Author: Ambrose Chavez
Email: agent47achavez@hotmail.com
Category: general
Spoilers: s1
Rating: pg13 for sexual references
Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters are not mine. They're JJ's, but they're on my Christmas list!
Notes: Takes place in the past.
'Ship: William C. Vaughn/Grace Michelle VaughnSummary: If anything should happen to me…
A/N: one parter… turned series.
It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
When she came to, Grace perused the paperwork and diligently signed each page. She offered a wobbly smile to her eight-year-old and politely asked that he play in his room while she finished talking to the men in the living room.
Jack Bristow went on explaining, his voice flat and emotionless. "Naturally, we cannot give you the details regarding William's…passing, but we will provide the funds for a proper burial. You should know that you will be given a flag for his years of service with the agency. Of course he will be commemorated with a star on the wall at Langley. A star will also be added to the book, but due to the nature of his service, we cannot reveal his name in the space provided."
Grace blindly nodded through the lecture, one she was sure this man had given a hundred times before judging by his monotone.
Damn him. William had a face, a name, a life, a child. He had her! And this man was here delivering the news as if they were discussing the most boring subject ever.
"We thought it best to remove your son from school early, and took the privilege to do so. The ensuing curiosity and public interest would put him and yourself at risk. You or your son could be easily become a target simply for your connection to William."
She sniffled and let a few more tears escape before she closed the manila folder with great care and looked up at him.
"Mr. Bristow, I have just lost my husband and my best friend." She took a moment to wipe her nose. "I don't believe you understand the gravity of emotions that are at war within me at this very second. Half of what you've just recited has gone in one ear and out the other."
Briefly clearing his throat and averting his eyes, he spoke. "Yes, well. I'm very sorry for—"
"Oh hell, you're sorry." Her voice turned ragged with passion. "You don't know what it's like. He was just another asset, another agent. A colleague, maybe, but nothing more than that. You used him and now that he's been 'dispensed', you're stuck with the unpleasant task of informing his family. It's that clean-cut for you. Now, it's done with, and you've done your damn job. I, on the other hand, have to live the rest of my life knowing that my William is never coming home again. I will never have another opportunity to say 'I love you'. I will never be able to hold him in my arms and watch our son grow up…"
"William Vaughn was a colleague, yes." He admitted. "But he was a friend as well. He was a good strategist and a good man. What he did for the agency – what he sacrificed – will not go forgotten or underestimated. He was a very important man, and we'll miss him."
Grace's tears fell like rainwater slipping on glass, freely and continuously. One of the two agents standing off to the side brought her tissue, and she took it, blowing her nose.
"We have to ask you one more thing," Jack hesitated.
"You've already taken my husband's life, I hardly think one last question is going to matter."
"We'll need for you and your son to enter into our Witness Protection Program temporarily."
"Excuse me?"
"Because William was privy to intel that resulted in his… unfortunate accident, we have to assume that you and your son are possible targets."
"You already went over that."
"Yes, I know. But what I'm saying is, Mrs. Vaughn," he leaned forward. "we need for you to remove Michael from the public school system, we'll need to relocate your residence, change your names—"
"I hardly think you reserve the right to ask such a thing!"
"You really have no choice." Jack leaned back and picked up the manila folder.
"What?"
"William may have told you something that the people who facilitated his execution are looking for."
"I assure you, Mr. Bristow, I know nothing. My husband kept his business affairs to himself, for the most part. Whatever he told me was in the vaguest of ways, never in detail. I know nothing of value."
"It doesn't matter. The people who did this may think you know something and come after you or your son."
Grace chewed on her lower lip as she contemplated this. "Live completely different lives?"
"Yes. There is a CIA-commissioned school that your son may attend. It's heavily guarded and he'll be among other children who are or have been in similar situations."
"I'd rather not." She stood. "If I choose to comply with this ludicrous proposal, it will be on my terms."
"I'm afraid that's non-negotiable, Mrs. Vaughn."
"Make it negotiable, Mr. Bristow, or me and my son will continue our lives as we've been living it." She bit out.
"I agree that you should attempt to make things as normal as possible for your son, but do you understand that his life could possibly be in danger?" Jack stood, face to face with her, his patience wearing thin.
"And do you understand that I do not want my third grader exposed to life of fear? A life in which he attends a school where every adult is heavily armed and trained to kill? I never wanted him to live a life without his father, and now he has to. I think that's already asking too much from an eight-year-old boy, Mr. Bristow."
"I understand your concern, but—"
"No." Grace held out his pen and defiantly stared him in the eye.
Inwardly sighing, Jack warily asked, "Should the DCI agree to consider your terms, what precisely would you require?"
"Our names are not to be changed. It's the one link Michael has to his father, and he's going to keep it. My son will not attend a 'CIA-commissioned school'. Instead, he will be home-schooled by me. I'll accept the relocation and other such minor changes."
Jack deftly nodded and carefully added, "I'll try to do what I can, Mrs. Vaughn. I respected and admired your husband for his work and his commitment to the agency. I wish things had turned out differently."
That's my husband, she thought sadly. Always the company man, willing to accept orders and comply with set rules.
Pausing just before he opened the door, Jack turned to face her one more time. "Do you happen to know if William kept any memoirs? Personal journals or something of that likeness?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, of course."
"Burn it."
Arching one brow, Grace crossed her arms. "Mr. Bristow, do you have any children?"
A lopsided half-smile tugged at his lips, something Grace found strangely charming. "Just one, only a few months old."
"Then you will understand why I'm going to refuse that request."
His smile faltered.
She continued, "My son has nothing else tangible to hold to when he grows to be a man. William's memoirs are the only pages – snapshots or glimpses, if you will – that will help him understand and get to know who his father was."
"Then I suggest you find a secure place to keep it."
With that, Jack and his two assistants exited the house and drove off in their Government Issue automobile. Grace then let the impact of her loss absorb into her, and she stretched out over the couch and purged her sorrow with tears. Minutes later, Michael peeked out of his room and saw her lying there. Venturing out, he touched her shoulder lightly and in a small voice, he called to her.
"Mommy?"
She turned and gathered him into her arms wordlessly.
"Mommy, what's wrong?" his voice wavered the way it did when he woke from a nightmare. Fear, she noted grimly, had already taken its root. He only called her 'Mommy' when he was scared. Now that he was eight, he was more accustomed to calling her 'Mom'.
"Oh, honey," she sat up, pulled him into her lap and rocked back and forth. "I don't know how to say it."
He swallowed hard. "Is it Dad?"
"Yes, sweetie," she tried again to stabilize her voice and calm the torrent of pain.
"Those were Dad's friends from work. They told me that I had to come home early today because Dad wanted me to."
"Is that what they said?"
He nodded. "They said that Dad had to fight some bad people, but he lost."
Grace started to cry all over again. "Oh, baby. Do you understand what they were telling you?"
He only shook his head no. "Are you crying because Dad lost the fight?"
"Yes, honey, I'm crying because Dad lost the fight." She tried to find the words, the expressions.
What do you say to your eight-year-old when his father is gone? How do you tell him that he's never coming home to practice his hockey shot, or that he won't be able to take him to the Laker game like he promised? What do you say when you're trying to help him understand that?
"Honey, do you remember when Dad used to tell you that story about how sometimes when people get to be grown up, they have to leave for a while?"
"Like on vacation?"
"No, not like on vacation. Like when someone moves away for a really long time to a far, far place and we can't visit them anymore?"
"Are we moving?" he looked at her, his hazel-green eyes just like his father's. His face was solemn, his voice shakier.
"Yes, but that's not what I mean." Looking up to the ceiling, she silently begged William for the words. "Remember when we had that puppy, Mitchell?"
"Uh-huh."
"Do you remember how Mitchell liked to wander in the street? And how that one day when he wandered outside, he didn't come back?"
Michael's eyes began to fill, mirroring her own. "Dad said he had to go to heaven."
Grace nodded, pursing her lips together and tried to swallow the large, salty lump constricting her throat. "Dad went to heaven too, honey. You're daddy went to heaven too."
He rested his head on the curve of her neck and cried, and she with him. For a long while, they remained motionless, comforting each other in their grief and waiting… just waiting for tomorrow.