10.1

Author: Denise

Summary: "This was one person that Alice would not appreciate my handling." The day Vaughn met Sydney.

Setting: October 1st, 2001 – Truth Be Told

Spoilers: TBT, Passage Pt 1

Disclaimer: Don't sue me. I don't own anything. Except for my Vaughn!Clone. He does all the same stunts as the real Vaughn (Shirtless! Action! Sunglasses!) but, um, well, he's kind of on my desktop.

Author's Note: My first Alias fan fic … Don't be too nice … really, constructive criticism would be great, I've never written anything so dialogue-free and not Gilmore Girls before … I'm literally petrified.

*

I work for the CIA, therefore nothing is dependable, nothing is ever the same. I used to work in the field – even my name was different from day to day. I'd like to say that my girlfriend is an unfaltering presence in my life, but the fact that she isn't isn't her fault. I love her – I guess that that's something that's constant, but it doesn't really count – I can never be completely there for her, and it's not fair to her, I know, but I'm a selfish person. I can't be alone. A year and a half ago, drunk off my ass, I adopted a dog, as damage control. I would never be alone with Mr. Sparkle in my life. I thought Mr. Sparkle was a lovely name at the time. Like I said. Drunk off my ass.

The next day I met Alice. My best friend told me that it was a miracle that she overlooked the fact I was so hung over that I threw up in her clinic, and that she convinced me to rename Mr. Sparkle. With my newly re-christened dog, I went home, with my hangover gone, and decided that Donovan's next shots would be the next day. I was going to ask his vet out. It all struck me as very Garfield, I was Jon, about to ask Garfield's hot vet out. But Alice said yes.

Despite the wonderful people that have somehow found their way into my life, nothing is constant. Except for the fact that I will sleep through anything.

My father died when I was eight. My mother didn't sleep for six straight days after a CIA agent showed up at our door and offered his most sincere condolences. My mother tossed and turned, and I cried myself to a ten-hour sleep. When I was in Iraq four years ago, and bombs were going off everywhere, I slept straight through the night, and as my partner on that op said, I looked like a fresh morning rose.

Despite the fact that the whole flight home I wondered to myself how the hell I looked like a fresh morning rose, it doesn't change the fact that not once since I was six months old have I woken up in the middle of the night. It's the only thing I can depend on. No matter how fucked up things will be, I'll be fresh as a morning rose.

Last night, I didn't sleep. I didn't doze. I didn't nap. I just kind of lay there as Alice snored. I had never noticed that she snored like a water buffalo before. So for eight hours, I lay and stared at the ceiling, and thought about absolutely nothing.

And then the watch stopped.

It was just past four in the morning, October 1st, 2001. I had been staring at the ceiling tiles, just thinking about what to think about, when my father's fucking watch that had been running for thirty-five years decided to stop.

I never swear (not a constant so much as a lie), but this was just abso-fucking-lutely fabulous.

I sat bolt upright, closed my eyes hard and then looked at the watch. It had stopped ticking. I shook it, then put it down on my lap, and resisted the urge to either fling it at the wall and make a whole in the drywall, or take my gun out and shoot it.

Instead I put it on my bedside, and lay back down as Alice grumbled "Mikey go poopsie."

Oh God.

***

Completely buzzed on caffeine, I walked into the office received a look of death from Weiss.

"What did I do?"

"Devlin had a walk-in today."

Devlin's last walk-in was a South Asian hot dog vendor who had seen the term used in some spy flick and thought that it was code for lethal mustard or something. The one before that had been a fourteen-year-old that was so stoned that I had to stay with him and convince him that he wasn't properly trained to be our next Jackie Chan.

I sighed and put my head in my hands. "Deranged dog-walker?"

"It's Jack Bristow's daughter."

I looked up at him. Jack Bristow's daughter. Shit.

"And Devlin wants you to take care of it. You're going to be piss-ass's little girl's handler."

"Jack Bristow isn't a – "

"Mike. He doesn't know your name. You don't have to defend him."

"Right. Sorry. Bad night."

"Alice?"

"Alice snores like a buffalo and talks about me going to the washroom in her sleep." I paused as Weiss's yoyo wrapped itself around my desk leg and he bent down to untangle it. "And my Dad's watch broke."

"You could set your heart by this watch."

Weiss just stared at me. I didn't know what I expected him to say. "Have you seen Sydney Bristow? She's hot."

Well, not that.

"Thanks man. I'll just … go"

"Yeah … sorry."

I grinned half-heartedly and grabbed my cup of coffee and walked out of my office to search for Devlin.

After almost walking into him and spilling my coffee on my pants I tried to breathe deeply.

"Vaughn."

"Good morning, sir."

"After you change your pants, I want you to go see Sydney Bristow. I'm sure that Weiss has already babbled to you all about her."

"Yes, but can I –"

"Vaughn, I see you're having a bad morning, but this is a top priority. Our having another double agent within SD-6 is key. I'll brief you later, for now just make sure that she's comfortable."

I hated Sydney Bristow already. I hated the fact that my father's watch was broken and that apparently my heart had stopped, and that there was this emptiness within me (not an emotional void, more a lack of eating breakfast than anything else), and that there was a coffee stain on my crotch. I hated that overnight I had turned into some cynical jackass, and that I now had to change my pants, and buy Sydney Bristow donuts.

***

"Hi, I'm Michael Vaughn." I extended my hand. She looked up briefly. Her red hair and swollen lip and eyes shining through her wrecked coloured contacts were staring at me. She evidently had no intention of shaking my hand, she looked like she was about to destroy the pen she was holding, her grip was so tight. Was she checking me out? No she wasn't. Jack Bristow's daughter was under no circumstances checking me out.

Oh my God. She was checking me out.

She must just be doped up on drugs. I would be too if I had gone through what she just did.

"I'm Sydney Bristow." She paused. "It's nice to meet you."

Hum. This was going well. "I, uh, brought you some coffee and donuts. I didn't know what you kind you liked, so I just got –"

She eyed the plate. "Hawaiian sprinkles. Good choice." And without missing a beat she grabbed a donut, and continued to scribble down furiously.

Maybe she wasn't tripped out on drugs. Her writing was legible, though she did press freakishly hard into the page.

I watched her back. She looked up for just a split second, and I broke into a million pieces. I had never met anyone so real and so fucking broken in my life. Oh this was bad. This was one person that Alice would not appreciate my handling. Not that she knew I was doing any handling, or you know, didn't file reports on insecticide all day. Or really, anything about my life, or the fact that I was legally required to carry a gun. Sydney, on the other hand …. Shit. I was flustered. I had been in the same room with her for about forty five seconds, and Sydney Bristow was making me flustered.

As she scribbled away, I guessed she didn't care if I was leaving, so I just turned around and left. I checked my watch, to see if it was lunch, but it was still stopped. I hadn't taken the time to get a watch out of my cereal box this morning so I could keep time (also, I'm pretty sure wearing a Tony the Tiger watch is a bit of a fashion no-no in the world of international espionage. Or international desk-sitting).

"You could set your heart by this watch."

I stopped, turned and looked in through the closing doorway at Sydney Bristow's red hair.

"Shit," I swore for the fortieth time that day and stuffed the watch into my pocket, my father's words still echoing in my head.

I walked into step with the next person that passed me by. "Excuse me, do you have the time?"

***

"We've gone over what she's finished of her statement. She is invaluable to us, obviously. Sydney will be able to fill in the holes in Jack's intel. It's almost too perfect. This could speed the takedown up by years, at the very least. Vaughn. You'll be her handler. I trust you won't take this lightly."

"No, sir."

"She says that she's wrapping up her statement. Considering that it's over eighty pages already, that could mean a number of things."

I smiled. I had at this point completely forgotten about last night and the spilled coffee. I was paying attention. It may not have looked like it, but hey, I was going to be Sydney Bristow's handler. Picturing how her hair framed her face was pretty damn important to me at that point.

***

I stood in line at the donut shop and I peered over at the donut selection. Shit. They were out of anything colourful. An hour and a half ago they had over twenty of every kind and now all they had were strawberry muffins. I didn't even know that strawberry muffins

existed. Bringing Sydney Bristow such a muffin wouldn't go over too well, I figured. So I sat down at a table and waited for a new batch of donuts.

***

Two hours later, I was trotting through the offices like an obedient dog. My secretary ran up behind me. "Michael Vaughn! You know you have other things to do! You can't just run off to donut shops for agents that haven't even been verified! You do realize that you have to have that report done by the end of today. Where do you think you're going? When was the last time you got me coffee?"

I turned around and grinned maniacally at her. "I know … I'll get to it. I swear. Thanks."

She shot me a look of death.

Best secretary I've ever had.

Actually, only secretary I've ever had. I had only been at a desk for three days, and I was going to handle Sydney Bristow. If I was a girl, I would giggle.

I walked into the conference room where Sydney was scribbling more furiously than before. I could definitely see how she could beat up someone twice her size. I thought about myself. I was more one like and a quarter times her size, and field trained. She could stop me from ever having children, at the very least.

"Here's some more coffee and something to eat."

She didn't even acknowledge me. Hmm. Maybe she had been on drugs during our last meeting?

"Uh, just let Mr. Weiss know if you need something else."

"New pen. This one's dying."

No please?

Weiss fished a pen out of his jacket and handed it to me to hand to her, which she unceremoniously grabbed and started to write with, all without missing a beat.

I stared at Weiss. He stared back.

"Stop picturing her naked," was written all over his face. I nodded slightly and walked out of the room.

I was in way over my head.

***

Before she even noticed I was behind her I saw her looking at the picture of myself and Alice. Maybe she'd think I was with my mother or something.

"Well, this could be very interesting," I smile. Apparently she doesn't want to smile anymore. That's alright. I'm pretty sure that I would be on the floor in a ball if I had just gotten back from Taipei. After reading her debrief, I had already decided that at the mere mention of the word Taipei I would run.

"Does that mean I'm in?"

"No, not yet. They're reviewing your statement. You wrote a lot."

If she was someone else I could easily see her saying "No shit, Sherlock." Well, I work for the CIA, I pride myself on some basic observational skills …

"I know."

"It's like Tolstoy long." I hated Tolstoy. God. "Devlin says it could take weeks to verify. But I know we could use another double-agent in SD-6."

She shakes her head and looks down, smiling a little half-grin. If it wasn't so sarcastic it would border on beautiful. "So I'll be in contact. I'm going to get you out of here, keep you concealed." Why does she keep shaking her head and smiling like she knows something I don't know? Shit. "Why are you shaking your head?"

"Because you said another."

"So?"

"So, if you really had one already you most likely wouldn't tell me until I was authenticated."

"Unless I had an instinct about you." Smooth, Mike.

"My bet is you don't." And for an instant she flutters. I almost missed it and when she continues back on I could have sworn I imagined it. "Have another double." I don't even know what to say.

"We might." I sound like a three year old.

"But you want me to believe that you do so that on the off chance that I'm looking to be a triple agent, I'll report back there was an existing mole to upset the balance of my agency."

All I can do is smile. She's amazing. I sound like some old movie, but she really is.

As if fantasizing about the wacky adventures Sydney Bristow and I were going to have wasn't enough, that was when it hit me that this was more than just some kind of intense physical attraction to someone who might just understand your father dying at the age of eight and scars all the way around your back and the way the only thing you ever wanted was the truth. Well, maybe it was. I was smitten. My Mom would poke me in the stomach and call me a smitten kitten if she were here.

"I'm not trying to play you."

"We'll see."

"I have an instinct," I repeat. She looks like she's going to cry now. "You need a dentist. Do you have one? Because I can get you a name."

"I'm all right."

She looks like she really needs a hug, but I know I need to get out of there before notions start filling my head about things that are going to happen between myself and this girl that I've been in the same room as for about a minute and a half.

"I'll be right back."

I step out, walk five paces and come face to face with Weiss.

"You could set your heart by this watch."

"Three days before you screw this thing up."

"I don't think I can handle her."

"If that's supposed to be some kind of pun to do with the fact that you're a handler, it's decidedly unfunny. Leave the humour up to me, Mike."

"I'm serious, Eric." We start to walk down the hall slowly and I stop at a desk, arranging, as promised, a ride out of the building for Sydney. As we continue away, around the maze that will eventually lead us back to my office.

"So am I. This could be bad. You have to be careful. You're already doing kickflips for this girl and you don't even know her natural hair colour. You don't need this. You know about protocol more than anyone. You can't even be friends with her. She is Agent Bristow to you, and nothing else." He stares at me intently. "I'm not kidding."

"I know you're not." We just stare at each other for a second before realizing we've walked by my office. Turning around we stop in front of it, realizing how ridiculous it must look. He raises his eyebrows, re-iterating everything he's just told me. "OK, OK," I mutter before stepping back in, Sydney watching us, a small grin on her face.

"That's, uh, Eric Weiss," I begin. "He's a good friend."

"Well, Mr. Vaughn, this could be very interesting," her voice only lightly tinged with sarcasm.