Title: Between
Author: sirona7
Email: lclos@aol.com
URLs: Posted on www.nocturnalactivities.net
Keywords: Vignette, Missing Scene, Jack POV
Timeline: S1, Almost Thirty Years
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This missing scene explores Jack's thoughts on the relationship between his
daughter and her handler.
Author's Note: This vignette takes place during "Almost Thirty Years". Like the "clip"
show, "Q&A," this story uses scenes from several shows like an enhanced memory. The
quoted dialogue is marked at the beginning of a passage with 0 and is interspersed with
Jack's thoughts and some description of the scene. "Between" follows closely on four
other vignettes that are, in reverse order: "Confrontations," "ID," "Associations," and
"Backward". All are told from Jack Bristow's POV and try to reveal some of what I think
his inner monologue might be. Many thanks to akatolstoy for posing the question "When
did Jack come to respect Agent Vaughn?" and for her generosity of spirit and thought.
Disclaimer: Alias and its characters belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. I own nothing and
will not profit from the story. The extended quotes come from the following episodes, the
brilliant words of these writers: "Color-Blind,"1-7, by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman,
"Mea Culpa,"1-9, by Debra Fisher and Erica Messer, from "Spirit," 1-10, by J.J. Abrams
and Vanessa Taylor, "Q&A," 1-16, by J.J. Abrams, and "Almost Thirty Years," 1-22, by
J.J. Abrams.
*******
BETWEEN
Jack Bristow sat across from Sydney and her handler, the wooden crate of grenades
standing between them only slightly less ominous than the expression on his face. Diffuse
light bathed the cavernous space in gray-green shadows. The rumble of the C-130's
engines was loud enough to make eavesdropping an impossibility, but then, he didn't need
to hear a word to grasp the meaning. He'd been watching them for hours on the long flight
to Taipei, huddled close enough to feel each other's warmth but not actually touching,
talking in low voices, sharing subdued smiles.
Jack hadn't been surprised to see Vaughn with Sydney at the airstrip. When she felt
vulnerable, she seemed to find strength in her handler, and he seemed always to
be...available. Although Vaughn and Sydney had tried to remain discreet, Jack was aware
of their growing intimacy, the confidences they shared, and what that predestined. Given
the magnitude of their ultimate mission, and complications too numerous to discount, he
couldn't help but question their aspirations.
Her face was strained with exhaustion, dark circles pooled under her cocoa eyes. The
tracks of recent tears lingered in the soft fuzz on her cheeks. In a low voice, she
announced, "Dad, Vaughn is coming with us."
He looked to the worried eyes of the other man for confirmation. Certain risks Vaughn was
taking were obvious: his career, his oath to the Agency, even his life; all hung in the
balance. Vaughn was risking everything that seemed to be important to him to help
Sydney. For what? For ideals or illusions? For something manifest or something as yet
unspoken though immanent?
He took a deep breath of the acrid air and said solemnly, "You know there's no turning
back."
Vaughn returned Jack's gaze and said with frank conviction. "I know."
Jack looked to Sydney, her heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Vaughn's face. The lines around
her mouth were drawn in tight like a cinched corset. While a man usually detached from
feelings of empathy, at this moment, he let open the door. Jack could feel his daughter's
dilemma; he sensed her need for this man and her struggle to keep her feelings in line with
her code of honor. Her attraction to him was palpable, her fear logical, and yet their
connection was oddly spiritual at the same time that it was elusive, foolish, and
indisputably...sensual.
"Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the shadow." As
one of Eliot's Hollow Men, Jack recognized the shape if not the particulars of Sydney's
despair.
He said with a nod of affirmation, "Then let's get underway."
*******
Hours into the long flight, the passengers were restless. Sydney was fidgeting, unable to
sit still any longer. Like a newborn filly, she was all gangly legs and twisting torso,
impossibly jointless, as if held upright by energy alone. Just as she'd been as a child, Jack
recalled with wonder. "I've something she won't be expecting." He pushed a heavy wicker
hamper towards her.
"Are you hungry?" he asked in a bland voice.
With a look of credulity, she leaned over and opened the hamper. She picked out a rice
paper wrapped package and opened it. Girlish glee passed over her face. Grinning widely,
she asked, "Dim Sum?
Quickly pulling out the containers from the hamper and opening each with increasing
pleasure as her father said, "Mrs. Zhang thought it...appropriate...for our travels."
"Vaughn you have to try some. These are amazing. Mrs. Zhang, my Dad's housekeeper, is
the best cook in the world." Sydney paused to correct herself, "Somehow 'housekeeper'
just doesn't even come close to describing her." She looked to her father and smiled,
"She's this incredible woman who came into our lives when we really needed her...I can't
do justice to her. Dad? "
"You're right to hesitate, I wouldn't attempt to describe her myself. Perhaps you'll meet
her one day, Mr. Vaughn."
"I'd like that." Vaughn said with an awkward grin deriving perhaps from the unexpected
glimpse into the domestic life of this distinctly private man.
She sat back for a moment looking at the open bamboo boxes. "These are my favorites,
Vaughn, that says it all, doesn't it." Tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, she said to
her father, "Will you thank her?"
"Of course, though she would undoubtedly prefer to hear it from you directly." He smiled
warmly and treated them to one of his rare winks acknowledging both Sydney's pleasure
and the thoughtfulness of his uniquely competent housekeeper.
Sydney surveyed the situation and pulled the crate of grenades to the center of the passage.
She cleared the top and arranged the boxes in a circle from savory to sweet. She placed
chop sticks, glazed white cups, square celadon plates, and bamboo patterned cotton
napkins to one side.
Then, she opened a tall insulated carafe. The heady steam rose in a coil as soon as she
removed the top filling the cold air with the rich woody and earthy aroma of Pu Erh tea.
She opened a second carafe and the air was perfumed with the faint medicinal sweetness of
green tea with ginseng.
"Where would you like to start?" She said offering to serve Jack first.
The setting may have lacked the art of a classical Chinese garden ting but he appreciated the
beauty of the moment which arose from the innocent pleasures of partaking a perfect meal.
"Just tea, the Pu Erh." He decided pointing to the smaller carafe. As she handed him the
cup, he said, "You go ahead, please. I'm not hungry. But, Mrs. Zhang would be horrified
if a morsel is left."
Jack watched as Sydney handed Vaughn a plate, chop sticks, and napkin. She laughed and
said, "It may not be Trattoria di Nardi, but it's as close as we're likely to come to first class
dining on dim sum anytime soon!"
Vaughn laughed too and they speedily set to work on the boxes, serving themselves,
talking animatedly between bites and sips, finally sharing a meal.
Returning to his thoughts, Jack wondered, "Sydney, I can see her choices. Hell, some of
them have been prescribed roughly since birth. But, Vaughn, how can he allow himself
hope? What does he expect will happen? Maybe he's not thinking about outcomes, maybe
he's just focusing on today, this mission." But something in this equation didn't make
sense to Jack. That can't be right, it's too shallow, insufficiently subtle." Not the Vaughn
he had come to know.
Over many months, Jack had by leaps come to realize how exceptional a man was Michael
Vaughn. At the disastrous first meeting in Joey's restaurant, he'd had little to praise. Was it
really 9 months ago? He'd gone to meet his handler, Kretchmer, but when he entered the
private dining room, he was approached by quite another man.
["Color-Blind"]
o"Mr. Bristow, I'm sorry about the..."
He'd expected Lloyd, not this...boy. Jack responded without thinking. He grabbed
Vaughn, and though less agile than his opponent, the precision of his every movement
gave him all the advantage he needed. Jack twisted Vaughn's arm behind his back,
slamming him into the wall. Pressing the steel gray 9 mm Glock behind the man's ear, he
snarled, "Who are you?"
"Uh, I'm CIA operations officer Vaughn. I'm Sydney's handler. I cleared this meeting
with Devlin. Kretchmer walked me through your S.O.P., we're safe."
Jack released him from the hold. Straightening his tie, and moving away from the wall.
After the initial surprise, he'd expected to cow the junior agent. Things didn't work out
quite as planned.
"Are Sydney and I switching handlers, or is this a special occasion?
"No. We have a problem."
"Fisher hasn't made contact. I know."
"No, we believe K-Directorate had an agent waiting in the hospital."
"SD-6 doesn't have confirmation of that."
"C.I.A. does. We have an extraction team waiting on the ready line out of Serbia. I want to
pull Sydney out of there. I was hoping that maybe we could coordinate this together."
"Mr. Vaughn, you're young and you're eager, and I understand that. But one thing you're
not, and this is something only time can provide, really... is wise."
"You don't think this is the right move."
"Listen carefully, Mr. Vaughn. Even with a minimal extraction team, you can't guarantee
containment. And if Sloane finds out, Sydney's dead anyway."
"Retire her early. Pull her out of service!"
"And in the process, expose her operations at SD-6."
"Sydney's life is worth the risk!"
"Not to Sydney! Taking them down is what gets her up in the morning. Or... did you think
it was those meetings she has with you?"
"Hey! What is your problem with me?"
"You pulled my file last week, that's my problem, Mr. Vaughn. Now, did curiosity get the
better of you, or were you trying to impress my daughter?"
"She thinks you were KGB. But, I'm sure you already knew that. So, what I'm
wondering is what were you doing checking up on me checking up on you?"
"This meeting is over."/o
[End "Color-Blind"]
So had gone their first interaction. It had started not unlike similar scenes he'd had with
young agents too numerous to mention. It was his strategy in dealing with pups and it
usually worked out as planned. But this one had ended on an interesting note. They had
both discovered much about the other, Jack thought, "Not a miscalculation, an
underestimation, for both of us."
But just as true was the fact that Vaughn had come a long way since his early days as
Sydney's handler. Jack shuddered remembering how close a call she'd had at Dinatti Park.
Vaughn had contacted him in a panic:
[Begin "Mea Culpa"]
o"I got your message. I'm on a secure line."
There's been a hit put out on Sydney. I'm getting her out of there."
"Not yet. You could be making a mistake."
"I don't think so!"
"Do nothing until you hear from me."
"We already have a team en route."
He'd been furious with Vaughn. He'd hung up the phone abruptly and gone looking for
answers. After using sleight-of-hand and intimidation to distract the stupendously naive if
stunningly brilliant Marshall, he determined the probable truth, that Sloane was setting up a
sting to catch a mole. Weighing his options, he'd headed quickly to the LA office of the
CIA. Kretchmer had taken him to field ops, where he came nearly to blows with Vaughn.
"Mr. Bristow."
"Call them off."
"Did you read Sloane's transmission? She'll be in the park any minute."
"No execution has been ordered. This is a set-up."
"What are you talking about?"
"Sloane's transmission was sent out on SD-6 server five. It was only sent to you. Vaughn,
they know someone's listening. This is a test."
"I'll tell you what. We'll take that chance, get Sydney out of there, and argue about this
later."
"You go in like this, you pull her out, it'll only prove that you've intercepted Sloane's
communique and Sydney will be exposed."
"You don't know that for a fact!"
"Why am I even talking to you? Lloyd, abort this mission."
"Hey, wait a minute!"
Lloyd spoke up, "We verified this order, Jack. We pull back, you could be killing your
daughter."
"You're killing her if you don't!"
Jack would never forget the look of dread on Vaughn's face when he'd asked, "How could
you be willing to risk something like this?"
"If Sydney makes her scheduled dead-drop, does it successfully, and leaves the park, she
will have proven herself loyal to SD-6."
Lloyd intervened. "Have them hold 'til we give an order."
Vaughn was close to apoplexy. "No, no, no, don't hold it!"
"Hold 'til further notice..."
Vaughn was livid. "This is Sydney's LIFE!"
Jack felt the urgency of the moment as well and his voice rose to match the younger man in
tone but not in tremor. "You were meant to see that transmission! You're the only ones
who saw it!"
"Someone in that park is going to kill her if we don't do anything!"
"I know how Sloane works! He's BLUFFING!"
After the tension had reached this terrible crescendo, the room fell silent except for the
transmissions.
RADIO: Alpha two, come in."
AGENT: Bristow's entering the park.
RADIO: We have two vehicles that are not on our list.
AGENT: Who's this guy in the jacket?
RADIO: Position three, we have an approaching hostile. Acquire male target, seventy-five
meters.
WEISS: This could be our guy. This could be the hit. What are we doing here?
Vaughn looked to Jack plaintively, "Jack, promise me you're not wrong about this!"
Steadily, Jack said, "Hold your position..."
AGENT: He could be going for a gun! Prepare to take him out!
Reflecting the glacial cool of the older man, Vaughn said, "Stand by."
RADIO: Copy that.
All attention focused completely on the image on the screen. Vaughn uttered quietly,
"That's her dead drop."
AGENT: Okay, she's out. She's out of the park. She's clear. /o
[End "Mea Culpa"]
Jack's experience and understanding of his antagonist had prevented a catastrophe and it
was clear that Vaughn grasped it. Vaughn now understood that only Jack knew the
intricacies of the multi-faceted if twisted mind of Arvin Sloane, and that by necessity his
methods would seem...radical, in response.
But during the exchange, the boy had tipped his hand to the depth of his feelings. After
Dinatti Park, Jack understood his daughter's handler was anything but detached.
Between Dinatti Park and Taipei, Vaughn had proven his metal. Jack had been most
pleasantly surprised by his intuitions as a strategist. Less desirable, for Jack, was
discovering that Vaughn had an uncanny ability to see through duplicity. Especially, it
seemed Jack's own duplicity. When they'd met to discuss his counter-mission for Havana,
he hadn't expected to be played with such finesse.
[Begin "Spirit"]
Jack was perturbed to have Vaughn meet him instead of Kretchmer, his old friend and
trusted colleague. Every time Vaughn tried to assert his role, Jack responded with
aggravated dismissal.
o"I don't need a lesson in the international arms trade."
Vaughn was irritated now and showing it. "Fine. Go to Cuba, use your contacts, get to
Hassan -- but instead of taking him out, you'll tell him the truth: that SD-6 sent you to kill
him. You'll then convince him that you're turning on SD-6, that you're planning on leaving
them, and that you're willing to fake his death in exchange for his client list."
Jack was appalled that he was expected to bring in Hassan. "You're making a huge
mistake."
"Am I?"
"Trusting a man like Hassan."
"There will be a CIA team waiting at the location where his death is to be faked. Hassan
will never be a free man again."
The longer he lived, the less tolerance he had for certain officially-sanctioned strategies,
and this one seemed particularly unripe, a tomato pulled green from the vine. If he'd been
consulted, he could have made the flaws clear, proposed a counter-mission that reaped far-
ranging results. Jack was particularly sensitive to being treated as a puppet. He was not
used to being under anyone's control, except possibly Arvin Sloane, and that was a
struggle decades in the making. He'd decide later if this was the right tact to take with
Hassan, but for now, he reluctantly accepted the counter-mission with a shrug and
affirmed. "I'll make contact by 6 pm tomorrow."
"I got a copy of Russek's "transmission". The one SD-6 intercepted. I also went through
the CIA logs and compared the two. They don't match. You fixed the transmission, made it
look like it was Russek, by altering the signal's point of origin and changing the message
content."
Furiously, Jack replied. "Whoever the hell you think you are -- checking up on me, pulling
my file, second-guessing my choices -- let's both face the facts that you're not that person.
Neither your experience nor your intelligence has earned you the right to question a thing
that I do. So I'm going to make two suggestions -- one, that you stop it. And two, that the
next time they assign you to be my handler you kindly decline."
"Russek never transmitted a thing, did he?"
"Of course he didn't. If you got the SD-6 transmission, why the hell are you asking me?"
"I didn't get the SD-6 transmission. It was just a hunch."/o
[End "Spirit"]
"Didn't see that one coming, not at all." He'd been set-up and taken down a notch, without
even realizing what game was underway. Since that interchange, Jack hadn't
underestimated Michael Vaughn. Between Havana and Taipei, he had come to appreciate
that Vaughn had a keen mind with heightening powers of observation and deduction. This
one learned from experience.
And where Sydney was concerned, Jack had discerned that he could trust Vaughn, that is,
as much as he was capable of trust. The turning point came during the debacle with Sydney
and the Rambaldi prophecy. Was it possible that that was the last time he had actually seen
Vaughn? Yes, maybe it was, though Vaughn cast such a veil around Sydney that Jack
could sense him, even if he wasn't actually present. One meeting in particular played back
in his mind.
Sydney was being interrogated and they needed to act quickly to free her.
[Begin "Q&A"]
It had been one of the darkest days Jack could remember since the day Laura died. His
daughter was being held under Directive 81A, she might conceivably be held for the rest of
her life, and none of his usual sources were talking. He was running out of options when
he met Vaughn for the second time that day in the abandoned warehouse.
o"Thanks for coming."
"I checked out SD-6 security section. They have nothing on Sydney."
"Well, look at this. There." He pointed to a typed copy of the prophecy.
"This woman will have had her effect never having seen the beauty of Mt. Subasio." Now,
if the FBI is going to take this prophecy so literally, then every phrase must have equal
veracity."
"That's right."
"According to Rambaldi, the woman in question, the subject of this prophecy, will have
never seen Mt. Subasio. Meaning if Sydney were to go there and see it herself..."
"She couldn't possibly be the woman Rambaldi was talking about."
"That makes sense, doesn't it? I thought that made sense."
"It's good. It's good."
"I talked to Devlin about this. He put three calls into the FBI directive. He was
stonewalled."
"The FBI is not in the most cooperative mood. We'll have to extract her. Get her to Italy
ourselves."
"I know Devlin would sanction transit. I mean, we could have a jet ready in an hour."
"Question is how to find her."
"Steven Haladki, he's CIA. He works in the LA office. Former FBI. I know he still has
ties."
"Haladki. I'll talk to him."
"Oh, no, the problem is... he's not talking."
"He'll talk to me."/o
[End "Q&A"]
Vaughn hadn't flinched when Jack suggested an unauthorized extraction of a suspect and
the interrogation of a Federal agent. On the contrary, Vaughn seemed to already have
considered the necessity for extreme measures and strategized possible scenarios outside
the...normal range...of protocol.
"He finally discovered some permafrost in his gut after all, it would seem. That's good.
Vaughn has persistence, ability to size up a situation and take required, perhaps, audacious
action, and a mind for strategic planning; nicely balanced qualities. Capable of salvaging as
well as sacrifice. A not unfamiliar combination of traits." Jack's expression sobered, "Then
to counterbalance all the rational strengths, there's this lingering...idealism. Time will tell
where that's concerned: idealism is usually the first casualty to craft. But, not necessarily
for everyone. For Sydney's needs, more Gawain, less Merlin, might be right the balance."
Gawain. He softened thinking of Michael Vaughn as the worthy knight errant. He gazed at
Sydney. Sweetly talking with Vaughn, in a soft, relaxed way, leaning towards him,
unconsciously tucking her hair behind her ear. Just like she had done. Jack's eye followed
the line of Sydney's jaw, so like hers, the graceful upturn of her nose. Drowsiness was
gently overtaking him, his eyes closed, his mind wandered back to another time, the time
before his fall.
They'd visited Wales first in 1972 during that perfect summer of his post-doc in Oxford.
She'd been so taken with it then and later, she had chosen Carmarthenshire as the place
they would eventually retire, near the legendary birthplace of Merlin. She'd loved the myth
and told it many times to him. He was deeply ashamed now by his naivete, but at the time,
he could understand nothing but that she loved him with a love that was "an ever-fixed
mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken."
He could hear her velvet voice, like a priestess of the Druids, intone, "In the twilight of
Merlin's life, he'd fallen in love with an extraordinary woman. She is known by many
names, but my favorite is Vivien. She was beautiful and charming but all paled beside her
devotion to the arcane arts. She met Merlin in the forest. Maybe it was the magic of the
ancient oaks but in that first moment she saw his aching heart and knew that through this
man she could attain the darkest spells. She promised him unending love and over time
persuaded him to reveal the secrets of his wizardry. Now Merlin is an archangel of
magicians. A man held august by the King and all the civilized world, acknowledged for
his brilliance, his wit, and his powers. Alas, to Vivien, Merlin...was a man...in love, he
was guileless, he was hers."
She would always pause at this point in the story, smile like a crescent moon shining in the
winter sky, always she would touch him, on his face, his hand, his chest, as if he needed
proof of how women might wield power over men. "Merlin...fell utterly. He shared all his
secrets willingly with this woman, who gave him love and promises. When she had what
she wanted, the cunning Vivien put a spell on Merlin that cast him into a deep slumber. One
of his own spells, of course. She left him, sealed in a cave, perchance to sleep, perchance
to dream, for all eternity. Release? Perhaps, but that's another story altogether."
Then she would lean over and kiss him deeply until there was room for nothing but the
promise of unending love reflected in her inscrutable eyes.
Merlin and Vivien...the summer of 1973. Laura said she was working night and day on her
thesis. When she was home, she was distant and cold and criticized his every attempt to
make her happy. He tried to be patient and understanding, remembering her tolerance of his
own near madness when he too was working on his dissertation. But, a rift would chance
to open between them, and into it flowed doubts. He saw her, by chance, when he stopped
by unexpectedly at a coffee shop on campus, talking with a tall, dark haired man. It might
have been nothing but then he saw her touch his face, such an intimate gesture, as one
would touch a lover. He mentioned seeing her when they spoke later. She lied to him. He
knew she was lying. How could she lie? Why would she lie?
He began waiting up for her every night, drinking with the fury of a flame seeking oxygen,
thinking how easy it would be to follow her, to catch her with her lover, to kill him, to
make her see how much he loved her. But, instead, every night, he would stumble off to
bed ashamed that he could think such mad thoughts. Even now, he blazed with humiliation
that he, a proud man who until that time in his life had considered himself a good man,
could have been so willfully, obstinately blind to the truth, a truth that cost so many their
lives.
On Bastille Day, all his morbid fears dissolved back into shadows when she came home
with a bottle of Perrier-Jouet and a tin of sevruga, and announced that the thesis was
finished. He was wary but still he poured the champagne into the fluted glasses they'd use
to toast each other at their wedding. She opened the caviar and pushed a finger into the tin
scooping out a dollop. She pressed her finger into her mouth and savored the salty
unctuousness. She explained she'd had to be away from him so that she could work
without distraction. She held the etched crystal to her lips with one hand while she
unbuttoned his shirt with the other. "It's all behind us, now, my love. Come here and let
me thank you for...your...patience." It was one of the sweetest nights of his life.
In August, he'd taken her on a week's walking tour of Wales, of mysterious caves and
ancient forests, of primal places, ardently hoping the trip would reforge the damaged bond
between them. And so it had. For it was there, in the shimmering gray-green twilight of the
deep forest, one evening between dusk and moonrise, under the bough of an ancient oak,
after a reverent telling of Merlin's tale, that Sydney was conceived.
"Dad, are you awake?"
He was startled. He opened his eyes on that lovely, angular face, his daughter's face, a
face so like Laura's. "Yes, just resting my eyes, honey."
He felt disoriented, clouded over and nauseated as he struggled back toward
consciousness. He pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. A shower of colored lights played
against the dark curtain. He knew from long experience that the vertigo would recede if he
breathed deeply and cleared his mind of fear. He repeated the words, like a mantra, "This
too will pass, this too will pass, this too will pass, this too will pass."
He braved looking at her again, thinking, "Sydney is not Laura. Sydney is the truth that
Laura never was. Neither is she Irina. She is her own woman." She would make her own
way in this treacherous world. He'd made sure she could, though the lessons had been
brutal, cold, and unyielding. And, thus she'd grown formidable, thanks to native abilities,
an irascible spirit, despite the pervasive spectre of her parent's monstrous deceits.
The nausea subsided. He wondered how long he had been asleep? Long enough to travel
decades and short enough for a meal to be finished, dishes cleaned, and all put to right. He
checked his watch, the dual time zone on the rolled steel and black TAG Heuer was set to
LA and Taipei, it showed two hours to ETA. Time to get to work.
He reached into the recessed cabinet behind him and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He pulled
the crate of grenades closer to him and rolled out the surveillance photos of Taipei. "We'd
better go over the mission."
Sydney and Vaughn separated, one going to sit next to Jack the other on an upturned metal
canister.
Jack focused their attention on two maps. "This is the block by block blow-up of the
pharmaceutical district and here's the route map. Memorize this in case you are separated
and need to find your way back to the airstrip...creatively."
[Begin "Almost Thirty Years"]
Sydney looked over at the pictures and asked, o"Who told you about this?"
Only moments into the briefing and already time to roll out a veiled truth. "I found a
source. Khasinau's already built one of these devices and it's in this warehouse. In an
underground lab, room forty-seven. The meeting with Sark is scheduled to take place in
two hours from now. That means by the time I hand over the page in exchange for Tippin,
you must have destroyed not only the device they've built but the lab itself."
"Destroying the device should be easy. It's the size of a shoe. What about the lab?"
Handing her a canvas bag, Jack said, "Here. It's a red mercury charge with a mechanical
fuse."
A warning light flashed overhead, a buzzer sounded. Sydney rose, "I'll see what they
need." She walked forward towards the cabin.
Her father leaned away from the harsh glare of the light and stared at Vaughn. This man
had risked everything to help his daughter. He was more than just her handler, he was her
willing, able, hopeful champion. "And right now, that is what she needs."
Jack turned to Agent Vaughn. His face was so much like his father's at this age. But
Michael wasn't Bill, puritanical, worn down by duty, confined by a narrow outlook, and
he certainly wasn't Jack. He was his own man and he too would make his own way in this
treacherous world.
Perhaps the answer to the question of how Michael Vaughn could have hope had been in
front of him all the time. Despite the brutal, cold, and unyielding lessons Vaughn had
learned, he loved her, the real Sydney, all the Sydneys. The simplicity of this solution
resonated harmonically for Jack. Though conceived in the exploitative relationship of a
handler and his asset, their bond had grown into something quite unique and sustaining for
both the man and the woman. It was forbidden by the conventional rules of conduct, yet
perversely it also represented the highest virtues of the very system that condemned it. "But
then love isn't about fairness, is it?"
He paused long enough to punctuate the importance of what he was about to say. "I
understand the risks you've taken here and you have my respect for that."
Vaughn nodded to Jack, a fleeting change in expression, all the acknowledgment necessary
of their common bond./o
[End "Almost Thirty Years"]
Deciding to give them a little gift of unbidden time, Jack rose and said, "We have about two
hours until we arrive Mr. Vaughn. Tell Sydney I've some arrangements to attend to, I'll be
back just before we land."
Vaughn looked up at Jack, a weary but hopeful warrior, and said with a grateful smile. "I'll
tell her."
Jack walked back toward the rear of the plane. He stopped to look out the galley window at
the crescent moon afloat in the cloud-strewn sky. They'd come so many miles, with so
many more to go. What was it Rilke said? "Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect
and touch and greet each other."
Between LA and Taipei, Jack had come to understand something about the nature of the
bond between his daughter and her handler. Because a buried stream of sorrow fed the
truth at the heart of what Sydney and Vaughn shared, they protected each other. They had
chosen an honorable way to affirm their feelings despite the many temptations they fell heir
to. And in the duplicitous, dangerous world they inhabited, that might just be enough to
nurture hope.
Although he had long since given up believing in love himself, as he turned away from the
window, Jack Bristow arrived at a conclusion about his daughter and her handler. "All in
all, it's an oddly stable paradigm. Not to be overtly encouraged perhaps, but not to be
discouraged either. Plenty of time to act, if need be. And this mission...It changes
everything...and it changes nothing. Let's see what awaits us in Taipei. "
THE END
namaste
Author: sirona7
Email: lclos@aol.com
URLs: Posted on www.nocturnalactivities.net
Keywords: Vignette, Missing Scene, Jack POV
Timeline: S1, Almost Thirty Years
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This missing scene explores Jack's thoughts on the relationship between his
daughter and her handler.
Author's Note: This vignette takes place during "Almost Thirty Years". Like the "clip"
show, "Q&A," this story uses scenes from several shows like an enhanced memory. The
quoted dialogue is marked at the beginning of a passage with 0 and is interspersed with
Jack's thoughts and some description of the scene. "Between" follows closely on four
other vignettes that are, in reverse order: "Confrontations," "ID," "Associations," and
"Backward". All are told from Jack Bristow's POV and try to reveal some of what I think
his inner monologue might be. Many thanks to akatolstoy for posing the question "When
did Jack come to respect Agent Vaughn?" and for her generosity of spirit and thought.
Disclaimer: Alias and its characters belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. I own nothing and
will not profit from the story. The extended quotes come from the following episodes, the
brilliant words of these writers: "Color-Blind,"1-7, by Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman,
"Mea Culpa,"1-9, by Debra Fisher and Erica Messer, from "Spirit," 1-10, by J.J. Abrams
and Vanessa Taylor, "Q&A," 1-16, by J.J. Abrams, and "Almost Thirty Years," 1-22, by
J.J. Abrams.
*******
BETWEEN
Jack Bristow sat across from Sydney and her handler, the wooden crate of grenades
standing between them only slightly less ominous than the expression on his face. Diffuse
light bathed the cavernous space in gray-green shadows. The rumble of the C-130's
engines was loud enough to make eavesdropping an impossibility, but then, he didn't need
to hear a word to grasp the meaning. He'd been watching them for hours on the long flight
to Taipei, huddled close enough to feel each other's warmth but not actually touching,
talking in low voices, sharing subdued smiles.
Jack hadn't been surprised to see Vaughn with Sydney at the airstrip. When she felt
vulnerable, she seemed to find strength in her handler, and he seemed always to
be...available. Although Vaughn and Sydney had tried to remain discreet, Jack was aware
of their growing intimacy, the confidences they shared, and what that predestined. Given
the magnitude of their ultimate mission, and complications too numerous to discount, he
couldn't help but question their aspirations.
Her face was strained with exhaustion, dark circles pooled under her cocoa eyes. The
tracks of recent tears lingered in the soft fuzz on her cheeks. In a low voice, she
announced, "Dad, Vaughn is coming with us."
He looked to the worried eyes of the other man for confirmation. Certain risks Vaughn was
taking were obvious: his career, his oath to the Agency, even his life; all hung in the
balance. Vaughn was risking everything that seemed to be important to him to help
Sydney. For what? For ideals or illusions? For something manifest or something as yet
unspoken though immanent?
He took a deep breath of the acrid air and said solemnly, "You know there's no turning
back."
Vaughn returned Jack's gaze and said with frank conviction. "I know."
Jack looked to Sydney, her heavy-lidded eyes fixed on Vaughn's face. The lines around
her mouth were drawn in tight like a cinched corset. While a man usually detached from
feelings of empathy, at this moment, he let open the door. Jack could feel his daughter's
dilemma; he sensed her need for this man and her struggle to keep her feelings in line with
her code of honor. Her attraction to him was palpable, her fear logical, and yet their
connection was oddly spiritual at the same time that it was elusive, foolish, and
indisputably...sensual.
"Between the idea And the reality Between the motion And the act Falls the shadow." As
one of Eliot's Hollow Men, Jack recognized the shape if not the particulars of Sydney's
despair.
He said with a nod of affirmation, "Then let's get underway."
*******
Hours into the long flight, the passengers were restless. Sydney was fidgeting, unable to
sit still any longer. Like a newborn filly, she was all gangly legs and twisting torso,
impossibly jointless, as if held upright by energy alone. Just as she'd been as a child, Jack
recalled with wonder. "I've something she won't be expecting." He pushed a heavy wicker
hamper towards her.
"Are you hungry?" he asked in a bland voice.
With a look of credulity, she leaned over and opened the hamper. She picked out a rice
paper wrapped package and opened it. Girlish glee passed over her face. Grinning widely,
she asked, "Dim Sum?
Quickly pulling out the containers from the hamper and opening each with increasing
pleasure as her father said, "Mrs. Zhang thought it...appropriate...for our travels."
"Vaughn you have to try some. These are amazing. Mrs. Zhang, my Dad's housekeeper, is
the best cook in the world." Sydney paused to correct herself, "Somehow 'housekeeper'
just doesn't even come close to describing her." She looked to her father and smiled,
"She's this incredible woman who came into our lives when we really needed her...I can't
do justice to her. Dad? "
"You're right to hesitate, I wouldn't attempt to describe her myself. Perhaps you'll meet
her one day, Mr. Vaughn."
"I'd like that." Vaughn said with an awkward grin deriving perhaps from the unexpected
glimpse into the domestic life of this distinctly private man.
She sat back for a moment looking at the open bamboo boxes. "These are my favorites,
Vaughn, that says it all, doesn't it." Tears brimming at the corners of her eyes, she said to
her father, "Will you thank her?"
"Of course, though she would undoubtedly prefer to hear it from you directly." He smiled
warmly and treated them to one of his rare winks acknowledging both Sydney's pleasure
and the thoughtfulness of his uniquely competent housekeeper.
Sydney surveyed the situation and pulled the crate of grenades to the center of the passage.
She cleared the top and arranged the boxes in a circle from savory to sweet. She placed
chop sticks, glazed white cups, square celadon plates, and bamboo patterned cotton
napkins to one side.
Then, she opened a tall insulated carafe. The heady steam rose in a coil as soon as she
removed the top filling the cold air with the rich woody and earthy aroma of Pu Erh tea.
She opened a second carafe and the air was perfumed with the faint medicinal sweetness of
green tea with ginseng.
"Where would you like to start?" She said offering to serve Jack first.
The setting may have lacked the art of a classical Chinese garden ting but he appreciated the
beauty of the moment which arose from the innocent pleasures of partaking a perfect meal.
"Just tea, the Pu Erh." He decided pointing to the smaller carafe. As she handed him the
cup, he said, "You go ahead, please. I'm not hungry. But, Mrs. Zhang would be horrified
if a morsel is left."
Jack watched as Sydney handed Vaughn a plate, chop sticks, and napkin. She laughed and
said, "It may not be Trattoria di Nardi, but it's as close as we're likely to come to first class
dining on dim sum anytime soon!"
Vaughn laughed too and they speedily set to work on the boxes, serving themselves,
talking animatedly between bites and sips, finally sharing a meal.
Returning to his thoughts, Jack wondered, "Sydney, I can see her choices. Hell, some of
them have been prescribed roughly since birth. But, Vaughn, how can he allow himself
hope? What does he expect will happen? Maybe he's not thinking about outcomes, maybe
he's just focusing on today, this mission." But something in this equation didn't make
sense to Jack. That can't be right, it's too shallow, insufficiently subtle." Not the Vaughn
he had come to know.
Over many months, Jack had by leaps come to realize how exceptional a man was Michael
Vaughn. At the disastrous first meeting in Joey's restaurant, he'd had little to praise. Was it
really 9 months ago? He'd gone to meet his handler, Kretchmer, but when he entered the
private dining room, he was approached by quite another man.
["Color-Blind"]
o"Mr. Bristow, I'm sorry about the..."
He'd expected Lloyd, not this...boy. Jack responded without thinking. He grabbed
Vaughn, and though less agile than his opponent, the precision of his every movement
gave him all the advantage he needed. Jack twisted Vaughn's arm behind his back,
slamming him into the wall. Pressing the steel gray 9 mm Glock behind the man's ear, he
snarled, "Who are you?"
"Uh, I'm CIA operations officer Vaughn. I'm Sydney's handler. I cleared this meeting
with Devlin. Kretchmer walked me through your S.O.P., we're safe."
Jack released him from the hold. Straightening his tie, and moving away from the wall.
After the initial surprise, he'd expected to cow the junior agent. Things didn't work out
quite as planned.
"Are Sydney and I switching handlers, or is this a special occasion?
"No. We have a problem."
"Fisher hasn't made contact. I know."
"No, we believe K-Directorate had an agent waiting in the hospital."
"SD-6 doesn't have confirmation of that."
"C.I.A. does. We have an extraction team waiting on the ready line out of Serbia. I want to
pull Sydney out of there. I was hoping that maybe we could coordinate this together."
"Mr. Vaughn, you're young and you're eager, and I understand that. But one thing you're
not, and this is something only time can provide, really... is wise."
"You don't think this is the right move."
"Listen carefully, Mr. Vaughn. Even with a minimal extraction team, you can't guarantee
containment. And if Sloane finds out, Sydney's dead anyway."
"Retire her early. Pull her out of service!"
"And in the process, expose her operations at SD-6."
"Sydney's life is worth the risk!"
"Not to Sydney! Taking them down is what gets her up in the morning. Or... did you think
it was those meetings she has with you?"
"Hey! What is your problem with me?"
"You pulled my file last week, that's my problem, Mr. Vaughn. Now, did curiosity get the
better of you, or were you trying to impress my daughter?"
"She thinks you were KGB. But, I'm sure you already knew that. So, what I'm
wondering is what were you doing checking up on me checking up on you?"
"This meeting is over."/o
[End "Color-Blind"]
So had gone their first interaction. It had started not unlike similar scenes he'd had with
young agents too numerous to mention. It was his strategy in dealing with pups and it
usually worked out as planned. But this one had ended on an interesting note. They had
both discovered much about the other, Jack thought, "Not a miscalculation, an
underestimation, for both of us."
But just as true was the fact that Vaughn had come a long way since his early days as
Sydney's handler. Jack shuddered remembering how close a call she'd had at Dinatti Park.
Vaughn had contacted him in a panic:
[Begin "Mea Culpa"]
o"I got your message. I'm on a secure line."
There's been a hit put out on Sydney. I'm getting her out of there."
"Not yet. You could be making a mistake."
"I don't think so!"
"Do nothing until you hear from me."
"We already have a team en route."
He'd been furious with Vaughn. He'd hung up the phone abruptly and gone looking for
answers. After using sleight-of-hand and intimidation to distract the stupendously naive if
stunningly brilliant Marshall, he determined the probable truth, that Sloane was setting up a
sting to catch a mole. Weighing his options, he'd headed quickly to the LA office of the
CIA. Kretchmer had taken him to field ops, where he came nearly to blows with Vaughn.
"Mr. Bristow."
"Call them off."
"Did you read Sloane's transmission? She'll be in the park any minute."
"No execution has been ordered. This is a set-up."
"What are you talking about?"
"Sloane's transmission was sent out on SD-6 server five. It was only sent to you. Vaughn,
they know someone's listening. This is a test."
"I'll tell you what. We'll take that chance, get Sydney out of there, and argue about this
later."
"You go in like this, you pull her out, it'll only prove that you've intercepted Sloane's
communique and Sydney will be exposed."
"You don't know that for a fact!"
"Why am I even talking to you? Lloyd, abort this mission."
"Hey, wait a minute!"
Lloyd spoke up, "We verified this order, Jack. We pull back, you could be killing your
daughter."
"You're killing her if you don't!"
Jack would never forget the look of dread on Vaughn's face when he'd asked, "How could
you be willing to risk something like this?"
"If Sydney makes her scheduled dead-drop, does it successfully, and leaves the park, she
will have proven herself loyal to SD-6."
Lloyd intervened. "Have them hold 'til we give an order."
Vaughn was close to apoplexy. "No, no, no, don't hold it!"
"Hold 'til further notice..."
Vaughn was livid. "This is Sydney's LIFE!"
Jack felt the urgency of the moment as well and his voice rose to match the younger man in
tone but not in tremor. "You were meant to see that transmission! You're the only ones
who saw it!"
"Someone in that park is going to kill her if we don't do anything!"
"I know how Sloane works! He's BLUFFING!"
After the tension had reached this terrible crescendo, the room fell silent except for the
transmissions.
RADIO: Alpha two, come in."
AGENT: Bristow's entering the park.
RADIO: We have two vehicles that are not on our list.
AGENT: Who's this guy in the jacket?
RADIO: Position three, we have an approaching hostile. Acquire male target, seventy-five
meters.
WEISS: This could be our guy. This could be the hit. What are we doing here?
Vaughn looked to Jack plaintively, "Jack, promise me you're not wrong about this!"
Steadily, Jack said, "Hold your position..."
AGENT: He could be going for a gun! Prepare to take him out!
Reflecting the glacial cool of the older man, Vaughn said, "Stand by."
RADIO: Copy that.
All attention focused completely on the image on the screen. Vaughn uttered quietly,
"That's her dead drop."
AGENT: Okay, she's out. She's out of the park. She's clear. /o
[End "Mea Culpa"]
Jack's experience and understanding of his antagonist had prevented a catastrophe and it
was clear that Vaughn grasped it. Vaughn now understood that only Jack knew the
intricacies of the multi-faceted if twisted mind of Arvin Sloane, and that by necessity his
methods would seem...radical, in response.
But during the exchange, the boy had tipped his hand to the depth of his feelings. After
Dinatti Park, Jack understood his daughter's handler was anything but detached.
Between Dinatti Park and Taipei, Vaughn had proven his metal. Jack had been most
pleasantly surprised by his intuitions as a strategist. Less desirable, for Jack, was
discovering that Vaughn had an uncanny ability to see through duplicity. Especially, it
seemed Jack's own duplicity. When they'd met to discuss his counter-mission for Havana,
he hadn't expected to be played with such finesse.
[Begin "Spirit"]
Jack was perturbed to have Vaughn meet him instead of Kretchmer, his old friend and
trusted colleague. Every time Vaughn tried to assert his role, Jack responded with
aggravated dismissal.
o"I don't need a lesson in the international arms trade."
Vaughn was irritated now and showing it. "Fine. Go to Cuba, use your contacts, get to
Hassan -- but instead of taking him out, you'll tell him the truth: that SD-6 sent you to kill
him. You'll then convince him that you're turning on SD-6, that you're planning on leaving
them, and that you're willing to fake his death in exchange for his client list."
Jack was appalled that he was expected to bring in Hassan. "You're making a huge
mistake."
"Am I?"
"Trusting a man like Hassan."
"There will be a CIA team waiting at the location where his death is to be faked. Hassan
will never be a free man again."
The longer he lived, the less tolerance he had for certain officially-sanctioned strategies,
and this one seemed particularly unripe, a tomato pulled green from the vine. If he'd been
consulted, he could have made the flaws clear, proposed a counter-mission that reaped far-
ranging results. Jack was particularly sensitive to being treated as a puppet. He was not
used to being under anyone's control, except possibly Arvin Sloane, and that was a
struggle decades in the making. He'd decide later if this was the right tact to take with
Hassan, but for now, he reluctantly accepted the counter-mission with a shrug and
affirmed. "I'll make contact by 6 pm tomorrow."
"I got a copy of Russek's "transmission". The one SD-6 intercepted. I also went through
the CIA logs and compared the two. They don't match. You fixed the transmission, made it
look like it was Russek, by altering the signal's point of origin and changing the message
content."
Furiously, Jack replied. "Whoever the hell you think you are -- checking up on me, pulling
my file, second-guessing my choices -- let's both face the facts that you're not that person.
Neither your experience nor your intelligence has earned you the right to question a thing
that I do. So I'm going to make two suggestions -- one, that you stop it. And two, that the
next time they assign you to be my handler you kindly decline."
"Russek never transmitted a thing, did he?"
"Of course he didn't. If you got the SD-6 transmission, why the hell are you asking me?"
"I didn't get the SD-6 transmission. It was just a hunch."/o
[End "Spirit"]
"Didn't see that one coming, not at all." He'd been set-up and taken down a notch, without
even realizing what game was underway. Since that interchange, Jack hadn't
underestimated Michael Vaughn. Between Havana and Taipei, he had come to appreciate
that Vaughn had a keen mind with heightening powers of observation and deduction. This
one learned from experience.
And where Sydney was concerned, Jack had discerned that he could trust Vaughn, that is,
as much as he was capable of trust. The turning point came during the debacle with Sydney
and the Rambaldi prophecy. Was it possible that that was the last time he had actually seen
Vaughn? Yes, maybe it was, though Vaughn cast such a veil around Sydney that Jack
could sense him, even if he wasn't actually present. One meeting in particular played back
in his mind.
Sydney was being interrogated and they needed to act quickly to free her.
[Begin "Q&A"]
It had been one of the darkest days Jack could remember since the day Laura died. His
daughter was being held under Directive 81A, she might conceivably be held for the rest of
her life, and none of his usual sources were talking. He was running out of options when
he met Vaughn for the second time that day in the abandoned warehouse.
o"Thanks for coming."
"I checked out SD-6 security section. They have nothing on Sydney."
"Well, look at this. There." He pointed to a typed copy of the prophecy.
"This woman will have had her effect never having seen the beauty of Mt. Subasio." Now,
if the FBI is going to take this prophecy so literally, then every phrase must have equal
veracity."
"That's right."
"According to Rambaldi, the woman in question, the subject of this prophecy, will have
never seen Mt. Subasio. Meaning if Sydney were to go there and see it herself..."
"She couldn't possibly be the woman Rambaldi was talking about."
"That makes sense, doesn't it? I thought that made sense."
"It's good. It's good."
"I talked to Devlin about this. He put three calls into the FBI directive. He was
stonewalled."
"The FBI is not in the most cooperative mood. We'll have to extract her. Get her to Italy
ourselves."
"I know Devlin would sanction transit. I mean, we could have a jet ready in an hour."
"Question is how to find her."
"Steven Haladki, he's CIA. He works in the LA office. Former FBI. I know he still has
ties."
"Haladki. I'll talk to him."
"Oh, no, the problem is... he's not talking."
"He'll talk to me."/o
[End "Q&A"]
Vaughn hadn't flinched when Jack suggested an unauthorized extraction of a suspect and
the interrogation of a Federal agent. On the contrary, Vaughn seemed to already have
considered the necessity for extreme measures and strategized possible scenarios outside
the...normal range...of protocol.
"He finally discovered some permafrost in his gut after all, it would seem. That's good.
Vaughn has persistence, ability to size up a situation and take required, perhaps, audacious
action, and a mind for strategic planning; nicely balanced qualities. Capable of salvaging as
well as sacrifice. A not unfamiliar combination of traits." Jack's expression sobered, "Then
to counterbalance all the rational strengths, there's this lingering...idealism. Time will tell
where that's concerned: idealism is usually the first casualty to craft. But, not necessarily
for everyone. For Sydney's needs, more Gawain, less Merlin, might be right the balance."
Gawain. He softened thinking of Michael Vaughn as the worthy knight errant. He gazed at
Sydney. Sweetly talking with Vaughn, in a soft, relaxed way, leaning towards him,
unconsciously tucking her hair behind her ear. Just like she had done. Jack's eye followed
the line of Sydney's jaw, so like hers, the graceful upturn of her nose. Drowsiness was
gently overtaking him, his eyes closed, his mind wandered back to another time, the time
before his fall.
They'd visited Wales first in 1972 during that perfect summer of his post-doc in Oxford.
She'd been so taken with it then and later, she had chosen Carmarthenshire as the place
they would eventually retire, near the legendary birthplace of Merlin. She'd loved the myth
and told it many times to him. He was deeply ashamed now by his naivete, but at the time,
he could understand nothing but that she loved him with a love that was "an ever-fixed
mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken."
He could hear her velvet voice, like a priestess of the Druids, intone, "In the twilight of
Merlin's life, he'd fallen in love with an extraordinary woman. She is known by many
names, but my favorite is Vivien. She was beautiful and charming but all paled beside her
devotion to the arcane arts. She met Merlin in the forest. Maybe it was the magic of the
ancient oaks but in that first moment she saw his aching heart and knew that through this
man she could attain the darkest spells. She promised him unending love and over time
persuaded him to reveal the secrets of his wizardry. Now Merlin is an archangel of
magicians. A man held august by the King and all the civilized world, acknowledged for
his brilliance, his wit, and his powers. Alas, to Vivien, Merlin...was a man...in love, he
was guileless, he was hers."
She would always pause at this point in the story, smile like a crescent moon shining in the
winter sky, always she would touch him, on his face, his hand, his chest, as if he needed
proof of how women might wield power over men. "Merlin...fell utterly. He shared all his
secrets willingly with this woman, who gave him love and promises. When she had what
she wanted, the cunning Vivien put a spell on Merlin that cast him into a deep slumber. One
of his own spells, of course. She left him, sealed in a cave, perchance to sleep, perchance
to dream, for all eternity. Release? Perhaps, but that's another story altogether."
Then she would lean over and kiss him deeply until there was room for nothing but the
promise of unending love reflected in her inscrutable eyes.
Merlin and Vivien...the summer of 1973. Laura said she was working night and day on her
thesis. When she was home, she was distant and cold and criticized his every attempt to
make her happy. He tried to be patient and understanding, remembering her tolerance of his
own near madness when he too was working on his dissertation. But, a rift would chance
to open between them, and into it flowed doubts. He saw her, by chance, when he stopped
by unexpectedly at a coffee shop on campus, talking with a tall, dark haired man. It might
have been nothing but then he saw her touch his face, such an intimate gesture, as one
would touch a lover. He mentioned seeing her when they spoke later. She lied to him. He
knew she was lying. How could she lie? Why would she lie?
He began waiting up for her every night, drinking with the fury of a flame seeking oxygen,
thinking how easy it would be to follow her, to catch her with her lover, to kill him, to
make her see how much he loved her. But, instead, every night, he would stumble off to
bed ashamed that he could think such mad thoughts. Even now, he blazed with humiliation
that he, a proud man who until that time in his life had considered himself a good man,
could have been so willfully, obstinately blind to the truth, a truth that cost so many their
lives.
On Bastille Day, all his morbid fears dissolved back into shadows when she came home
with a bottle of Perrier-Jouet and a tin of sevruga, and announced that the thesis was
finished. He was wary but still he poured the champagne into the fluted glasses they'd use
to toast each other at their wedding. She opened the caviar and pushed a finger into the tin
scooping out a dollop. She pressed her finger into her mouth and savored the salty
unctuousness. She explained she'd had to be away from him so that she could work
without distraction. She held the etched crystal to her lips with one hand while she
unbuttoned his shirt with the other. "It's all behind us, now, my love. Come here and let
me thank you for...your...patience." It was one of the sweetest nights of his life.
In August, he'd taken her on a week's walking tour of Wales, of mysterious caves and
ancient forests, of primal places, ardently hoping the trip would reforge the damaged bond
between them. And so it had. For it was there, in the shimmering gray-green twilight of the
deep forest, one evening between dusk and moonrise, under the bough of an ancient oak,
after a reverent telling of Merlin's tale, that Sydney was conceived.
"Dad, are you awake?"
He was startled. He opened his eyes on that lovely, angular face, his daughter's face, a
face so like Laura's. "Yes, just resting my eyes, honey."
He felt disoriented, clouded over and nauseated as he struggled back toward
consciousness. He pressed his fingertips to his eyelids. A shower of colored lights played
against the dark curtain. He knew from long experience that the vertigo would recede if he
breathed deeply and cleared his mind of fear. He repeated the words, like a mantra, "This
too will pass, this too will pass, this too will pass, this too will pass."
He braved looking at her again, thinking, "Sydney is not Laura. Sydney is the truth that
Laura never was. Neither is she Irina. She is her own woman." She would make her own
way in this treacherous world. He'd made sure she could, though the lessons had been
brutal, cold, and unyielding. And, thus she'd grown formidable, thanks to native abilities,
an irascible spirit, despite the pervasive spectre of her parent's monstrous deceits.
The nausea subsided. He wondered how long he had been asleep? Long enough to travel
decades and short enough for a meal to be finished, dishes cleaned, and all put to right. He
checked his watch, the dual time zone on the rolled steel and black TAG Heuer was set to
LA and Taipei, it showed two hours to ETA. Time to get to work.
He reached into the recessed cabinet behind him and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He pulled
the crate of grenades closer to him and rolled out the surveillance photos of Taipei. "We'd
better go over the mission."
Sydney and Vaughn separated, one going to sit next to Jack the other on an upturned metal
canister.
Jack focused their attention on two maps. "This is the block by block blow-up of the
pharmaceutical district and here's the route map. Memorize this in case you are separated
and need to find your way back to the airstrip...creatively."
[Begin "Almost Thirty Years"]
Sydney looked over at the pictures and asked, o"Who told you about this?"
Only moments into the briefing and already time to roll out a veiled truth. "I found a
source. Khasinau's already built one of these devices and it's in this warehouse. In an
underground lab, room forty-seven. The meeting with Sark is scheduled to take place in
two hours from now. That means by the time I hand over the page in exchange for Tippin,
you must have destroyed not only the device they've built but the lab itself."
"Destroying the device should be easy. It's the size of a shoe. What about the lab?"
Handing her a canvas bag, Jack said, "Here. It's a red mercury charge with a mechanical
fuse."
A warning light flashed overhead, a buzzer sounded. Sydney rose, "I'll see what they
need." She walked forward towards the cabin.
Her father leaned away from the harsh glare of the light and stared at Vaughn. This man
had risked everything to help his daughter. He was more than just her handler, he was her
willing, able, hopeful champion. "And right now, that is what she needs."
Jack turned to Agent Vaughn. His face was so much like his father's at this age. But
Michael wasn't Bill, puritanical, worn down by duty, confined by a narrow outlook, and
he certainly wasn't Jack. He was his own man and he too would make his own way in this
treacherous world.
Perhaps the answer to the question of how Michael Vaughn could have hope had been in
front of him all the time. Despite the brutal, cold, and unyielding lessons Vaughn had
learned, he loved her, the real Sydney, all the Sydneys. The simplicity of this solution
resonated harmonically for Jack. Though conceived in the exploitative relationship of a
handler and his asset, their bond had grown into something quite unique and sustaining for
both the man and the woman. It was forbidden by the conventional rules of conduct, yet
perversely it also represented the highest virtues of the very system that condemned it. "But
then love isn't about fairness, is it?"
He paused long enough to punctuate the importance of what he was about to say. "I
understand the risks you've taken here and you have my respect for that."
Vaughn nodded to Jack, a fleeting change in expression, all the acknowledgment necessary
of their common bond./o
[End "Almost Thirty Years"]
Deciding to give them a little gift of unbidden time, Jack rose and said, "We have about two
hours until we arrive Mr. Vaughn. Tell Sydney I've some arrangements to attend to, I'll be
back just before we land."
Vaughn looked up at Jack, a weary but hopeful warrior, and said with a grateful smile. "I'll
tell her."
Jack walked back toward the rear of the plane. He stopped to look out the galley window at
the crescent moon afloat in the cloud-strewn sky. They'd come so many miles, with so
many more to go. What was it Rilke said? "Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect
and touch and greet each other."
Between LA and Taipei, Jack had come to understand something about the nature of the
bond between his daughter and her handler. Because a buried stream of sorrow fed the
truth at the heart of what Sydney and Vaughn shared, they protected each other. They had
chosen an honorable way to affirm their feelings despite the many temptations they fell heir
to. And in the duplicitous, dangerous world they inhabited, that might just be enough to
nurture hope.
Although he had long since given up believing in love himself, as he turned away from the
window, Jack Bristow arrived at a conclusion about his daughter and her handler. "All in
all, it's an oddly stable paradigm. Not to be overtly encouraged perhaps, but not to be
discouraged either. Plenty of time to act, if need be. And this mission...It changes
everything...and it changes nothing. Let's see what awaits us in Taipei. "
THE END
namaste