, is the person who has nothing to lose. I gave Sydney two things she could lose, just as I did Agent Vaughn. And because those are the two thing neither are ready to give up, that neither can ...very simply put, I've won"
"How.?" It was making sense in a Machiavellian way, but there were so many gaps she hadn't filled in. Things he just had to know. Luckily Irina seemed to be in a good, or at least a loquacious mood.
"Nothing in Sydney's life has ever been an accident, with the exception -amusingly enough- of meeting Agent Vaughn. Ms Calfo has been in deep cover for years, but I assure you she's one of our most loyal agents. Not to mention our best. She walks a very fine line every day, and she has never forgotten which side she belongs to...You'd be wise to remember that David." Sark tried to interrupt but she continued, apparently oblivious "It was easy for Francine to switch Sydney's birth control with placebos, and also to administer the estrogen supplements. Congratulate me David, I'm going to be a grandmother in 9 months time."
The End
Vaughn recitation in French was from'I Sing The Body Electric' by Walt Whitman. The verses are out of order the way he tells it to Sydney, but in their situation, it actually makes more sense for him to quote those bits to her, at the particular times he does.
I translated it, so forgive me if my translation is rusty. It's been way too many years since I have done some serious translating and I'm seriously rusty...geez, redundant much?
I'll put the translations in the order that they appeared, and below that, I'll also have a copy of the poem in English. Whitman is a highly erotic poet. If there is anyone who hasn't read him (my God have you people been living under a rock?) I suggest you read Leaves of Grass as soon as you can. You can even find copies of it free online.
BTW Anam Cara is Gaelic.
Translations:
1) N'Etre pas d'honteux, la femme-votre privilège enclot le repos, et est la sortie du repos;
Be not ashamed, woman-your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest;
2) Comme je voit mon âme reflété dans nature; Comme je voit par une brume, celui avec inexpressible et beauté, Voit le courbé tête, et bras a plié le sein-le femelle je voit.
As I see my soul reflected in nature; As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible completeness and beauty, See the bent head, and arms folded over the breast-the female I see
3) la pièce hors de cela-la réponse de la même manière ungovernable; les Cheveux, le sein, les hanches, le tournant de jambes, les mains négligentes qui tombant, tout diffusé-la mine trop diffusée; Baisser piquée par le flux, et le flux piquée par le grossir d'ebb-love-chair et délicieuxment le faire mal;
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it-the response likewise ungovernable; Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands, all diffused-mine too diffused; Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb-love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching;
4) Ceci est le femelle forme; Un divin nimbus exhale d'il de tête payer; Il attire avec féroce indéniable attraction! Je suis dessiné par son souffle comme si j'étais non plus qu'une vapeur impuissante-toutes chutes de côté mais me et il;
This is the female form; A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot; It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction! I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor-all falls aside but myself and it;
This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor, all falls aside but myself and it,
Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and what was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are now consumed,
Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it, the response likewise ungovernable,
Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falling hands all diffused, mine too diffused,
Ebb stung by the flow and flow stung by the ebb, love-flesh swelling and deliciously aching,
Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love, white-blow and delirious juice,
Bridegroom night of love working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
Undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-flesh'd day. This the nucleus -- after the child is born of woman, man is born of woman,
This the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large, and the outlet again. Be not ashamed women, your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest,
You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul. The female contains all qualities and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veil'd, she is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters. As I see my soul reflected in Nature,
As I see through a mist, One with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,
See the bent head and arms folded over the breast, the Female I see.