Chapter Six: There But for the Grace of You
Sydney Bristow nervously wet her lips and glanced at her watch. She noted that for nearly ten minutes, she and Michael Vaughn had been sitting before the Intelligence Oversight Committee, waiting in silence. The air in the room was still and Sydney felt the warmth against her skin, shifting slightly as perspiration made her uncomfortable inside her clothes. She had dressed as conservatively as possible, a deep blue blouse buttoned up to her neck underneath an even deeper blue blazer; it was a decision she regretted as beads of sweat ran down her spine.
In an effort to pass the time, or perhaps to avoid thinking about the reason they were sitting there, Sydney allowed her mind to wander back a few hours to that morning. As the sun was rising, brilliant orange and gold consuming the eastern sky, she stood at Vaughn's window watching the daylight unfold.
Vaughn, fresh from sleep and smelling of toothpaste, came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He kissed her ear and then rested his chin on her shoulder, looking past her to the budding light outside.
"Syd," He said, his deep morning voice vibrating against her skin. "I was just thinking, remembering, actually - uhm, last night, we didn't-"
"I know," Sydney put in suddenly, resting her hands on Vaughn's. "It's okay. I think we're fine."
Vaughn squeezed her tighter as they fell silent, both of their thoughts drifting. They stayed that way for several minutes, their bodies touching, their breathing matched and steady. She didn't want to do it, but Sydney finally broke away, turning to face Vaughn as he straightened up and yawned.
"I need to go home and shower," Sydney said, hating the idea of leaving. "We're due to see the committee at eight."
Vaughn hung his head for a moment. "I'll go next door and have my neighbor call you a cab. I don't want to risk doing it from here." When he lifted his eyes again, he couldn't help but smile. "That's a good look for you, by the way."
Sydney grinned. When she'd rolled out of Vaughn's arms and climbed out of the bed, she'd grabbed the first available thing to wrap herself it. It had turned out to be Vaughn's dress shirt from the day before.
"You think so?" She turned a circle and curtsied, stealing a moment to be silly before motioning back towards the bedroom. "Well, I guess I'd better go change so I can leave." She didn't move, however, and neither did Vaughn.
"Syd," He sighed heavily, coming to her once again. They embraced, Sydney resting her forehead against Vaughn's stubbled cheek. "No matter what happens today, nothing changes the way I feel about you." He pulled back to look into her eyes. "I love you, Sydney."
Sydney snapped out of her reverie as a door at the rear of the room opened and Senator Marchard walked in, followed by a stenographer and the same CIA agent who'd been with them from the start. The Committee had been waiting for Senator Marchard's arrival; as chairman, he would be the one to announce the committee's decision. When he took his seat, Sydney's heart leapt into her throat.
"My apologies," Senator Marchard glanced up at Sydney and Vaughn. "My alarm clock picked a helluva morning to quit working."
The comment raised a collection of chuckles from around the room, and Sydney looked up sharply. She found it hard to laugh at anything inside this place, let alone the Senator being late to deliver the news that would change her life.
Beside her, Vaughn was aware of Sydney fidgeting noiselessly as Senator Marchard took his time laying out his notes in front of him. Watching all this, Vaughn felt as though there was nothing beneath his shirt but a hollow place with winter winds whipping through. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate as the Senator began to speak.
"Good morning, Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn," Senator Marchard nodded at each of them. "I'd like to start out by thanking you for being punctual, courteous and accommodating during this whole proceeding. You have answered our questions truthfully and to the best of your ability, and we appreciate that," He took time to glance behind him at his fellow senators, several of whom were nodding in agreement.
Sydney was trying to focus on his words, but the sound of her heart pounding in her ears made it nearly impossible. She wanted him to hurry, to get the point, to unveil their future. And when the words were finally spoken, she wanted to be holding Vaughn's hand. Knowing that she couldn't was a truth that hurt her somewhere deep within.
"Before I tell you the Committee's decision, I want to be sure you know that it was a decision that was not taken lightly," Marchard's voice was deep, his tone somber. "After Agent Vaughn left here yesterday, we argued the details for a long while before we came to an agreement."
Vaughn wanted to reach for Sydney's hand, although he knew it was a bad idea. It didn't matter, anyway; he wasn't sure his mind could spark his arm to action. He felt almost completely numb, his racing heart and idle limbs somehow oddly disconnected.
Senator Marchard paused dramatically, shuffling pages of his notes before continuing. "It will come as no surprise to either of you that this Committee has requested that Agent Vaughn be removed from his position as Agent Bristow's handler." His expression dark, Marchard looked directly at Sydney. "Deputy Director Devlin has assured me, Agent Bristow, that he will do his best to find a suitable replacement, someone you will work with just as well. The Committee, however, has recommended that this new agent be a female, as to avoid any such situations in the future."
Sydney sat back hard against her chair, the Senator's words biting. Chagrinned, her cheeks reddened, heat rising up her neck and spreading across her face. It was hard enough to be a woman in the "boys' club" of the CIA. Sydney was ashamed, thinking she had just made it even harder. Now the men in charge would think twice before pairing a female agent with a male; the proposition was just too risky - and risqué.
"As for your future, Agent Vaughn," Senator Marchard shifted his focus, his voice deepening with authority. "We have weighed many issues in making a decision, including your father's honorable, dedicated service and your consistent record of success. We also took into consideration your lapse in judgment with Agent Bristow and the seriousness of the incident in London." His eyes locked with Vaughn's, his point successfully made. "In short, Agent Vaughn, we took into account many things, especially insight we received from a senior agent of the CIA."
A feeling of dread pooled in Vaughn's stomach. He closed his eyes momentarily as the realization consumed him that this was going to be much worse than he'd allowed himself to believe.
Marchard continued. "Based on all that, and also due to your command of the language and familiarity with the country and its culture, it is this Committee's unanimous decision and strong recommendation that you be permanently reassigned to the CIA operations center located in Paris, France."
As the words penetrated her mind, Sydney was suddenly struck with the strongest sense of deja vu she had ever experienced. She saw Vaughn's face, a tidal wave of water, a door slamming shut. It was Taipei all over again, except this time she had not seen it coming.
Next to her, Vaughn was in shock. Ever since they'd been told they were facing the IOC, his mind had flirted with this possibility, that he would be transferred somewhere far away. He had always managed to push those thoughts back into the dark corners of improbability. But now, here it was, laid out in full, his deepest fear on display for the whole room to share.
"Agent Vaughn," Marchard said, his voice now devoid of any of the warmth it had once possessed. "I have been asked to instruct you to report to Deputy Director Devlin immediately after we adjourn. As for you, Agent Bristow," Marchard waited until Sydney met his eyes before going on. "I would advise you to take the rest of this day and the weekend to re-sort your priorities and make a determination to devote yourself fully to your objective. You'll be expected to report to Assistant Director Kendall first thing Monday morning to meet your new handler."
Sydney had been trained to mask her feelings, to compartmentalize everything. She struggled now to remind herself that she was a professional, that breaking down or crying out in front of these distinguished Senators was not an option, even though the compartments in her head were flooding, their varied thoughts and feelings spilling into each other like a rain swollen river cresting its banks. Unable to speak or to cry, she was left in silence and shock, her body still, her mind a raging torrent.
Senator Marchard gathered his things, snapping his briefcase closed before standing up and turning to face his colleagues. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and attention. We are adjourned."
The room was suddenly full of noise. Chairs scraped against the tiled floor, water glasses clinked against pitchers, papers were folded and shuffled, people spoke in hushed voices. Most of the Committee members left through the rear door, only a few daring to walk near the two stunned and silent agents at the front of the room.
It was only once the room was empty that Sydney and Vaughn dared to turn and look at each other. Their faces mirrored their feelings: shock, disbelief, denial.
Sydney was the first to stand up, setting her purse on the tabletop forcefully as her steel will asserted itself, pushing all emotion aside.
"Okay," She said determinedly. "What do we do now?"
Vaughn stood up slowly, pausing to straighten his suit coat. "Right now I'm going to go find out how much time we have before I leave for France."
"You're not going to go, are you?" Sydney was incredulous. A part of her was angry that Vaughn seemed unwilling to fight this, even though deep down she knew it was a losing battle.
"What would you have me do, Syd?" Vaughn questioned, his eyes imploring. "I can't just not go. I can't just quit. We still couldn't be seen together around LA - SD-6 security would have us both killed." He sighed heavily, unable to think of a single thing to dress this wound, to make any of it feel better. "Besides, you heard Senator Marchard - a senior agent of the CIA helped them reach this decision. I'm about to go sit in that senior agent's office; do you honestly think he'll change his mind?"
"So you think it was Devlin?"
"Does it matter?" Vaughn's eyes looked tired, his shoulders slumped. "Does it really matter who it was? If it was Devlin or not, it won't change a damn thing."
Sydney's strong facade was starting to splinter. She struggled to stay within the anger. It was much easier than dwelling inside the pain. "But France?" Sydney finally said, her voice weak. "Vaughn, that's - that's all the way across the ocean." Her eyes burned with tears at the thought of that distance, those many miles.
Vaughn took Sydney's hands into his own and looked deep into her eyes. "Syd, I'd cross a thousand oceans for you," He told her, his voice strong with conviction. "I don't have a doubt that we will find a way to deal with this. But right now, I need to go see Devlin. If I don't show up soon, we may find ourselves in more trouble."
Sydney shook her head, trying to keep reality at bay for a while longer. "But there has to be something," She insisted, her fighting spirit unwilling to give in. "There has to be an alternative."
Vaughn suddenly withdrew his hands and walked around the table, moving towards the door. Halfway there, he stopped and turned. "I gave you an alternative," He said pointedly. "And you said no."
Sydney could not meet his eyes.
"I have to go see Devlin," Vaughn said, turning away. "I'll call you when I know the details." And with that, he was gone, leaving Sydney with nothing but the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
Finding herself alone, her heart fractured, Sydney felt the last of her strength drain away as reality settled in with numbing certainty. Eyes wet with tears threatening to fall, she looked around the empty room, the place where her hopes had been crushed. It was all at once too much to take and Sydney fell back into the chair as choking sobs escaped her throat, tears coming hard and fast. She dropped her head to the tabletop, cradling her face in her arms, sobbing until the ache in her sides was equal to the one in her heart.
Crying as she was, nothing in the world existed but her pain. Sydney was wholly unaware that someone had entered the room. A forgotten cell phone had caused Senator Wendy Schulman to return, and as she entered the room, she was alarmed to find Sydney in such a state of despair.
Suddenly feeling a hand on her arm, Sydney jerked up, her face a mess of tears and smeared make-up. She was startled to see Senator Schulman, and even more surprised by the woman's attempt to comfort her. She gently squeezed Sydney's arm, her eyes full of sympathy. Then the Senator turned and silently left the room well before Sydney could find her voice or even think of anything to say.
Sydney sat in silence for a long time, her thoughts racing, dwelling on the motivation for Senator Schulman's kindness. It came to her suddenly, the realization that perhaps not everyone in that room had wanted to reach a unanimous decision. Perhaps there were holdouts, perhaps arguments on her and Vaughn's behalf. Sydney searched her mind for what could possibly have caused them to give in, and when it hit her, a tidal wave of disgust washed over her, instantly replacing her tears with anger.
"A senior agent of the CIA," Sydney said aloud, repeating Marchard's words. Vaughn had asked her if it mattered who that agent was. The answer was yes, it mattered. It mattered to her because it could mean the difference between LA and Paris, a difference that to her was as wide as a thousand oceans were deep.
Kendall rummaged through the bottom drawer of his desk, his frustration increasing with each unsuccessful moment that passed. The morning had been more problematic than usual, drawing relentlessly on his notoriously thin patience. And now, as he grumbled and searched for the bottle of Pepto Bismol he was sure he had, his day was not improving. In fact, he didn't know it just yet, but it was about to get steadily worse.
It started with the appearance of Sydney Bristow. Just as Kendall finally wrapped his hand around the rouge bottle of stomach soothing pink liquid, his door opened forcefully and Sydney walked in, her eyes targeted on his startled face.
"Agent Bristow," Kendall quickly stood, smoothing his necktie. "I wasn't expecting you until Monday morning."
Sydney's expression was hard as she dropped her purse into one of Kendall's chairs. Crossing her arms, she made it clear through her body language that this was not a social visit.
"I have a question for you, Kendall," She began, her voice rife with controlled anger. "When Agent Vaughn asked you two days ago how bad the committee's decision could be, why didn't you tell him?"
Kendall was silent for a moment, his mind working quickly to uncover the source of Sydney's anger. There was a quality of accusation to her tone that unsettled him.
"I didn't care to speculate at that point," Kendall finally replied, hoping to form the answer in a way that would diffuse Sydney's anger.
"No," Sydney snapped. "You didn't tell him because you already knew. And you didn't want to spoil the surprise." Her voice dripped with disgust.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kendall said, anger beginning to surface. "But if I were you, Ms. Bristow, I'd watch the tone you take with me. I am a senior agent of the CIA."
"Yeah," Sydney's eyes flashed. "A senior agent who sold out one of his own." She exhaled sharply, taking a moment to focus. She didn't want her anger to overshadow the point she felt compelled to make. "You shared your `insight' with the IOC. You knew what their decision would be because you helped them make it."
Kendall swiftly came around the side of his desk to stand nearly toe-to-toe with Sydney. One thing he would not tolerate was a baseless accusation, especially one that hinted at company disloyalty.
"No, I didn't," He said forcefully. "But if you must know, I agree with the decision that was made. And for your own good, you'd better accept it and refocus yourself on your job here. It's time to fall into line."
Sydney was incredulous. "Fall into line?" She echoed, throwing her hands up. "I've been in line for a year and a half, and look what's happened. Playing by the rules has not served me well."
It was Kendall's turn to be incredulous. He leaned back from Sydney, his penetrating eyes hard. "You've been playing by the rules?" He scoffed. "No, I don't think so. Where in the rules does it say that a field agent and her handler should make out in a storage closet in the middle of a sensitive mission?"
Sydney dropped her eyes, her cheeks flaming. The air was leaking out of her anger, leaving her with deep frustration. She turned away from Kendall and went to the window, gazing out at the ops center as dozens of agents worked steadily, oblivious to the drama playing out a few feet away.
"I know I'm the last person on Earth you want to take advice from, Agent Bristow," Kendall's voice softened as he went back around his desk and sat down. "But stop fighting this. I know that's in your nature, to rail against what you see as an injustice, but it's a done deal. The Director of the CIA has signed off on it. Like it or not, Agent Vaughn is going to France."
Sydney closed her eyes, fighting against a fresh wave of sadness. She gripped the metal windowsill with her fingertips to keep her hands from shaking. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, still facing the glass. "I want to know who did it," She said.
Kendall sighed heavily, pulling the Pepto Bismol from his drawer. "Agent Bristow, this is not a personal vendetta. It's a matter of national security. There's no point in trying to fight it," He implored her. After fighting for a moment with the childproof cap, he gave up and set the bottle loudly in the center of his desk, finally reaching his daily frustration limit. He looked up as Sydney turned to face him. "It doesn't make a difference," He told her.
Sydney swallowed hard, holding tears at bay. "It makes a difference to me," She admitted, her eyes dark.
Kendall's brow furrowed as he raised a hand to point at Sydney, wanting to be sure she heard him loud and clear. "You will be back here on Monday morning, and you will be ready to do your job. Is that clear?"
Thankful for the rush of anger that replaced the hollow center of sadness in her chest, Sydney grabbed the Pepto Bismol bottle from Kendall's desk. In one quick movement, she twisted the cap off. After dropping it onto the desktop, she looked into Kendall's eyes and said the words she knew he would not like to hear.
"I want to see my mother."
Irina Derevko was sitting on the floor of her cell, her eyes closed in quiet meditation. The awful sound of the raising metal gates echoed in the hall, disturbing her concentration. She did not open her eyes at first; it wasn't until the unmistakable click of high heels grabbed her attention. Glancing up, she was pleased to find herself looking into the lovely face of her daughter.
"Sydney," Irina said delightedly, quickly getting to her feet. As she came near the thick, bulletproof glass that enclosed her, her expression melted from happiness to concern. There was a sadness in Sydney's eyes that she had not seen before.
"Mom," Sydney said, her smile distant. "Thank you for the flowers."
"You've been crying," Irina said simply. "The news was not good?"
"No," Sydney admitted, lowering her eyes. "The news was horrible."
Sydney told her mother about the committee's decision, spilling the details, including Senator Marchard's reference to the unknown senior CIA agent. When she was finished, the two women stood in silence for several minutes as Sydney struggled with her emotion. Irina just allowed herself to be quiet presence, hoping Sydney could feel how much she wanted to comfort her.
"They're sending him to France, Mom," Sydney finally said, when she felt herself able to speak. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, her eyes shining and wet. "I don't know what to do. I want to fight it, to beg with someone to change it. I mean," Sydney searched for the words as thoughts came hard and fast, her sadness overwhelming her. "Why France? Why not New York? Or Chicago? Why does it have to be France?"
"They want to make it as hard as possible for you to be together," Irina explained gently. "I'm so sorry, Gentle Heart."
The term of endearment caused a fresh rush of tears. "Mom," Sydney moaned, her voice distorted by her tears. "I love him." She fought back a sob, clamping her hand over her mouth.
"I can tell that you do," Irina murmured, wishing she could reach through the glass and stroke Sydney's hair. She felt helpless just watching her daughter's heartache. "What do you want to do about it, Sydney?"
"I don't know," Sydney shook her head, raising her eyes to meet her mother's. When she did, Irina gave her a knowing look, and Sydney sighed, brushing tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Okay, yes, I think I know what I want, but - I just want someone to tell me, to relieve me of the burden of making the choice myself. You'd think it would be easy, but - no."
Irina crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head and giving Sydney a sympathetic smile. "It's never easy," She agreed. She was silent for a moment, appearing to think hard about the situation. "Is there anyone you can confide in?" Irina finally asked, her eyebrows raised in question.
Sydney shook her head. "No one besides you, and my friend Will," She replied. "But it's such a heavy burden to unload on someone like him. He's trying to live a normal life. There's nothing normal about this situation."
"What about your father?" Irina finally said, her voice bearing traces of something that Sydney couldn't put her finger on.
Sydney looked up quickly, a smile passing over her lips. "I almost forgot," She said, her tone lightening. "On the day I testified, Dad was there when I got done. He and I went out and had dinner, and we sat there for hours. He just listened while I talked, spilling all my feelings about Vaughn and the hearings." Sydney turned from the glass and paced in a short circle, allowing her thoughts to run on their own course before she continued. "I thought later that it was slightly odd, though," She said, stopping and turning back to her mother. "It isn't like Dad to just listen without offering advice and trying to tell me what to do."
Irina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes searching Sydney's face. "You're right. That's doesn't seem like him," She agreed. She paused for a moment before going on, her tone pensive. "It's almost as if he knew it would be pointless to try to tell you what to do with your relationship with Vaughn."
The hair on the back of Sydney's neck stood up as she met her mother's eyes. Her mother's talent for deduction was uncanny, and Sydney felt as though Irina had yet again uncovered something that would throw her for a loop.
"What do you mean?" Sydney asked carefully.
Irina shrugged. "Why give you advice or try to persuade you on an issue that with the committee's decision becomes a moot point?"
Sydney drew in a sharp breath as pain rocked her once again, sending her off balance, her mind spinning. It was so obvious, she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself. Tears surfaced yet again as Sydney lifted her hands to her face, disbelief twisting her sadness into shock.
"It was Dad," Sydney said simply, finally meeting her mother's eyes. "He's the senior CIA agent. I should've known that," She shook her head.
"I'm sure he was trying to help you," Irina offered, knowing it sounded hollow.
"I don't need his help," Sydney interjected, anger bubbling up from deep within. She checked it quickly, not wanting to take anything out on her mother that was rightfully deserved by her father.
"No, you don't," Irina agreed. She came close to the glass, locking her gaze with Sydney's. "Your heart knows what decision to make."
Sydney blinked hard, washing away her few remaining tears. "Yes," She said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It does."
The next moments were spent in silence, mother and daughter separated by thick glass but closer than they had ever been. After a while, Sydney murmured a goodbye and turned to leave. She stopped when her mother called out her name.
Sydney turned to see her mother with her hand pressed to the glass, her eyes imploring her daughter to return. Sydney walked quickly back, lifting her hand to match her mother's, both of them pressing on opposite sides.
Irina spoke, her voice soft, her eyes full of hope. "I will see you again."
Sydney nodded, her mother's message not going unheard. Slowly peeling her hand from the glass, Sydney turned and walked away. Irina waited until the metal gates had once again slid into place and until she couldn't hear Sydney's high heels any longer before she pulled her hand back from the glass and returned to her meditation in the middle of the floor.
Walking into the lobby of the CIA's downtown Los Angeles office, Sydney knew she was taking a risk. Standing in line to go through the security checks, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping desperately that no one from SD-6 Security Section had seen her. That would be all it would take to cause her whole reason for being there to completely unravel.
The guard at the security desk looked up and smiled broadly. "Good afternoon, Agent Bristow," He said happily. He had always been kind to her, especially in the early days when she had been so unsure of herself.
"Hi, Charles," Sydney said pleasantly, handing him her credentials before dropping her purse into a bin to be passed through the security x-ray.
"We haven't see you around here in a while," Charles handed back her I.D., his dark eyes teasing. "Are you slumming today?"
Sydney couldn't help but smile. "Something like that," She nodded, accepting her purse from Charles after it reached the other side of the machine. They waved to each other before Sydney walked off toward the bank of elevators on the other side of the lobby. Crossing over the large CIA seal inlaid into the tile floor, she sighed. Even thought it was many months since she'd first made that fateful walk, the memories were still as fresh as if it had just happened hours ago.
Reaching the elevators, Sydney paused, her finger hovering near the "Up" button. She knew where she wanted to go and whom she wanted to see, but she also knew whom she didn't want to see. Running into Devlin would be a mistake she couldn't afford to make. Making a hasty choice, Sydney boarded the first available elevator and headed up to the seventh floor where the employee cafeteria and break room were located. Once there, she ducked inside the women's bathroom and grabbed her cell phone from her purse.
A few minutes later and a few floors up, Vaughn left Devlin's office with his official reassignment documents in hand. He walked slowly down the hall, reading them over, his mind distracted. He'd been given two weeks to get his personal belongings in order and get ready to move to Paris. All he could concentrate on, however, was how to fill those two weeks with nothing but being with Sydney. It was something he never thought he'd have to face, and the sheer thought of it was overwhelming him. He'd never been so tired in his entire life.
Vaughn made it into Weiss's office, dismayed to find it empty. His desk lamp was still burning, indicating he would return, so Vaughn dropped into one of the chairs in front of the large cherry wood desk. He slapped the papers down on Weiss's blotter and picked up one of the small model planes near the computer, spinning the tiny propeller with his finger.
"Hey, buddy," Weiss suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a can of diet Coke and a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. "I was just down in the break room-"
"They're sending me to France," Vaughn declared, setting the plane back down. He stared down at this hands as Weiss stopped halfway between his door and the desk, munching quietly on a Dorito.
"I know, man," Weiss admitted. Vaughn looked up, his eyebrows raised.
"How?"
Weiss set the beverage and chips on his desktop before poking his head out into the hallway. He took a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear before turning back to Vaughn. Vaughn was puzzled by this, but he didn't say anything. He just watched as Weiss took his seat behind the desk, his eyes bright.
"Vaughn," He said, his tone low and conspiratorial. "Our favorite red head was just here."
It took Vaughn a minute to catch his meaning, but when he did, he sat straight up in the chair, his eyes wide. "Syd?" He whispered, leaning in towards Weiss.
Weiss smiled and nodded, reaching into his breast pocket. "She wanted me to give you this." He handed Vaughn a folded slip of paper and then sat back, satisfied that he had fulfilled his end of the mission.
Vaughn glanced once at Weiss's face before opening the piece of paper. Written on it were two small, simple words that would change his life forever: LET'S GO.
******
A/N: Sorry it has taken so long for this chapter. It was a difficult one to write, as I wanted to make sure I had it just right. Many thanks to the music of Eva Cassidy (especially "Songbird"), Pop-Ice popsicles and my Alias screensaver (with theme music!) for helping me get through.
Sydney Bristow nervously wet her lips and glanced at her watch. She noted that for nearly ten minutes, she and Michael Vaughn had been sitting before the Intelligence Oversight Committee, waiting in silence. The air in the room was still and Sydney felt the warmth against her skin, shifting slightly as perspiration made her uncomfortable inside her clothes. She had dressed as conservatively as possible, a deep blue blouse buttoned up to her neck underneath an even deeper blue blazer; it was a decision she regretted as beads of sweat ran down her spine.
In an effort to pass the time, or perhaps to avoid thinking about the reason they were sitting there, Sydney allowed her mind to wander back a few hours to that morning. As the sun was rising, brilliant orange and gold consuming the eastern sky, she stood at Vaughn's window watching the daylight unfold.
Vaughn, fresh from sleep and smelling of toothpaste, came up behind her and slid his arms around her waist. He kissed her ear and then rested his chin on her shoulder, looking past her to the budding light outside.
"Syd," He said, his deep morning voice vibrating against her skin. "I was just thinking, remembering, actually - uhm, last night, we didn't-"
"I know," Sydney put in suddenly, resting her hands on Vaughn's. "It's okay. I think we're fine."
Vaughn squeezed her tighter as they fell silent, both of their thoughts drifting. They stayed that way for several minutes, their bodies touching, their breathing matched and steady. She didn't want to do it, but Sydney finally broke away, turning to face Vaughn as he straightened up and yawned.
"I need to go home and shower," Sydney said, hating the idea of leaving. "We're due to see the committee at eight."
Vaughn hung his head for a moment. "I'll go next door and have my neighbor call you a cab. I don't want to risk doing it from here." When he lifted his eyes again, he couldn't help but smile. "That's a good look for you, by the way."
Sydney grinned. When she'd rolled out of Vaughn's arms and climbed out of the bed, she'd grabbed the first available thing to wrap herself it. It had turned out to be Vaughn's dress shirt from the day before.
"You think so?" She turned a circle and curtsied, stealing a moment to be silly before motioning back towards the bedroom. "Well, I guess I'd better go change so I can leave." She didn't move, however, and neither did Vaughn.
"Syd," He sighed heavily, coming to her once again. They embraced, Sydney resting her forehead against Vaughn's stubbled cheek. "No matter what happens today, nothing changes the way I feel about you." He pulled back to look into her eyes. "I love you, Sydney."
Sydney snapped out of her reverie as a door at the rear of the room opened and Senator Marchard walked in, followed by a stenographer and the same CIA agent who'd been with them from the start. The Committee had been waiting for Senator Marchard's arrival; as chairman, he would be the one to announce the committee's decision. When he took his seat, Sydney's heart leapt into her throat.
"My apologies," Senator Marchard glanced up at Sydney and Vaughn. "My alarm clock picked a helluva morning to quit working."
The comment raised a collection of chuckles from around the room, and Sydney looked up sharply. She found it hard to laugh at anything inside this place, let alone the Senator being late to deliver the news that would change her life.
Beside her, Vaughn was aware of Sydney fidgeting noiselessly as Senator Marchard took his time laying out his notes in front of him. Watching all this, Vaughn felt as though there was nothing beneath his shirt but a hollow place with winter winds whipping through. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate as the Senator began to speak.
"Good morning, Agent Bristow, Agent Vaughn," Senator Marchard nodded at each of them. "I'd like to start out by thanking you for being punctual, courteous and accommodating during this whole proceeding. You have answered our questions truthfully and to the best of your ability, and we appreciate that," He took time to glance behind him at his fellow senators, several of whom were nodding in agreement.
Sydney was trying to focus on his words, but the sound of her heart pounding in her ears made it nearly impossible. She wanted him to hurry, to get the point, to unveil their future. And when the words were finally spoken, she wanted to be holding Vaughn's hand. Knowing that she couldn't was a truth that hurt her somewhere deep within.
"Before I tell you the Committee's decision, I want to be sure you know that it was a decision that was not taken lightly," Marchard's voice was deep, his tone somber. "After Agent Vaughn left here yesterday, we argued the details for a long while before we came to an agreement."
Vaughn wanted to reach for Sydney's hand, although he knew it was a bad idea. It didn't matter, anyway; he wasn't sure his mind could spark his arm to action. He felt almost completely numb, his racing heart and idle limbs somehow oddly disconnected.
Senator Marchard paused dramatically, shuffling pages of his notes before continuing. "It will come as no surprise to either of you that this Committee has requested that Agent Vaughn be removed from his position as Agent Bristow's handler." His expression dark, Marchard looked directly at Sydney. "Deputy Director Devlin has assured me, Agent Bristow, that he will do his best to find a suitable replacement, someone you will work with just as well. The Committee, however, has recommended that this new agent be a female, as to avoid any such situations in the future."
Sydney sat back hard against her chair, the Senator's words biting. Chagrinned, her cheeks reddened, heat rising up her neck and spreading across her face. It was hard enough to be a woman in the "boys' club" of the CIA. Sydney was ashamed, thinking she had just made it even harder. Now the men in charge would think twice before pairing a female agent with a male; the proposition was just too risky - and risqué.
"As for your future, Agent Vaughn," Senator Marchard shifted his focus, his voice deepening with authority. "We have weighed many issues in making a decision, including your father's honorable, dedicated service and your consistent record of success. We also took into consideration your lapse in judgment with Agent Bristow and the seriousness of the incident in London." His eyes locked with Vaughn's, his point successfully made. "In short, Agent Vaughn, we took into account many things, especially insight we received from a senior agent of the CIA."
A feeling of dread pooled in Vaughn's stomach. He closed his eyes momentarily as the realization consumed him that this was going to be much worse than he'd allowed himself to believe.
Marchard continued. "Based on all that, and also due to your command of the language and familiarity with the country and its culture, it is this Committee's unanimous decision and strong recommendation that you be permanently reassigned to the CIA operations center located in Paris, France."
As the words penetrated her mind, Sydney was suddenly struck with the strongest sense of deja vu she had ever experienced. She saw Vaughn's face, a tidal wave of water, a door slamming shut. It was Taipei all over again, except this time she had not seen it coming.
Next to her, Vaughn was in shock. Ever since they'd been told they were facing the IOC, his mind had flirted with this possibility, that he would be transferred somewhere far away. He had always managed to push those thoughts back into the dark corners of improbability. But now, here it was, laid out in full, his deepest fear on display for the whole room to share.
"Agent Vaughn," Marchard said, his voice now devoid of any of the warmth it had once possessed. "I have been asked to instruct you to report to Deputy Director Devlin immediately after we adjourn. As for you, Agent Bristow," Marchard waited until Sydney met his eyes before going on. "I would advise you to take the rest of this day and the weekend to re-sort your priorities and make a determination to devote yourself fully to your objective. You'll be expected to report to Assistant Director Kendall first thing Monday morning to meet your new handler."
Sydney had been trained to mask her feelings, to compartmentalize everything. She struggled now to remind herself that she was a professional, that breaking down or crying out in front of these distinguished Senators was not an option, even though the compartments in her head were flooding, their varied thoughts and feelings spilling into each other like a rain swollen river cresting its banks. Unable to speak or to cry, she was left in silence and shock, her body still, her mind a raging torrent.
Senator Marchard gathered his things, snapping his briefcase closed before standing up and turning to face his colleagues. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your time and attention. We are adjourned."
The room was suddenly full of noise. Chairs scraped against the tiled floor, water glasses clinked against pitchers, papers were folded and shuffled, people spoke in hushed voices. Most of the Committee members left through the rear door, only a few daring to walk near the two stunned and silent agents at the front of the room.
It was only once the room was empty that Sydney and Vaughn dared to turn and look at each other. Their faces mirrored their feelings: shock, disbelief, denial.
Sydney was the first to stand up, setting her purse on the tabletop forcefully as her steel will asserted itself, pushing all emotion aside.
"Okay," She said determinedly. "What do we do now?"
Vaughn stood up slowly, pausing to straighten his suit coat. "Right now I'm going to go find out how much time we have before I leave for France."
"You're not going to go, are you?" Sydney was incredulous. A part of her was angry that Vaughn seemed unwilling to fight this, even though deep down she knew it was a losing battle.
"What would you have me do, Syd?" Vaughn questioned, his eyes imploring. "I can't just not go. I can't just quit. We still couldn't be seen together around LA - SD-6 security would have us both killed." He sighed heavily, unable to think of a single thing to dress this wound, to make any of it feel better. "Besides, you heard Senator Marchard - a senior agent of the CIA helped them reach this decision. I'm about to go sit in that senior agent's office; do you honestly think he'll change his mind?"
"So you think it was Devlin?"
"Does it matter?" Vaughn's eyes looked tired, his shoulders slumped. "Does it really matter who it was? If it was Devlin or not, it won't change a damn thing."
Sydney's strong facade was starting to splinter. She struggled to stay within the anger. It was much easier than dwelling inside the pain. "But France?" Sydney finally said, her voice weak. "Vaughn, that's - that's all the way across the ocean." Her eyes burned with tears at the thought of that distance, those many miles.
Vaughn took Sydney's hands into his own and looked deep into her eyes. "Syd, I'd cross a thousand oceans for you," He told her, his voice strong with conviction. "I don't have a doubt that we will find a way to deal with this. But right now, I need to go see Devlin. If I don't show up soon, we may find ourselves in more trouble."
Sydney shook her head, trying to keep reality at bay for a while longer. "But there has to be something," She insisted, her fighting spirit unwilling to give in. "There has to be an alternative."
Vaughn suddenly withdrew his hands and walked around the table, moving towards the door. Halfway there, he stopped and turned. "I gave you an alternative," He said pointedly. "And you said no."
Sydney could not meet his eyes.
"I have to go see Devlin," Vaughn said, turning away. "I'll call you when I know the details." And with that, he was gone, leaving Sydney with nothing but the sound of his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
Finding herself alone, her heart fractured, Sydney felt the last of her strength drain away as reality settled in with numbing certainty. Eyes wet with tears threatening to fall, she looked around the empty room, the place where her hopes had been crushed. It was all at once too much to take and Sydney fell back into the chair as choking sobs escaped her throat, tears coming hard and fast. She dropped her head to the tabletop, cradling her face in her arms, sobbing until the ache in her sides was equal to the one in her heart.
Crying as she was, nothing in the world existed but her pain. Sydney was wholly unaware that someone had entered the room. A forgotten cell phone had caused Senator Wendy Schulman to return, and as she entered the room, she was alarmed to find Sydney in such a state of despair.
Suddenly feeling a hand on her arm, Sydney jerked up, her face a mess of tears and smeared make-up. She was startled to see Senator Schulman, and even more surprised by the woman's attempt to comfort her. She gently squeezed Sydney's arm, her eyes full of sympathy. Then the Senator turned and silently left the room well before Sydney could find her voice or even think of anything to say.
Sydney sat in silence for a long time, her thoughts racing, dwelling on the motivation for Senator Schulman's kindness. It came to her suddenly, the realization that perhaps not everyone in that room had wanted to reach a unanimous decision. Perhaps there were holdouts, perhaps arguments on her and Vaughn's behalf. Sydney searched her mind for what could possibly have caused them to give in, and when it hit her, a tidal wave of disgust washed over her, instantly replacing her tears with anger.
"A senior agent of the CIA," Sydney said aloud, repeating Marchard's words. Vaughn had asked her if it mattered who that agent was. The answer was yes, it mattered. It mattered to her because it could mean the difference between LA and Paris, a difference that to her was as wide as a thousand oceans were deep.
Kendall rummaged through the bottom drawer of his desk, his frustration increasing with each unsuccessful moment that passed. The morning had been more problematic than usual, drawing relentlessly on his notoriously thin patience. And now, as he grumbled and searched for the bottle of Pepto Bismol he was sure he had, his day was not improving. In fact, he didn't know it just yet, but it was about to get steadily worse.
It started with the appearance of Sydney Bristow. Just as Kendall finally wrapped his hand around the rouge bottle of stomach soothing pink liquid, his door opened forcefully and Sydney walked in, her eyes targeted on his startled face.
"Agent Bristow," Kendall quickly stood, smoothing his necktie. "I wasn't expecting you until Monday morning."
Sydney's expression was hard as she dropped her purse into one of Kendall's chairs. Crossing her arms, she made it clear through her body language that this was not a social visit.
"I have a question for you, Kendall," She began, her voice rife with controlled anger. "When Agent Vaughn asked you two days ago how bad the committee's decision could be, why didn't you tell him?"
Kendall was silent for a moment, his mind working quickly to uncover the source of Sydney's anger. There was a quality of accusation to her tone that unsettled him.
"I didn't care to speculate at that point," Kendall finally replied, hoping to form the answer in a way that would diffuse Sydney's anger.
"No," Sydney snapped. "You didn't tell him because you already knew. And you didn't want to spoil the surprise." Her voice dripped with disgust.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kendall said, anger beginning to surface. "But if I were you, Ms. Bristow, I'd watch the tone you take with me. I am a senior agent of the CIA."
"Yeah," Sydney's eyes flashed. "A senior agent who sold out one of his own." She exhaled sharply, taking a moment to focus. She didn't want her anger to overshadow the point she felt compelled to make. "You shared your `insight' with the IOC. You knew what their decision would be because you helped them make it."
Kendall swiftly came around the side of his desk to stand nearly toe-to-toe with Sydney. One thing he would not tolerate was a baseless accusation, especially one that hinted at company disloyalty.
"No, I didn't," He said forcefully. "But if you must know, I agree with the decision that was made. And for your own good, you'd better accept it and refocus yourself on your job here. It's time to fall into line."
Sydney was incredulous. "Fall into line?" She echoed, throwing her hands up. "I've been in line for a year and a half, and look what's happened. Playing by the rules has not served me well."
It was Kendall's turn to be incredulous. He leaned back from Sydney, his penetrating eyes hard. "You've been playing by the rules?" He scoffed. "No, I don't think so. Where in the rules does it say that a field agent and her handler should make out in a storage closet in the middle of a sensitive mission?"
Sydney dropped her eyes, her cheeks flaming. The air was leaking out of her anger, leaving her with deep frustration. She turned away from Kendall and went to the window, gazing out at the ops center as dozens of agents worked steadily, oblivious to the drama playing out a few feet away.
"I know I'm the last person on Earth you want to take advice from, Agent Bristow," Kendall's voice softened as he went back around his desk and sat down. "But stop fighting this. I know that's in your nature, to rail against what you see as an injustice, but it's a done deal. The Director of the CIA has signed off on it. Like it or not, Agent Vaughn is going to France."
Sydney closed her eyes, fighting against a fresh wave of sadness. She gripped the metal windowsill with her fingertips to keep her hands from shaking. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, still facing the glass. "I want to know who did it," She said.
Kendall sighed heavily, pulling the Pepto Bismol from his drawer. "Agent Bristow, this is not a personal vendetta. It's a matter of national security. There's no point in trying to fight it," He implored her. After fighting for a moment with the childproof cap, he gave up and set the bottle loudly in the center of his desk, finally reaching his daily frustration limit. He looked up as Sydney turned to face him. "It doesn't make a difference," He told her.
Sydney swallowed hard, holding tears at bay. "It makes a difference to me," She admitted, her eyes dark.
Kendall's brow furrowed as he raised a hand to point at Sydney, wanting to be sure she heard him loud and clear. "You will be back here on Monday morning, and you will be ready to do your job. Is that clear?"
Thankful for the rush of anger that replaced the hollow center of sadness in her chest, Sydney grabbed the Pepto Bismol bottle from Kendall's desk. In one quick movement, she twisted the cap off. After dropping it onto the desktop, she looked into Kendall's eyes and said the words she knew he would not like to hear.
"I want to see my mother."
Irina Derevko was sitting on the floor of her cell, her eyes closed in quiet meditation. The awful sound of the raising metal gates echoed in the hall, disturbing her concentration. She did not open her eyes at first; it wasn't until the unmistakable click of high heels grabbed her attention. Glancing up, she was pleased to find herself looking into the lovely face of her daughter.
"Sydney," Irina said delightedly, quickly getting to her feet. As she came near the thick, bulletproof glass that enclosed her, her expression melted from happiness to concern. There was a sadness in Sydney's eyes that she had not seen before.
"Mom," Sydney said, her smile distant. "Thank you for the flowers."
"You've been crying," Irina said simply. "The news was not good?"
"No," Sydney admitted, lowering her eyes. "The news was horrible."
Sydney told her mother about the committee's decision, spilling the details, including Senator Marchard's reference to the unknown senior CIA agent. When she was finished, the two women stood in silence for several minutes as Sydney struggled with her emotion. Irina just allowed herself to be quiet presence, hoping Sydney could feel how much she wanted to comfort her.
"They're sending him to France, Mom," Sydney finally said, when she felt herself able to speak. A lone tear slipped down her cheek, her eyes shining and wet. "I don't know what to do. I want to fight it, to beg with someone to change it. I mean," Sydney searched for the words as thoughts came hard and fast, her sadness overwhelming her. "Why France? Why not New York? Or Chicago? Why does it have to be France?"
"They want to make it as hard as possible for you to be together," Irina explained gently. "I'm so sorry, Gentle Heart."
The term of endearment caused a fresh rush of tears. "Mom," Sydney moaned, her voice distorted by her tears. "I love him." She fought back a sob, clamping her hand over her mouth.
"I can tell that you do," Irina murmured, wishing she could reach through the glass and stroke Sydney's hair. She felt helpless just watching her daughter's heartache. "What do you want to do about it, Sydney?"
"I don't know," Sydney shook her head, raising her eyes to meet her mother's. When she did, Irina gave her a knowing look, and Sydney sighed, brushing tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Okay, yes, I think I know what I want, but - I just want someone to tell me, to relieve me of the burden of making the choice myself. You'd think it would be easy, but - no."
Irina crossed her arms over her chest, cocking her head and giving Sydney a sympathetic smile. "It's never easy," She agreed. She was silent for a moment, appearing to think hard about the situation. "Is there anyone you can confide in?" Irina finally asked, her eyebrows raised in question.
Sydney shook her head. "No one besides you, and my friend Will," She replied. "But it's such a heavy burden to unload on someone like him. He's trying to live a normal life. There's nothing normal about this situation."
"What about your father?" Irina finally said, her voice bearing traces of something that Sydney couldn't put her finger on.
Sydney looked up quickly, a smile passing over her lips. "I almost forgot," She said, her tone lightening. "On the day I testified, Dad was there when I got done. He and I went out and had dinner, and we sat there for hours. He just listened while I talked, spilling all my feelings about Vaughn and the hearings." Sydney turned from the glass and paced in a short circle, allowing her thoughts to run on their own course before she continued. "I thought later that it was slightly odd, though," She said, stopping and turning back to her mother. "It isn't like Dad to just listen without offering advice and trying to tell me what to do."
Irina tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes searching Sydney's face. "You're right. That's doesn't seem like him," She agreed. She paused for a moment before going on, her tone pensive. "It's almost as if he knew it would be pointless to try to tell you what to do with your relationship with Vaughn."
The hair on the back of Sydney's neck stood up as she met her mother's eyes. Her mother's talent for deduction was uncanny, and Sydney felt as though Irina had yet again uncovered something that would throw her for a loop.
"What do you mean?" Sydney asked carefully.
Irina shrugged. "Why give you advice or try to persuade you on an issue that with the committee's decision becomes a moot point?"
Sydney drew in a sharp breath as pain rocked her once again, sending her off balance, her mind spinning. It was so obvious, she couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it herself. Tears surfaced yet again as Sydney lifted her hands to her face, disbelief twisting her sadness into shock.
"It was Dad," Sydney said simply, finally meeting her mother's eyes. "He's the senior CIA agent. I should've known that," She shook her head.
"I'm sure he was trying to help you," Irina offered, knowing it sounded hollow.
"I don't need his help," Sydney interjected, anger bubbling up from deep within. She checked it quickly, not wanting to take anything out on her mother that was rightfully deserved by her father.
"No, you don't," Irina agreed. She came close to the glass, locking her gaze with Sydney's. "Your heart knows what decision to make."
Sydney blinked hard, washing away her few remaining tears. "Yes," She said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It does."
The next moments were spent in silence, mother and daughter separated by thick glass but closer than they had ever been. After a while, Sydney murmured a goodbye and turned to leave. She stopped when her mother called out her name.
Sydney turned to see her mother with her hand pressed to the glass, her eyes imploring her daughter to return. Sydney walked quickly back, lifting her hand to match her mother's, both of them pressing on opposite sides.
Irina spoke, her voice soft, her eyes full of hope. "I will see you again."
Sydney nodded, her mother's message not going unheard. Slowly peeling her hand from the glass, Sydney turned and walked away. Irina waited until the metal gates had once again slid into place and until she couldn't hear Sydney's high heels any longer before she pulled her hand back from the glass and returned to her meditation in the middle of the floor.
Walking into the lobby of the CIA's downtown Los Angeles office, Sydney knew she was taking a risk. Standing in line to go through the security checks, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, hoping desperately that no one from SD-6 Security Section had seen her. That would be all it would take to cause her whole reason for being there to completely unravel.
The guard at the security desk looked up and smiled broadly. "Good afternoon, Agent Bristow," He said happily. He had always been kind to her, especially in the early days when she had been so unsure of herself.
"Hi, Charles," Sydney said pleasantly, handing him her credentials before dropping her purse into a bin to be passed through the security x-ray.
"We haven't see you around here in a while," Charles handed back her I.D., his dark eyes teasing. "Are you slumming today?"
Sydney couldn't help but smile. "Something like that," She nodded, accepting her purse from Charles after it reached the other side of the machine. They waved to each other before Sydney walked off toward the bank of elevators on the other side of the lobby. Crossing over the large CIA seal inlaid into the tile floor, she sighed. Even thought it was many months since she'd first made that fateful walk, the memories were still as fresh as if it had just happened hours ago.
Reaching the elevators, Sydney paused, her finger hovering near the "Up" button. She knew where she wanted to go and whom she wanted to see, but she also knew whom she didn't want to see. Running into Devlin would be a mistake she couldn't afford to make. Making a hasty choice, Sydney boarded the first available elevator and headed up to the seventh floor where the employee cafeteria and break room were located. Once there, she ducked inside the women's bathroom and grabbed her cell phone from her purse.
A few minutes later and a few floors up, Vaughn left Devlin's office with his official reassignment documents in hand. He walked slowly down the hall, reading them over, his mind distracted. He'd been given two weeks to get his personal belongings in order and get ready to move to Paris. All he could concentrate on, however, was how to fill those two weeks with nothing but being with Sydney. It was something he never thought he'd have to face, and the sheer thought of it was overwhelming him. He'd never been so tired in his entire life.
Vaughn made it into Weiss's office, dismayed to find it empty. His desk lamp was still burning, indicating he would return, so Vaughn dropped into one of the chairs in front of the large cherry wood desk. He slapped the papers down on Weiss's blotter and picked up one of the small model planes near the computer, spinning the tiny propeller with his finger.
"Hey, buddy," Weiss suddenly appeared in the doorway. He was carrying a can of diet Coke and a bag of nacho cheese Doritos. "I was just down in the break room-"
"They're sending me to France," Vaughn declared, setting the plane back down. He stared down at this hands as Weiss stopped halfway between his door and the desk, munching quietly on a Dorito.
"I know, man," Weiss admitted. Vaughn looked up, his eyebrows raised.
"How?"
Weiss set the beverage and chips on his desktop before poking his head out into the hallway. He took a quick look around to make sure the coast was clear before turning back to Vaughn. Vaughn was puzzled by this, but he didn't say anything. He just watched as Weiss took his seat behind the desk, his eyes bright.
"Vaughn," He said, his tone low and conspiratorial. "Our favorite red head was just here."
It took Vaughn a minute to catch his meaning, but when he did, he sat straight up in the chair, his eyes wide. "Syd?" He whispered, leaning in towards Weiss.
Weiss smiled and nodded, reaching into his breast pocket. "She wanted me to give you this." He handed Vaughn a folded slip of paper and then sat back, satisfied that he had fulfilled his end of the mission.
Vaughn glanced once at Weiss's face before opening the piece of paper. Written on it were two small, simple words that would change his life forever: LET'S GO.
******
A/N: Sorry it has taken so long for this chapter. It was a difficult one to write, as I wanted to make sure I had it just right. Many thanks to the music of Eva Cassidy (especially "Songbird"), Pop-Ice popsicles and my Alias screensaver (with theme music!) for helping me get through.