Chapter 10: Where the Clouds Are Far Behind
Through the suspicious eyes of Agent Marcus Dixon, the hallways of SD-6 looked markedly different. In the past, he simply would have walked purposefully to his workstation, logged onto his computer, and began myriad tasks to be accomplished, accepting each assignment or report with a smile. But now, the day after his view had been forcefully shifted, he regarded everything around him with caution. The people smiling as they went by, the files on the desktops, the innocuous workspace Dixon shared with so many other loyal government employees.
Or were they?
Dixon couldn't help but search each face he passed, his eyes seeking answers he wasn't sure he wanted to know. His senses were bombarded and nearly overwhelmed as he took in everything around him as though he'd never seen any of it before. It was deeply disconcerting, yet he felt he could not walk into this office in any other way. Not after what he had seen in an apartment in Madrid.
Dixon reached his workstation and slowly sat down, glancing around as he did. The mood in the office was always serious, but today it carried an undertone of sadness. Dixon swallowed hard and looked down at his keyboard as he realized that everyone must have heard about Agent Hayes. He didn't have to wonder how much they knew; he had prepared the report himself, a report that was filled with only small kernels of truth.
Dixon was about to log on to his computer when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up into the face of Arvin Sloane.
"Agent Dixon," Sloane said, his voice lukewarm. "Welcome back," He stepped back as Dixon stood up to face him. "I trust your return trip from Madrid was uneventful?"
"Yes, sir," Dixon nodded. He tried to maintain an impassive expression, tried to keep his tone as even as possible. He had a thousand questions, but he somehow instinctively knew that Sloane was not the person to ask.
"I read the report you emailed from the plane," Sloane said. "It's obvious that you did all you could for Agent Hayes, and for that, I'm grateful."
Dixon just nodded, words failing him. He struggled to meet Sloane's eyes as passages from the falsified report flashed through his mind. He'd written that by the time he had reached the apartment, the "target" had fled, taking the "intel" with him.
Sloane turned to walk away, but then turned back, his eyes sharply meeting Dixon's. "You're doing fine work here, Mr. Dixon," He said, his voice heavy with flattery. "Thank you for all your efforts."
Before Sloane walked away, Dixon quietly thanked him, a peculiar burning in his throat. He watched Sloane enter his office and close the door. His thoughts were tumbling over themselves in a rush to be understood, although it made no difference. Dixon was confused by what had happened and puzzled by the new feelings that he embodied. It was as if he could sense darkness beneath Sloane's veil of benevolence and every particle in Dixon's being repelled from it.
Looking once more at Sloane's closed door, Dixon left his desk and walked towards the office of the one person to whom he knew he should speak. Hopeful to find answers, Dixon approached Jack Bristow's office, thankful that the door was open. He poked his head in and was immediately aware that something was not right.
The desktop had been rearranged, the computer shifted from one side to the other. The walls were devoid of decor and the chairs had been moved. The most startling difference, however, was that Mr. Sark now occupied the chair behind the desk; he was facing away from the door, the phone to his ear as he tapped a pen against the armrest of the chair.
Dixon backed away, turning quickly before Sark could detect his presence in the doorway. After returning to his desk, Dixon sat down and logged on to his computer. He glanced around once before quickly pulling up the SD-6 personnel file to which everyone had access. It listed names and contact numbers in case of an emergency. Dixon was glad to note that Jack Bristow's name had not been deleted.
Dixon discreetly pulled his PDA from his breast pocket and entered Jack's information, silently hoping that none of it had been changed. He then backed out of the file and spent the morning biding his time until the lunch hour, working on miscellaneous reports and files that crossed his desk. At precisely noon, he slid back his chair and got to his feet just as a voice sounded behind him.
"Hey, Dixon," Marshall waved as Dixon turned to him, his face falling slightly. "Are you going out for lunch?"
"Yes, Marshall," Dixon replied, adjusting his suit coat before straightening his tie.
Marshall stood there for a moment, his hands in his pockets, his face expectant. When Dixon just looked back at him, expressionless, his eyes unblinking, Marshall cleared his throat.
"Well, uhm, Dixon, do you think I could go with you? Usually I bring a lunch but this morning, believe it or not, I was running late. My alarm clock wasn't the problem, naturally, because I put it together myself, it's one I designed, and you know, hey, if you're interested, I could maybe put one together for you-"
Dixon stopped Marshal mid-ramble by raising his hand. "Marshall, I'm having lunch with my wife," He said, troubled at how easily the lie had spilled out. He hated lying, especially when it included someone from his personal life.
"Oh," Marshall was crestfallen, but only until he looked up just in time to see another agent leaving his desk. "Hey, Jansen! Hey, wait up!"
Five minutes later, Dixon was in his car and parked in the lot outside of a fast food restaurant, PDA in one hand, cell phone in the other. He sent a message to Jack's pager, waited for a response, and then peeled out in search of the deserted construction site that Jack had specified as their meeting place.
Realizing he was early, Dixon stayed in his car, scanning the surroundings for anything suspicious. His senses were alive, his nerves tingling. There was so much he needed to say, but he had run out of ideas on how to say it. He tried to reason it out, but there was nothing reasonable about telling a man that his daughter was cavorting with an enemy of the United States.
If that was even what was going on.
Dixon slammed a hand on the steering wheel. Every thought that crossed his mind regarding SD-6 was followed by a shadow of doubt, a question of validity. Dixon looked down at his hands, breathing deeply in an effort to center his thoughts. When he looked up again, his pulse quickened. A black car was approaching, clouds of dust churned up by its speeding tires.
The car stopped parallel to Dixon's just before the passenger window rolled down. Jack Bristow stared at him from behind dark sunglasses.
"Were you followed?" Jack barked. Dixon quickly assured him that he was not. Jack nodded to him. "Then get in."
Once Dixon was in the passenger seat, Jack took off, tearing out of the construction zone and back onto the surface streets of LA.
"If you don't mind," Jack said, speaking finally. "I prefer to remain mobile. It's safer that way."
Dixon only nodded, too unnerved to form an answer. He suddenly questioned his reasons for being there, wondering if he'd gotten into something that was over his head. i Too late now i/, he told himself. iYou're in the thick of it. i/
"I was wary of contacting you," Jack said suddenly, his eyes never leaving the road. "When I got your page I was concerned that Arvin Sloane was using you to track me down."
"Why would he need to do that?" Dixon blurted. "And why has Mr. Sark moved into your office?"
At this last bit of news, Jack's mouth became a hard line. Behind the glasses, his eyes narrowed and flashed, a wave of anger rising from deep within. He contained it, concentrating at the task at hand. He had much to tell Dixon, and he wanted to handle it as delicately as possible. Jack did not know Dixon well enough to gauge how he would react to being told that the basis of his career was nothing but an evil manipulation.
"Dixon, there are many things we need to discuss. But before I start, I'd like to know why exactly you have contacted me," Jack began. "I don't believe that Sloane sent you; he'd have to give too much away to do that, and he needs you to keep believing the lie."
"What? What lie?" Dixon interjected, his pulse racing. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline and along his spine. He instinctively reach up and slipped a finger between his collar and his throat and tugged lightly on his shirt.
Patiently, Jack repeated his request.
Dixon swallowed hard before beginning to speak, his voice almost apologetic. "I saw Sydney," He said before gripping the door handle as Jack suddenly took a hard right into the parking lot in front of a laundromat. Jack stopped fast, the brakes protesting loudly, and cut off the engine.
"You saw my daughter?" He turned to Dixon and removed his sunglasses, his eyes troubled.
Dixon nodded. "In Madrid," He replied. "That's why I've contacted you. There are pieces here that don't fit, Jack, and I'm hoping you can help me make sense of it all."
Jack nodded. "Tell me everything," He said quietly.
Dixon didn't hesitate before launching in to the whole story, starting at the beginning with the mission briefing at SD-6 and taking it through the moment he drew his gun and barged into the apartment in Madrid. He paused then, unexpected emotion silencing his voice. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat obstinate and impassable.
"I pointed a gun at her, Jack," Dixon said finally, unable to meet Jack's eyes. He turned to gaze out the window, his face in shadow. "She held one on me, as well, as we just stared at each other, in shock. And then this man, the one Sloane said was an enemy of the U.S., he stands up next to her and I - I didn't know what to do. I ran. I turned around and ran."
"What did you tell Sloane?" Jack asked immediately.
"Hayes was dead," Dixon hung his head. "I told Sloane I arrived too late, that Hayes was down and the apartment was empty. It felt wrong to tell him that Sydney was there."
"He already knew," Jack replied. "Dixon, this may be hard for you to hear, but Sloane sent you and Agent Hayes to kill Sydney. The man she was with is Michael Vaughn. He's CIA."
Dixon turned sharply, his face a mix of shock and anger. "That doesn't make any sense," He protested. "Why would Sloane want to kill his own people? Why would he want to kill an agent of the CIA? We are the CIA!"
"No, Dixon," Jack said gently. "SD-6 is not CIA."
"What are you talking about?" Dixon demanded. "SD-6 is a black ops division- "
"SD-6 is Alliance, Dixon," Jack interrupted forcefully. "Everything you thought you knew is a lie. You have been lied to."
Dixon's eyes were wide, locked on Jack's face, as he slowly shook his head back and forth. "That's crazy," He whispered.
"It's the truth," Jack said simply. "That's why Mr. Sark is in my office. I was compromised," He explained. "I am an agent of the real CIA. So was my daughter. We were working as double agents at SD-6."
Dixon pressed his back against the car door, his hand gripping the door handle once again. His mind was struggling to process what he was hearing as logic and truth melted together into a cocktail of confusion. Dixon had come here for answers, but he had been given a whole new set of questions he hadn't previously thought existed.
"This is crazy," He repeated, his voice stronger this time.
"No, actually, it makes sense," Jack reasoned. "If you think about it, all the little clues and suspicions you may have had over the past few years now come together to form a complete picture. All the doubts you had about Sydney's loyalty, all the questions about missing time and failed missions - connect the dots, Dixon. I think you'll find it all lines up."
They were both silent for a long time. Jack stared out his window, his eyes following people on the sidewalk as they went about their daily tasks. He found himself sometimes searching pedestrian's faces, searching through crowds of people, looking for his daughter's face. Weiss had called him early that morning to say that Vaughn had called and they were okay, but he had no more detail than that. At least now he knew they had been in Madrid. But he also knew they were definitely no longer there.
"This is going to take some time," Dixon finally spoke again, puncturing the silence in the car with his deep voice. "I don't even know where to begin," He shrugged.
Jack turned back to him, his brow knit with concern. "Dixon," He said. "You can't go back to SD-6."
Dixon met his eyes, his expression suddenly showing fear. "Why not?"
"I trust you, Dixon," Jack assured him. "But the CIA may not. Not yet. If you'll allow me, I'll take you in for debriefing, at which point the CIA can determine your future involvement."
"Future involvement?" Dixon echoed. "I don't - I can't-" He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. "Jack, this is a little much for me to handle all at once."
"You wanted answers, Dixon," Jack reminded him. "Once you saw my daughter, you had to know that any answers you got would not be simple ones."
The truth in those words relaxed Dixon somewhat; he opened his eyes and sank back into the seat, his rigid posture softening. He let down his guard, folding his hands in his lap.
"I trust you, Jack," He said, his head bowed. "I guess at this point I don't really have a choice."
Jack excused himself for a moment to make a quick phone call, climbing out of the car and leaving Dixon alone with his thoughts. He stared out the window, his eyes settling on nothing in particular as his mind skipped through years of memories. In doing so, it paused every so often to mull over a detail that at the time seemed wildly out of place but now merged seamlessly with the fabric of truth Jack had unfurled moments ago. Dixon wondered why he hadn't been able to see any of it before. The answer came to him without much consideration.
People believe what they want to believe.
Dixon realized that during the CIA debriefing, he would learn about those things he had chosen to believe and how untrue they really were. But moreover, he knew he would be reassured that the truth about Sydney Bristow was not simply something he had chosen to believe but was actually something worth believing in. And because of that, he was relieved.
"I love waking up to see your face."
At the sound of Sydney's voice, Vaughn woke from a light sleep, his head snapping up. He blinked a few times to bring her face into focus, then leaned forward in his chair and closed his hand around hers.
"Hey," Vaughn said gently, smiling. "How are you?"
Sydney shifted slightly in the bed, frowning. "I'm sore," She admitted, lightly resting her free hand on her stomach. "What happened?"
Vaughn pulled back suddenly, regarding Sydney with concern. "You don't remember?" He questioned, looking surprised.
Sydney glanced around the small hospital room, her eyes lighting briefly on the closed curtains, the dull gray floor tile, the bright yellow wildflower bouquet in a vase by the bed. Slowly, her memory solidified and she clutched the blanket gathered over her belly, her other hand squeezing Vaughn's.
"The baby," She breathed, her eyes fearful. "How is the baby?"
Vaughn smiled, his eyes wet. He couldn't speak for a moment, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "She's beautiful," He finally said, reaching out to stroke Sydney's cheek. "She's perfect and beautiful."
Sydney bowed her head, her eyes closed as tears came quickly, spilling onto her pale cheeks. Her memory was hazy, but she could recall the hotel room, and slipping into blackness before waking up briefly in the hospital to be told she needed an emergency caesarian section, the words "placental abruption" repeated to her until she swore she understood. She remembered the fear on Vaughn's face and the dread in her heart and the silent bargains she had made with God.
"I want to see her," Sydney said, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Vaughn left her bedside to go talk to the nurse. When he returned, he was smiling as he slid back into his seat. "The nurse said they'll change her diaper and then bring her in," He chuckled and then shook his head.
"What?" Sydney asked, smiling also as she reached out to trail her fingers through Vaughn's hair.
"Diapers," He said, shrugging. "Who ever would've thought I'd be concerned with diapers? Seems like a small word for so much responsibility," Vaughn sobered, sighing thoughtfully. "We're parents, Syd," He said.
Sydney took his hand as he offered it. "I know," She nodded, smiling as happiness radiated through her body. It was a wonderful feeling; she allowed herself to wallow in it for a while before chasing it away with thoughts of responsibility. "Michael, what's next?" She questioned, her brow furrowed. "Where are we going?"
Vaughn scooted his chair as close to the bed as possible, taking Sydney's hand in both of his. He leaned towards her, his expression earnest.
"I want to take you home, Sydney," He said.
"What-" Sydney began to protest, her eyes wide. Vaughn stopped her, squeezing her hand.
"Home to France," He clarified. "I'm okay with the fact that our daughter wasn't born there, but I'd really like to raise her there. At least for a while."
Sydney withdrew her hand and gripped the bed sheet, twisting it between her fingers as she thought hard about what Vaughn had said. She could see that what he wanted was to be stable for a while, to pretend a normal life and to exist as just a family, not a family on the run. But in the fabric of this noble desire, Sydney saw nothing but giant holes that left them exposed and vulnerable.
Sydney told Vaughn all of this, her eyes fixed on the blanket clutched in her hands. She did not want to look into his eyes and see disappointment.
Vaughn did not back down. He reached over and placed both of his hands over Sydney's, stopping her nervous fidgeting and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Syd," He said, his tone firm. "I had a lot of time to think while you were asleep. I know people in France I can count on to get us everything we need to disappear there. Please trust me."
Feeling Vaughn's hands on her own and hearing the conviction in his voice stirred a memory for Sydney of sitting on a hard wooden bench in a deserted corridor. He had asked the same thing of her then that he was asking now, just in a different way, for different reasons. Sydney had turned him down then; she would not do the same now.
Before Sydney could speak to give Vaughn her answer, the door to the room squeaked gently as it swung open and a nurse entered. She wheeled in front of her a hospital bassinette, a bundle inside wrapped securely in a soft yellow blanket.
The nurse pushed the bassinette to the opposite side of the bed and smiled up at Vaughn and Sydney. She greeted them in Spanish, then turned and scooped the infant into her arms, careful to smooth down the blanket so Sydney could see the baby's face. The nurse gently laid the tiny bundle in Sydney's arms and then silently left the room so the little family could get to know one another.
As she looked down into her daughter's face, Sydney's heart swelled and her emotions overwhelmed her. She made no attempt to hold back the tears. Her child's face became a blur as she cried, quiet sobs escaping her throat. Vaughn moved from the chair to the bedside, resting his hand on Sydney's thigh, reaching out to gently stroke her hair.
Gazing down at his child, Vaughn smiled proudly. "She's beautiful," He praised. "Just like her mother."
Sydney sniffed and looked up at him, smiling broadly, her disbelief that this perfect baby was theirs giving way to a fierce love that overshadowed any fear she had about their future. She softly cradled the baby against her chest, pulling open the blanket to touch her tiny fingers, watching as the infant's mouth opened to release small crying sounds.
Sydney gasped, amazed at how her child's noises could stir something deep within her. The strongest desire to protect her suddenly overcame Sydney's senses and she pulled the baby even closer with one arm while reaching out to Vaughn with the other. She firmly clutched his hand.
"I trust you, Michael," Sydney said simply, smiling at him through fresh tears. "Take us home."
******
A/N: I'm over the flu (finally!) and able to update sooner this time! Hope you like it. I'm still havin' fun - there's more to come.
Through the suspicious eyes of Agent Marcus Dixon, the hallways of SD-6 looked markedly different. In the past, he simply would have walked purposefully to his workstation, logged onto his computer, and began myriad tasks to be accomplished, accepting each assignment or report with a smile. But now, the day after his view had been forcefully shifted, he regarded everything around him with caution. The people smiling as they went by, the files on the desktops, the innocuous workspace Dixon shared with so many other loyal government employees.
Or were they?
Dixon couldn't help but search each face he passed, his eyes seeking answers he wasn't sure he wanted to know. His senses were bombarded and nearly overwhelmed as he took in everything around him as though he'd never seen any of it before. It was deeply disconcerting, yet he felt he could not walk into this office in any other way. Not after what he had seen in an apartment in Madrid.
Dixon reached his workstation and slowly sat down, glancing around as he did. The mood in the office was always serious, but today it carried an undertone of sadness. Dixon swallowed hard and looked down at his keyboard as he realized that everyone must have heard about Agent Hayes. He didn't have to wonder how much they knew; he had prepared the report himself, a report that was filled with only small kernels of truth.
Dixon was about to log on to his computer when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He glanced up into the face of Arvin Sloane.
"Agent Dixon," Sloane said, his voice lukewarm. "Welcome back," He stepped back as Dixon stood up to face him. "I trust your return trip from Madrid was uneventful?"
"Yes, sir," Dixon nodded. He tried to maintain an impassive expression, tried to keep his tone as even as possible. He had a thousand questions, but he somehow instinctively knew that Sloane was not the person to ask.
"I read the report you emailed from the plane," Sloane said. "It's obvious that you did all you could for Agent Hayes, and for that, I'm grateful."
Dixon just nodded, words failing him. He struggled to meet Sloane's eyes as passages from the falsified report flashed through his mind. He'd written that by the time he had reached the apartment, the "target" had fled, taking the "intel" with him.
Sloane turned to walk away, but then turned back, his eyes sharply meeting Dixon's. "You're doing fine work here, Mr. Dixon," He said, his voice heavy with flattery. "Thank you for all your efforts."
Before Sloane walked away, Dixon quietly thanked him, a peculiar burning in his throat. He watched Sloane enter his office and close the door. His thoughts were tumbling over themselves in a rush to be understood, although it made no difference. Dixon was confused by what had happened and puzzled by the new feelings that he embodied. It was as if he could sense darkness beneath Sloane's veil of benevolence and every particle in Dixon's being repelled from it.
Looking once more at Sloane's closed door, Dixon left his desk and walked towards the office of the one person to whom he knew he should speak. Hopeful to find answers, Dixon approached Jack Bristow's office, thankful that the door was open. He poked his head in and was immediately aware that something was not right.
The desktop had been rearranged, the computer shifted from one side to the other. The walls were devoid of decor and the chairs had been moved. The most startling difference, however, was that Mr. Sark now occupied the chair behind the desk; he was facing away from the door, the phone to his ear as he tapped a pen against the armrest of the chair.
Dixon backed away, turning quickly before Sark could detect his presence in the doorway. After returning to his desk, Dixon sat down and logged on to his computer. He glanced around once before quickly pulling up the SD-6 personnel file to which everyone had access. It listed names and contact numbers in case of an emergency. Dixon was glad to note that Jack Bristow's name had not been deleted.
Dixon discreetly pulled his PDA from his breast pocket and entered Jack's information, silently hoping that none of it had been changed. He then backed out of the file and spent the morning biding his time until the lunch hour, working on miscellaneous reports and files that crossed his desk. At precisely noon, he slid back his chair and got to his feet just as a voice sounded behind him.
"Hey, Dixon," Marshall waved as Dixon turned to him, his face falling slightly. "Are you going out for lunch?"
"Yes, Marshall," Dixon replied, adjusting his suit coat before straightening his tie.
Marshall stood there for a moment, his hands in his pockets, his face expectant. When Dixon just looked back at him, expressionless, his eyes unblinking, Marshall cleared his throat.
"Well, uhm, Dixon, do you think I could go with you? Usually I bring a lunch but this morning, believe it or not, I was running late. My alarm clock wasn't the problem, naturally, because I put it together myself, it's one I designed, and you know, hey, if you're interested, I could maybe put one together for you-"
Dixon stopped Marshal mid-ramble by raising his hand. "Marshall, I'm having lunch with my wife," He said, troubled at how easily the lie had spilled out. He hated lying, especially when it included someone from his personal life.
"Oh," Marshall was crestfallen, but only until he looked up just in time to see another agent leaving his desk. "Hey, Jansen! Hey, wait up!"
Five minutes later, Dixon was in his car and parked in the lot outside of a fast food restaurant, PDA in one hand, cell phone in the other. He sent a message to Jack's pager, waited for a response, and then peeled out in search of the deserted construction site that Jack had specified as their meeting place.
Realizing he was early, Dixon stayed in his car, scanning the surroundings for anything suspicious. His senses were alive, his nerves tingling. There was so much he needed to say, but he had run out of ideas on how to say it. He tried to reason it out, but there was nothing reasonable about telling a man that his daughter was cavorting with an enemy of the United States.
If that was even what was going on.
Dixon slammed a hand on the steering wheel. Every thought that crossed his mind regarding SD-6 was followed by a shadow of doubt, a question of validity. Dixon looked down at his hands, breathing deeply in an effort to center his thoughts. When he looked up again, his pulse quickened. A black car was approaching, clouds of dust churned up by its speeding tires.
The car stopped parallel to Dixon's just before the passenger window rolled down. Jack Bristow stared at him from behind dark sunglasses.
"Were you followed?" Jack barked. Dixon quickly assured him that he was not. Jack nodded to him. "Then get in."
Once Dixon was in the passenger seat, Jack took off, tearing out of the construction zone and back onto the surface streets of LA.
"If you don't mind," Jack said, speaking finally. "I prefer to remain mobile. It's safer that way."
Dixon only nodded, too unnerved to form an answer. He suddenly questioned his reasons for being there, wondering if he'd gotten into something that was over his head. i Too late now i/, he told himself. iYou're in the thick of it. i/
"I was wary of contacting you," Jack said suddenly, his eyes never leaving the road. "When I got your page I was concerned that Arvin Sloane was using you to track me down."
"Why would he need to do that?" Dixon blurted. "And why has Mr. Sark moved into your office?"
At this last bit of news, Jack's mouth became a hard line. Behind the glasses, his eyes narrowed and flashed, a wave of anger rising from deep within. He contained it, concentrating at the task at hand. He had much to tell Dixon, and he wanted to handle it as delicately as possible. Jack did not know Dixon well enough to gauge how he would react to being told that the basis of his career was nothing but an evil manipulation.
"Dixon, there are many things we need to discuss. But before I start, I'd like to know why exactly you have contacted me," Jack began. "I don't believe that Sloane sent you; he'd have to give too much away to do that, and he needs you to keep believing the lie."
"What? What lie?" Dixon interjected, his pulse racing. Beads of sweat formed at his hairline and along his spine. He instinctively reach up and slipped a finger between his collar and his throat and tugged lightly on his shirt.
Patiently, Jack repeated his request.
Dixon swallowed hard before beginning to speak, his voice almost apologetic. "I saw Sydney," He said before gripping the door handle as Jack suddenly took a hard right into the parking lot in front of a laundromat. Jack stopped fast, the brakes protesting loudly, and cut off the engine.
"You saw my daughter?" He turned to Dixon and removed his sunglasses, his eyes troubled.
Dixon nodded. "In Madrid," He replied. "That's why I've contacted you. There are pieces here that don't fit, Jack, and I'm hoping you can help me make sense of it all."
Jack nodded. "Tell me everything," He said quietly.
Dixon didn't hesitate before launching in to the whole story, starting at the beginning with the mission briefing at SD-6 and taking it through the moment he drew his gun and barged into the apartment in Madrid. He paused then, unexpected emotion silencing his voice. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat obstinate and impassable.
"I pointed a gun at her, Jack," Dixon said finally, unable to meet Jack's eyes. He turned to gaze out the window, his face in shadow. "She held one on me, as well, as we just stared at each other, in shock. And then this man, the one Sloane said was an enemy of the U.S., he stands up next to her and I - I didn't know what to do. I ran. I turned around and ran."
"What did you tell Sloane?" Jack asked immediately.
"Hayes was dead," Dixon hung his head. "I told Sloane I arrived too late, that Hayes was down and the apartment was empty. It felt wrong to tell him that Sydney was there."
"He already knew," Jack replied. "Dixon, this may be hard for you to hear, but Sloane sent you and Agent Hayes to kill Sydney. The man she was with is Michael Vaughn. He's CIA."
Dixon turned sharply, his face a mix of shock and anger. "That doesn't make any sense," He protested. "Why would Sloane want to kill his own people? Why would he want to kill an agent of the CIA? We are the CIA!"
"No, Dixon," Jack said gently. "SD-6 is not CIA."
"What are you talking about?" Dixon demanded. "SD-6 is a black ops division- "
"SD-6 is Alliance, Dixon," Jack interrupted forcefully. "Everything you thought you knew is a lie. You have been lied to."
Dixon's eyes were wide, locked on Jack's face, as he slowly shook his head back and forth. "That's crazy," He whispered.
"It's the truth," Jack said simply. "That's why Mr. Sark is in my office. I was compromised," He explained. "I am an agent of the real CIA. So was my daughter. We were working as double agents at SD-6."
Dixon pressed his back against the car door, his hand gripping the door handle once again. His mind was struggling to process what he was hearing as logic and truth melted together into a cocktail of confusion. Dixon had come here for answers, but he had been given a whole new set of questions he hadn't previously thought existed.
"This is crazy," He repeated, his voice stronger this time.
"No, actually, it makes sense," Jack reasoned. "If you think about it, all the little clues and suspicions you may have had over the past few years now come together to form a complete picture. All the doubts you had about Sydney's loyalty, all the questions about missing time and failed missions - connect the dots, Dixon. I think you'll find it all lines up."
They were both silent for a long time. Jack stared out his window, his eyes following people on the sidewalk as they went about their daily tasks. He found himself sometimes searching pedestrian's faces, searching through crowds of people, looking for his daughter's face. Weiss had called him early that morning to say that Vaughn had called and they were okay, but he had no more detail than that. At least now he knew they had been in Madrid. But he also knew they were definitely no longer there.
"This is going to take some time," Dixon finally spoke again, puncturing the silence in the car with his deep voice. "I don't even know where to begin," He shrugged.
Jack turned back to him, his brow knit with concern. "Dixon," He said. "You can't go back to SD-6."
Dixon met his eyes, his expression suddenly showing fear. "Why not?"
"I trust you, Dixon," Jack assured him. "But the CIA may not. Not yet. If you'll allow me, I'll take you in for debriefing, at which point the CIA can determine your future involvement."
"Future involvement?" Dixon echoed. "I don't - I can't-" He shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed. "Jack, this is a little much for me to handle all at once."
"You wanted answers, Dixon," Jack reminded him. "Once you saw my daughter, you had to know that any answers you got would not be simple ones."
The truth in those words relaxed Dixon somewhat; he opened his eyes and sank back into the seat, his rigid posture softening. He let down his guard, folding his hands in his lap.
"I trust you, Jack," He said, his head bowed. "I guess at this point I don't really have a choice."
Jack excused himself for a moment to make a quick phone call, climbing out of the car and leaving Dixon alone with his thoughts. He stared out the window, his eyes settling on nothing in particular as his mind skipped through years of memories. In doing so, it paused every so often to mull over a detail that at the time seemed wildly out of place but now merged seamlessly with the fabric of truth Jack had unfurled moments ago. Dixon wondered why he hadn't been able to see any of it before. The answer came to him without much consideration.
People believe what they want to believe.
Dixon realized that during the CIA debriefing, he would learn about those things he had chosen to believe and how untrue they really were. But moreover, he knew he would be reassured that the truth about Sydney Bristow was not simply something he had chosen to believe but was actually something worth believing in. And because of that, he was relieved.
"I love waking up to see your face."
At the sound of Sydney's voice, Vaughn woke from a light sleep, his head snapping up. He blinked a few times to bring her face into focus, then leaned forward in his chair and closed his hand around hers.
"Hey," Vaughn said gently, smiling. "How are you?"
Sydney shifted slightly in the bed, frowning. "I'm sore," She admitted, lightly resting her free hand on her stomach. "What happened?"
Vaughn pulled back suddenly, regarding Sydney with concern. "You don't remember?" He questioned, looking surprised.
Sydney glanced around the small hospital room, her eyes lighting briefly on the closed curtains, the dull gray floor tile, the bright yellow wildflower bouquet in a vase by the bed. Slowly, her memory solidified and she clutched the blanket gathered over her belly, her other hand squeezing Vaughn's.
"The baby," She breathed, her eyes fearful. "How is the baby?"
Vaughn smiled, his eyes wet. He couldn't speak for a moment, his emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "She's beautiful," He finally said, reaching out to stroke Sydney's cheek. "She's perfect and beautiful."
Sydney bowed her head, her eyes closed as tears came quickly, spilling onto her pale cheeks. Her memory was hazy, but she could recall the hotel room, and slipping into blackness before waking up briefly in the hospital to be told she needed an emergency caesarian section, the words "placental abruption" repeated to her until she swore she understood. She remembered the fear on Vaughn's face and the dread in her heart and the silent bargains she had made with God.
"I want to see her," Sydney said, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.
Vaughn left her bedside to go talk to the nurse. When he returned, he was smiling as he slid back into his seat. "The nurse said they'll change her diaper and then bring her in," He chuckled and then shook his head.
"What?" Sydney asked, smiling also as she reached out to trail her fingers through Vaughn's hair.
"Diapers," He said, shrugging. "Who ever would've thought I'd be concerned with diapers? Seems like a small word for so much responsibility," Vaughn sobered, sighing thoughtfully. "We're parents, Syd," He said.
Sydney took his hand as he offered it. "I know," She nodded, smiling as happiness radiated through her body. It was a wonderful feeling; she allowed herself to wallow in it for a while before chasing it away with thoughts of responsibility. "Michael, what's next?" She questioned, her brow furrowed. "Where are we going?"
Vaughn scooted his chair as close to the bed as possible, taking Sydney's hand in both of his. He leaned towards her, his expression earnest.
"I want to take you home, Sydney," He said.
"What-" Sydney began to protest, her eyes wide. Vaughn stopped her, squeezing her hand.
"Home to France," He clarified. "I'm okay with the fact that our daughter wasn't born there, but I'd really like to raise her there. At least for a while."
Sydney withdrew her hand and gripped the bed sheet, twisting it between her fingers as she thought hard about what Vaughn had said. She could see that what he wanted was to be stable for a while, to pretend a normal life and to exist as just a family, not a family on the run. But in the fabric of this noble desire, Sydney saw nothing but giant holes that left them exposed and vulnerable.
Sydney told Vaughn all of this, her eyes fixed on the blanket clutched in her hands. She did not want to look into his eyes and see disappointment.
Vaughn did not back down. He reached over and placed both of his hands over Sydney's, stopping her nervous fidgeting and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Syd," He said, his tone firm. "I had a lot of time to think while you were asleep. I know people in France I can count on to get us everything we need to disappear there. Please trust me."
Feeling Vaughn's hands on her own and hearing the conviction in his voice stirred a memory for Sydney of sitting on a hard wooden bench in a deserted corridor. He had asked the same thing of her then that he was asking now, just in a different way, for different reasons. Sydney had turned him down then; she would not do the same now.
Before Sydney could speak to give Vaughn her answer, the door to the room squeaked gently as it swung open and a nurse entered. She wheeled in front of her a hospital bassinette, a bundle inside wrapped securely in a soft yellow blanket.
The nurse pushed the bassinette to the opposite side of the bed and smiled up at Vaughn and Sydney. She greeted them in Spanish, then turned and scooped the infant into her arms, careful to smooth down the blanket so Sydney could see the baby's face. The nurse gently laid the tiny bundle in Sydney's arms and then silently left the room so the little family could get to know one another.
As she looked down into her daughter's face, Sydney's heart swelled and her emotions overwhelmed her. She made no attempt to hold back the tears. Her child's face became a blur as she cried, quiet sobs escaping her throat. Vaughn moved from the chair to the bedside, resting his hand on Sydney's thigh, reaching out to gently stroke her hair.
Gazing down at his child, Vaughn smiled proudly. "She's beautiful," He praised. "Just like her mother."
Sydney sniffed and looked up at him, smiling broadly, her disbelief that this perfect baby was theirs giving way to a fierce love that overshadowed any fear she had about their future. She softly cradled the baby against her chest, pulling open the blanket to touch her tiny fingers, watching as the infant's mouth opened to release small crying sounds.
Sydney gasped, amazed at how her child's noises could stir something deep within her. The strongest desire to protect her suddenly overcame Sydney's senses and she pulled the baby even closer with one arm while reaching out to Vaughn with the other. She firmly clutched his hand.
"I trust you, Michael," Sydney said simply, smiling at him through fresh tears. "Take us home."
******
A/N: I'm over the flu (finally!) and able to update sooner this time! Hope you like it. I'm still havin' fun - there's more to come.