Disclaimer: These characters are not mine – they are the property of Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC, JJ et al
Rating: PG-13 for some mild language
Feedback: Need it like I need water, my running shoes, Alias and fine wine… Please read/review ~ constructive criticism is always welcome!
Author's Note1: Post-Cipher. Assume Sydney has escaped from her icy predicament in Siberia (she is the star of the show after all!).
AN2: Chapters 4-7 all were beta-d by the most fantastic Agent Blakeney. (Thanks for your support!)
Chapter 6 – DilemmasMonday, Los Angeles
**Sydney POV**
The green numbers of my alarm clock are blinking angrily. 6:23. 6:24. 6:25. Five more minutes – I can sleep for five more minutes. I swear, this job is going to be the death of me. Monday mornings are always the worst, but Monday mornings after a weekend of flying halfway across the world, spying, stealing, and beating up the enemy really suck.
6:30. Time to get up and face the day. I walk out to the kitchen and start a pot of coffee. Grabbing the watering can, I open the front door to check on my plants. I arrived home so late last night that I did not have a chance to assess whether or not Francie had taken to heart her role of "garden caretaker" – a role we both knew that she would be playing often given my travel schedule.
It is a beautiful morning. There is a slight chill in the air, and the sky is turning from gray to pink to blue at the edges. I bend down to examine my plants. They are all very much alive – tips of green are already pushing through the soil, reaching for the sun. Francie wins the contest for being best garden caretaker ever. I never should have doubted her.
It doesn't look like they need any more water, so I put the watering can down and just spend a few minutes watching the neighborhood wake up. I can just imagine all these people with their normal lives getting ready for their days. Someday, I could have this life. Waking up early to have a few moments alone with my loving husband. Exiting the warmth of our bed only to make sure the kids are up and getting ready for school. Sharing smiles and plans for the day at the breakfast table. Finally taking time to get myself ready for the day ahead – a day to be spent at a normal job where the acrid smells of death and destruction are nowhere to be found.
The problem with this fantasy, if I am truly honest with myself, is that it has a high probability of boring me to death. I have lived in this reality for so long, that I am not sure that I will ever be able to live a different life. I think back to the question that has haunted me since I left Santiago: What happens if I cannot leave the game behind? I spent the entire flight home obsessing over this riddle, and close to 24 hours later, I still don't have a good answer. It is enough to put me firmly back on the bitter bus. Mondays really do suck.
**Vaughn POV**
I quickly glance at my watch – 12:03. I think I chose the slowest elevator in the building – I hate being late. The doors open and I rush into the corridor. Two minutes later, I am at my destination.
I open the door and kick off our ritual greeting, "There won't be any money for you, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will receive total consciousness."
Eric looks at me from the hospital bed and finishes off the greeting, "So, I got that goin' for me, which is nice."
I can feel myself grinning. I miss having Eric around the office. No one else can trade movie quotes with me like he can.
"Hey, sorry I'm late. I was stuck in a briefing with Devlin." I pull up a chair to Eric's bed and start pulling out the lunch I had brought for him. "How are you feeling, by the way?"
"I'm okay – just sick of sitting here on my ass. Ohhhh – is this a meatball hoagie? You're the best, Mike. So, talk to me about what's been going on at work while I stuff my face."
"Well," I begin. "Work… work is work. Kendall is still a prick. Jack is slightly warmer than the polar ice cap, and Derevko is still playing us for all we are worth. Nothing new really."
Between bites of his sandwich, Eric gives me a questioning look. "And what about Sydney?"
"Sydney is fine. The past couple of weeks have been tough for her, but I think she is handling it." Attempting to shift the subject matter away from work and Sydney, I add, "So, when are they going to let you out of here?"
"Next week. Only four more days to make my move on Julie, the night nurse."
I barely hear Eric's response – my mind is still stuck on Sydney. I have spent the 24 hours since our mission in Santiago working to forget the mission in Santiago. But no matter how hard I try to forget, I cannot.
Could have. Should have. Would have.
If only she needed my help.
"Mike. Buddy. Earth to Mike." I must have been staring into space because Eric is looking at my intently, amusement dancing in his eyes. "So, everything with Sydney is fine, eh?"
I look at him and answer, "Let's just say the mission in Santiago this weekend was tougher than I anticipated…"
How do I even begin to explain this without Eric tearing me a new one?
"…Intellectually, I know my role as a handler is to keep my agent safe and ensure the success of the mission. In Santiago, things got a little rough, and for some reason, I didn't really feel like I fulfilled either of those roles. I mean, Sydney got out safely and the mission was a success, but I just feel like...like I could have not been there and it would have turned out exactly the same way. Anyway, don't listen to me – this is not making any sense."
I look at Eric and realize he is staring intently at the wall. This is not good. I brace myself for his lecture on 'attachment' and 'protocol'.
"Mike." Eric's voice finally punctuates the heavy silence between us. "I realize that I should be giving you my standard speech on protocol and attachment, but I don't think you need to hear that again. However, I do think you need to figure out how to make yourself happy with the role you play in Sydney's life. You are not only her official CIA handler, you are her friend, and in those roles, you have to figure out where to draw your line."
"My line?" I question.
"Yes, your line. How far are you willing to go as her friend and as her handler before you go completely fucking insane? Look at you, Mike – you are killing yourself over one simple mission that was successful! You cannot be her knight in shining armor every day on every mission. Define your role, your line, your limit… or I'm going to have to knock you over the head with my yo-yo. And neither of us want that, do we?"
Smiling, I look at Eric and reply, "You are crazy, you know that? Threatening me with a yo-yo whipping?"
Eric and I are both laughing now, the tension from the Sydney conversation dissipating into the air. We spend the next 30 minutes catching up on the finer aspects of life: Eric's assessment of the nursing staff; my take on the Kings season so far; and, most importantly, our plan to get wasted when Eric gets out of the hospital.
Looking at my watch, I realize it is already 1pm. Time to get back to work. I stand up and collect the evidence of our illegal lunch. As I open the door to leave, I turn back to Eric and say, "Thanks for the advice, by the way. I hope to successfully avoid getting beaten up by your yo-yo."
"No problem, Mike. That is what your pain-in-the-ass friends are for… One last thing -next time you visit, bring me a cup of hot fat. And the head of Alfredo Garcia."
**Sydney POV**
Is it possible for a day to go from somewhat crappy to downright shitty in less than 8 hours? Well, it is no longer a rhetorical question, because after a morning of meetings at SD-6 and a quick visit to campus, my day is completely in the toilet.
Lets see, it is 2:00pm, and what has my day consisted off? It started with lying to Dixon about my weekend, something that always gets under my skin. Then as a follow-up, Sloane informed me that I leave tomorrow for another mission. Finally, my professor denied my request for an extension on a paper under the pretense that he has already given me more extensions than any one grad student in the history of USC.
Three strikes and you're out, Sydney Bristow.
I know that there is only one thing that will catapult me out of the mood I have been in since Santiago. I just have to embrace my anger and bitterness to flush it out of my system. That is how I arrived at the gym. I figure a few rounds with my best friend, Bob the Bag, will set me straight.
John, the trainer, has taped my hands and is ready to go, but I have to do one thing first.
"Hey, John?" I ask. "Can I throw on my CD? I need some music today."
He nods and I insert my CD into the stereo. Walking back over to John, I smile to let him know that I am ready to go.
"OK, Sydney. Lets start out slowly: Left-hand jab, right-hand cross and another left-hand jab. 1-2-3."
I begin to work the bag. I can hear John telling me to move my feet, to keep my blocking hand up.
~~~~~~~~~
Welcome to the jungle
We take it day by day
If you want it you're gonna bleed
But it's the price you pay
~~~~~~~~~
As the first song ends, John instructs me to start working my kicks. "Back leg roundhouse, front kick, roundhouse again – one to the body, another to the head."
~~~~~~~~~
Everything you say to me
Takes me one step closer to the edge
And I'm about to break
I need a little room to breathe
'Cause I am one step closer to the edge
And I'm about to break
~~~~~~~~~
I am in my zone. My kicks are tight and connecting with force. Soon my mind begins to wander over all the subjects that have put me in this state: the weariness that comes from living two lives, the exhaustion from my back-to-back missions, and my general hatred of my current life.
~~~~~~~~~
Shut up when I'm talking to you
Shut up
Shut up
Shut up when I'm talking to you
~~~~~~~~~
Other than my garden, I have not done one thing for myself in… in forever. True, work - taking down SD-6 - is for me. Or at least it used to be for me…and for Danny. Now, I am just part of a larger game controlled by men in suits like Kendall, and I am not sure that I am not completely being used.
~~~~~~~~~
Killing in the name of!
And now you do what they told ya
And now you do what they told ya, now you're under control
And now you do what they told ya!
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
~~~~~~~~~
We have moved onto kick/punch combinations. John keeps yelling at me, "Connect, Bristow. Own your skills. Work the bag."
I am pushing myself to the point of total collapse. Sweat is pouring down my back and my arms and legs are bruised. But now I am on Sark. Bob the Bag now has blonde hair and an over-inflated ego. Screw Sark and his insinuations about my "enjoyment" of our meetings.
~~~~~~~~~
Run just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of makin' me better, you keep makin' me ill
~~~~~~~~~
I just want to lead a normal life. Be it a boring life or an exciting one, I yearn for normalcy. However, I need to accept the fact that the only path to a potential normal future lies with the double-life I live today. I need to make this reality work for me or I am going to fall over the edge.
"Bristow, your cell phone is ringing," John yells at me.
I walk over to my bag to find that it is my CIA phone that is ringing.
"Bristow," I answer, still breathing hard from my workout.
"Warehouse, 7pm," Vaughn says and then hangs up.
Attempting to maintain the illusion of an actual phone call, I respond to the dead line, "Sure, Francie, I can pick up dinner on my way home. See you later tonight."
Picking up a towel, I lay down on the mat and begin to stretch. I know that I still have a lot of unresolved issues swirling inside of my head, but kicking the crap out of Bob sure helped. Now, I just need to figure out what Vaughn could want with me. I have not yet informed him about my latest SD-6 mission, so he would not be looking to give me my counter-mission. Regardless, I am looking forward to 7pm. Meeting with Vaughn could be the first good thing to happen today.
**Vaughn's POV**
I just hung up with Sydney. I wonder why she was breathing so hard – it is only 3pm. She doesn't usually go for a run until later in the evening.
I have spent the last couple of hours thinking about what Weiss said. I am still not sure how to set a limit or designate a line with Sydney. Our relationship has always been so open, that I fear setting up boundaries will force us into the uncomfortable role of being simply a CIA agent and her handler. I think back to her confession about her garden on the plane to Santiago. She trusts me enough to tell me about these things – what if I push her away? But then I recall her blatant disregard for my order to get out of Ferdinand's house. She overrode my decision and went to get the box anyway, putting herself and the mission in jeopardy. Ostensibly, this is the reason for our meeting – an agent and her handler need to debrief from their latest mission. In reality… who knows where the discussion will go? All I am sure about is that I have four hours to figure out what the hell Sydney Bristow is to me, and what I want to be to her.
~ End of Part Six ~
AN:
Movie Quotes:
Vaughn's and Weiss' greeting is from Caddyshack. The final line in that section (Weiss' line) is from Fletch.
Sydney's Songs:
Welcome to the Jungle, Guns 'n Roses
One Step Closer, Linkin' Park
Killing In The Name, Rage Against the Machine
Just Like A Pill, Pink