Lah lah, my pottymouth has apparently gotten more severe. Oh well, I love swearing! It's gonna be tough to beat "Sweet mother fucker!" once Vaughn discovers who really killed his father. I'm going to have one hell of a time when we get to the emotional scenes. He can't exactly be wondering what colour underwear Syd is wearing during The Confession, can he?

Oops, I never explained why there's a second part. Because I wanted to. And I'm selfish. Thanks for reading, and for all your support for the first part! I don't think this one is as good, but I really like my bloodmobile scenes. Weee!

Part 2

With a splash and a twist we'll both get pissed

And leave after we hear our songs

It's the smoke from the spark when sulphur hits

She'll just remember she felt something

- Jimmy Eat World

"So can you fix it?"

"No," he said simply.

"What do you mean you can't fix it? Do you want to tell me about this watch? It belonged to my –"

"Your father, right? Everyone's freaking watch belonged to their father. Listen, I'm sorry that I can't fix it for you, but there's no reason to drown me over it."

Oh this was just great. Ever since it turned out that Sydney Bristow wasn't actually the nicest person in the world, I'd been holding out hope that the watch was just out of batteries. But yeah. This was great. I didn't want my stupid heart to stop over some kid who thinks I'm a sexist twelve-year-old. OK, so admittedly I now sounded kind of whiny, but still. I cursed Sydney Bristow! Now I sounded like a witch. This just wasn't my week. "You wouldn't happen to know why it isn't working, would you?"

"I don't know. Everything appears to be fine. It just … doesn't work. And there's nothing that'll make it work."

"Thanks anyway," I sigh heavily. I try not to flashback to the bloody mess that was this afternoon. I thought Sydney Bristow would be nice. I guess I should have known better. I never meet nice women. Oh shit. Alice. Shit, shit, shit. What was wrong with me? I pull out my cell phone and dial her number quickly.

"Hey sweetie, it's me."

***

Sydney kept talking on and on and on about this Anini Hassan jackass character. I didn't have the heart to interrupt and tell her that actually, your Dad has been working as a double agent for over ten years, and I kind of already know more about Hassan than you do. But I'm not that kind of person. This whole know-it-all attitude was just starting to piss me off, and I couldn't take it anymore. What did my mother tell me? Take it like a man. Jesus, Mike, why can't you just take it? "I don't blame you. Listen –"

But she just kept on going. Maybe it wasn't my fault. Maybe she just liked to hear herself talk. Of course she didn't just like to hear herself talk. Arvin Sloane had murdered her fucking fiancé, of course she wanted to kill the bastard. "There's more. We need to go after a geneticist in Kuala Lumpur. He's involved in …"

That's it. Every man has a quota. I've been sitting in this fucking bloodmobile for four and a half hours listening intently to everything she said, and, well, someone might get a bit suspicious that Sydney wasn't dead from all this blood loss. "Okay, stop. You have to listen to me, okay?"

"You said you wanted to talk about the plan. I'm giving you the plan." No, you're telling me your life story.

"It's not your job to give me the plan. I'm giving you the plan. Tomorrow's your first day back at SD-6. Now, nothing should change. When you get your assignment, you'll detail your mission on a paper bag." I pick up the paper bag and show it to her. I feel like shoving it in her face, but like I said, I'm a nice guy. "Bag," I point. "Then you'll call this number," I hand her the card, rather nicely, if I do say so myself it. "Memorize it," I continue. I've got this down to a T. I'm not going to screw this up. "After three tones, press the appropriate digit -- one through six. Each corresponds to a trash can in a specific location. Now we'll review your information, create a countermission, and we'll contact you posing as a wrong number. Joey's Pizza." My best friend in college. "Any questions, so far?"

I'm a bit more than impressed that she had actually let me get this far. Of course I had spoken too soon. God I wish I had actually slept in the last seventy-two hours.

"Yeah. Can you show me what a bag looks like again?"

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Oh here she goes. She has that look in her eyes. I'm going to get it. I'm just doing my job, Christ.

"Now, you listen to me, Mr. Vaughn. I appreciate what your job is here, even though I think you're a little young to be doing it to establish a protocol between the C.I.A. and their latest double agent. But I'm not sitting here to pick up the ins and outs of Langley procedure. I am sitting here for one reason only, and that is to destroy SD-6!"

You listen to me Sydney Fucking Bristow, I don't think you do appreciate what my job is here. You know what they would do to me if they found me here? Does the term "cadaver" ring a bell to you? I know about protocol better than anyone at Langley, do you want to hear a little story about what they did to my father? Do you know why I'm in this fucking bloodmobile when I could just as easily be sitting at a desk, doing just as well for myself? But of course all I could get out was a "Hey!"

"After which I am out! I want no more of this spy crap, that's why I went to you in the first place. So, listen to me and I will hand you, in record time, the people who will render SD-6 useless."

Oh. Really?

"Record time," I can't even mask the skepticism in my voice. Does she not realize the full scope of SD-6? Did her father not mention how long he's been at this?

"Two months. Tops. And then I am out. I walk."

Two months. I'm torn between crushing her little world and just leaving her alone. But it wouldn't be fair to her. Actually, I don't really care what would be fair to her, I just want to see the look on her face when she sees how many people Arvin Sloane could kill with one phone call. I grab a pad of paper from a shelf, and hand it to her.

"Draw me a map. Draw me a map of SD-6 and all its allies. How far you think it reaches."

"Do I look like I'm in Junior High?"

I don't care anymore. I don't care how pissed off she gets and how much she hates me and how far she gets my ass kicked to the curb. "Just draw me an SD-6 family tree!"

"Braces on my teeth... Headgear? Do you see a retainer?!

"Just DO IT!!" The apathy was overwhelming.

She stares at me for a minute, and then she turns to the paper and scribbles furiously a map. There are ten names on it. Tops. It's like a web from freaking third grade. God.

"I don't know what your problem is with me. Maybe it's that I'm a woman, or maybe you just don't like my attitude, or something, and I'm sorry about that." I can't believe this. Well, yeah, I don't really like your attitude, but I'm not sexist. Jesus, you could kick my ass. I know that. I recognize that. I fear that. I respect that. And she's not done yet! "But I really don't feel like wasting time here. Three's only one way we can immobilize SD-6, and that's MY way. So, forgive me for being forthright or... female, but this is how it's gonna be."

Fine. Have it your way. Wanna see SD-6, Spy Barbie? I stand up, and reach inside a cupboard. Wow, this would be bad if anyone ever actually tried to give blood. National secrets running amuck … Anyway. I grab the map of SD-6 that I had been studying for the passed six years, and spread it out in front of us. I gauge her reaction, before starting. "Since I've been at the C.I.A., I've only seen this map grow. This is what you're in the middle of, Sydney. If shutting down the Los Angeles cell was all we were after, we would have raided that office three years ago. This is not about cutting off an arm of the monster. This is about killing the monster." I wasn't going to be placing bets on who the person to kill Arvin Sloane would be. That had become painfully obvious. "And the work you have ahead of you -- the work your father has been doing -- it's complicated, it's political, and it is long term."

Very long term. I wouldn't be surprised if she was out of agent service by the time we finally did it. And by did it I obviously did not mean some kind of lurid sexual thing. God. I really have to get over this soon … considering how well we seem to be working together already, it would be a hell of a lot longer than I had originally anticipated.

I give her the card with the number again. "Here, memorize this."

"I did," the spark is gone.

"Okay. I guess we'll wait to hear from you." Hopefully there won't be a repeat of this when I show her the warehouse. I actually kind of liked it, but that was a different story. We wouldn't be meeting there for a long time.

She's already started to leave before I can stop her. "Hey, wait." It's out of my mouth before I can even think about what she has to wait for.

I grab a bright yellow smiley face sticker, and put it where her blood would have been drawn.

"Thanks," she smiles what would have been a genuine smile if she hadn't been so deflated.

"You're welcome."

After she leaves the bloodmobile I sigh heavily, and glance at my still broken watch. I'll have to get that looked at. My ass I would let Sydney stop my heart. I grab a bottle of water and down half of it in ten seconds. Then I look down at my pants, and nearly choke on the water still in my mouth when I see the little surprise waiting there. OK, well, maybe not little. Shit, shit, shit. Sydney Bristow was not doing this to me.

***

When I got her paper bag, it seemed a bit more crumpled than was necessary. Like she was trying to send me some sort of message. I concluded at the time that she was just so caught up in the hate of Sloane that it really had nothing to do with me. Though I was half-expecting to find "Die Michael Vaughn! Stop getting mysterious erections!" scrawled in Sharpie on the back.

"I'm ready, honey!" Alice called and came tripping into the room.

I stand up from my perch on her couch throw the crumpled bag into my briefcase. I guess I should destroy it, I've already planned out the countermission, but I can't just bring myself to do it.

"Michael, are you having a rough time at the office? You've been so distant these past couple of days, and look at that paper bag. You really pulled a number on it. It's like you pretended it was your boss's heard and scrunched and scrunched and scrunched it, just to get revenge. You can talk to me about anything, you know."

This was unbearable. I wrap my arm around her, and smile. "Nothing's wrong. That was my lunch bag, from two days ago, and I just haven't gotten the chance to throw it out yet."

"But what about the Aladdin lunch bag that I bought you for Christmas? Why don't you use that?"

She got me an Aladdin lunch bag for Christmas?? No no no no no, this can't be happening. She bought me a new shaving set, and Donovan a new leash. Under no circumstances was a kid with a purple vest and parachute pants involved.

"You're so cute when you try and remember things that never happened!"

I wish I had counted how many forehead wrinkles I had before I met Alice. I could almost guarantee that the number had tripled since then.

***

I get to the convenience store too early. I'm half an hour early. How was I supposed to keep occupied for thirty min --- Oh. Dear. God. Is that a Slush-O machine? There is nothing as delicious in the world as a Slush-O … I haven't had one in years. Now the really tricky part would be to decide red or blue. Both had their obvious advantages, but really most important would be the one I would be able to finish quicker. I'm pretty sure if Sydney Bristow saw me sitting in front of a Slush-O machine sipping a blue one she would have something done to my ass.

Fortunately for me her timing is freakishly in sync with my own, and before I drive myself crazy over the potential outcomes based on my flavour choice.

"It's me," she says, and opens the fridge door into the freezer behind me.

"How you doing?" And the part that really worries me – I actually do care. No matter how whiny-ass I get about my own life, hers is probably infinitely worse.

"How I'm doing? I'd say things have been better. I'm working with friends who have no idea who they're really working for."

I lived a lie, yes. But really, it was nothing. "I heard Sloane had you meet your father." That should've been more than a bit interesting.

"Yes, he did," she said nonchalantly. Damnit! No juicy gossip. I was hoping something along the lines of 'Well, yeah, he did. I nearly killed the bastard with my bare hands. Then Sloane walked in, and I shot him down, and then I decided I would come and have your babies, Michael!' Well, not the last part. Actually yes. The last part. Oops. Oh good, I didn't say that in my loud voice. "So what's my countermission?" she says, snapping me out of my reverie.

"Navour's been on our short list for the past six months. In August, he attempted to purchase a nuke from Libya." That is what we call 'not good'.

"You already knew about Moscow?"

"No, we didn't. So thank you for that."

She closes the door less decisively than I thought she would have, and moves to stand next to me. Hmm … physical contact, take two. Well, I don't know if standing next to Pop-Tarts and Count Chocula while trying to pretend we don't know each other exactly counts as 'physical contact' in the traditional sense of the word.

"Don't mention it," she says and rubs her arms. "That was cold. So what's my move?"

"Carry out your assignment. Get the documents. When you get back, make sure you are holding the stolen files. We'll execute two brush passes at the terminal."

I move towards the Slush-O stand. Better now than never, right? Red or blue, red or blue. Countermission. "First, one will take place at the gate. We'll intercept the materials and make a duplicate copy and then return them to you in a second pass to be executed at the airport curb."

Wow, that came out really well. I grin inwardly. Outwardly, I put on my scary-Vaughn face.

"That's it?"

"That's it." Scary-Vaughn face stays on. On, show her who's boss! Come on, you're not her bitch, Mike. "Want a Slush-O?" Damnit.

"No thank you."

Ouch.

"They're delicious." Like, really, you haven't lived until you've drunk eight of these straight and then thrown up in a resort in Cancun. Seriously, Sydney.

"No thanks. I said I was cold."

Well, alright. So that kind of hurt. Eye contact is in order so that I can seethe her with my Mad!Vaughn glare.

"Good luck." Wow. That must really have hurt her.

Oh well. I sip my Slush-O and look down at my pants, to make sure that no one thinks they're getting some action down there.

This one is so the crushed ice's fault!

***

This is Sydney's first mission. Well, not really. I mean, she's kicked many other asses before she kicks ass today. But you know, if you think about it, it was a nice sentiment before I butchered it in my train of thought.

"Any word from her yet?" Weiss peers his head in my office.

Wow. He's being … civil. Maybe he's not drunk today!

"No, I don't expect to hear anything 'til she gets back."

Of course that won't help me from becoming so wound up about it that I need to go to the washroom every six minutes (and forty-seven seconds) and I'm pretty paranoid I'm not going to make it one of these times.

Weiss brings out the best in me, really.

"Your girlfriend's name is Alice, right?"

Oh for Christ's sake. "Would you shut up?"

"I'm just checking to see-"

"Get out of my office!" I've always wanted to say that. And now I can … wow. Oh my God. He's actually leaving. Eric Weiss listened to me. This has never happened before. The closest I've ever gotten to having this happen is when we were both throwing up in some random bars' toilets and I suggested he not puke in my hair. Well, he almost missed.

***

"Mike! For the love of God stop ogling your naked figure! Sydney's getting off the plane."

"I'm not ogling my naked figure, Eric!"

"Oh God. I don't even want to know what you're doing then."

I open the washroom door quickly and stare him down.

"You are not as funny as you think you are."

"Donovan disagrees."

"You ask Donovan if he'd like a chocolate covered peanut. I really don't think he's going to like me better as I attempt to provide him with a long and healthy life."

"Alice. Remember."

What was wrong with him?

***

I swoop through the terminal. Well, not swoop so much as swoosh. No, wait, sweep! Because I have a broom, see? Sydney drops the disk in my cleaning supplies. Oh no, did I fill the bucket with water? What if the disk landed in the water? Well that could be disastrous enough. Oh. Wait. I didn't. Nevermind. I'm already in the tech room and stripping off my clothes.

Wow that sounds wrong.

I hand tech the disks. "We got two three and a halfers here. We gotta move fast!"

"Let's use the third and fourth copies. Take about … ninety seconds."

I glance at the monitor. Oh shit. "They're moving into customs, we're talking seconds, not minutes!"

"I hope they're not corrupted."

I could say the same thing for my mind.

"They're moving to the main terminal … how long is this gonna take??"

"Relax! We know these disks aren't normal, we're moving as fast as we can."

Not fast enough. My agent is out there with nothing to show to fucking Arvin Sloane. Jesus Christ … Now, now, now! What the hell do we pay you for? So that you can have Sydney Bristow killed at gunpoint? Even if they were to get the disks to me now, could I really make it without sprinting down the alley and slapping it in her face? That would be humorous if there weren't guns trained on me.

Ahh, the disk. Alright, I need to master the art of walking rapidly without arousing any suspicion (or myself). What the hell was Langley for if I can't even pull this off?

And the disk is in her hand, and my pants are flat. This is quite possibly the greatest day ever.

***

I review my case work. What else am I supposed to do? Apparently I have an interesting personality (or at least Alice says so. But then again Alice also nuzzles my nose and calls me a wittle wabbit.), but really, is there no reason for me to be allowed to just do my job for once? Is it alright for me to just be sitting at my desk, and not losing my own weight in sweat because my agent is out in the field?

The phone rings snapping me out of my reverie. "Yeah?" I answer, before realizing that if it's my mother or Alice I'm going to get my ass kicked for that.

"I'm going to see Ivanov."

What the fuck. "Who?" But the line's dead. Shit. "Sydney! Damnit!" I swear and rub my face with my hand. Who the hell did she think she was?

I compose myself before I go look for someone to tell about her little stunt just now. Oh this was going to be so much fun!

I knock on Devlin's door, and walk in, "Uh, sir." Hi, guy I've never seen before! This could be a very unfortunate meeting.

***

"We have a name, and an address, we are not gonna sit on our hands here!"

Ohh man. Oh man oh man oh man. Maybe I should have just let her go on without letting the CI-fucking-A interfere. "Sir, I know, I understand that but we cannot move on that information!"

"We can, and we will!"

Why not just slap a T-shirt that says "I'm captain anal pants!" on?

"Then we are risking Sydney Bristow's placement in SD-6 and perhaps her life!"

"That may be the case and yes, we might lose a double in the process –"

Have you not read Sydney Bristow's file??

"Sir, she's going to see him. She's on her way."

"We are talking about a nuclear weapon here. What do you expect me to do? Wait until Bristow contact us?"

Well duh.

"Read her file, sir! Have you read her file?"

Jesus Christ, I sound like a freaking parrot. No one ever listens to me.

"Bristow's –"

"Do it! Then you will learn what I have! She's an asset! She's doing our work!" While making me scared for my life at the same time, admittedly, but still.

"She was supposed to contact you and –"

Sweet Baby Jesus! Are you really that thick-headed? Do you really not see the problem here? Or are you just some kind of plot device on television that's supposed to make me look like I'm becoming emotionally attached to Sydney Bristow!

"There was a good reason she couldn't! She is on her way to Virginia right now. If we send a team, we risk blowing her cover! We cannot afford do that! Read her file!"

"I've read it!" Oh he's pissed. "What do you want?"

"Five hours. Give her five hours."

He sighs, and looks from me, to a figure passed me, and then back to me. "Five hours."

"Thank you," I mutter and turn around, to face the leggy blonde he's going after, and Eric Weiss.

"Whoo. Impressive."

Well, yeah, I know. Excuse me while I go throw up. "Yeah."

"Balls of steel!"

Hmm, I like the sound of that. Well, actually, I don't exactly know how well that would work out for me. I'm not sure metal testicles are the most comfortable thing in the world.

"No, that's what I'm gonna call you from now on." Weiss looks like he's a dog incredibly proud of himself. "Hey, have you met Balls of Steel?"

I walk back into my office, sit down, and lay my head down in my arms.

***

Someone is poking me. I am being poked. Who in God's name would have the audacity to poke me – Oh. Weiss. Yo.

"Mike, we have a problem."

I wake up and shake the sleep out of my head and look at my watch. Shit, It's still broken. A problem, nonononono, not now. Not after all that, not after five hours and balls of steel and yelling and … "Is Sydney OK?"

"Yeah, but she kind of just totally fucked us over."

***

There are many ways in which this whole situation can be construed as positive.

I, for one, am not going to see it like that.

"You called SD-6 instead of the CIA! That is unacceptable! You should've called me!"

How ridiculous that sounds doesn't hit me until I've said it. Damnit.

"YOU!" You read my mind, Syd. "What would YOU have done?"

Think, Mike, think. What would you have done? "The CIA, Sydney! You know it has access to nuclear scientists." Ha. Right.

"Give me a break, I had two minutes!"

Oh but I'm not done Ms. Bristow. "And going to Virginia without contacting us?!"

"I DID contact you!"

Well apparently we have VERY different definitions of the word. Yours being wrong. "You are over-eager, you are being irresponsible!"

"You know what?" You're acting like you're five? Yeah, I know that. "Yes, SD-6 happens to have a nuclear weapon," that's not exactly an 'oopsie', Sydney. "And yes, that happens to be my fault. After I called Marshall, SD-6 knew I'd found the bomb, but you know what? We're going to track it and steal it back!"

I wonder how Sloane would take to finding Sydney skulking around the SD-6 subbasement "Uhh, just, looking for a … good … makeout spot."

'Sydney you're carrying a nuclear weapon.'

'Making out on top of it.'

Fortunately, that particular scenario will never play out, because, well, "It's in Cairo."

"What?" She looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

Good.

"When SD-6 picked up our nuke, they put it on a plane bound for Egypt. Are you ready for this?" I certainly wasn't. My pants will never be the same again. "They sold the thing to Anini Hassan."

Now when I said that there were situations in which all of this could be construed as positive, I obviously meant there were NO situations in which ANY of this could be construed as positive. I sit down, and she follows my lead.

"Hassan …" she whispers, horrified.

"Yeah. Reflected on both our records. FYI."

And then she looks right at me and oh God I do not like the look in her eyes. "What?" … Uh oh.

"I told you I've been there. Hassan's. I can go back."

Uh, no. "No. Can't do it."

"Why not?!"

"Hassan knows you. If you're spotted, it'll get back to Sloane."

"Then we'll just have to make sure they never see me."

Good luck with that. What are you going to do, dress up from head to toe in black and sneak around? Oh. OK.

***

"Sweetie," Alice mumbles.

Oh God, is she going to apologise drooling on my side of the bed again? Gah, I feel like ripping my hair out. I hate it when Sydney is on operations. I haven't been able to sleep all night, and the puddle of drool and Alice draped all over me like some kind of Velcro is certainly not helping.

"Yeah?"

"I never see you anymore."

"I'm sorry, work is insane lately and –"

"It'sok. Just don't go poopsie in your pants anymore, OK? It's a bitch to clean out."

I thought I threw those out!

***

That's it. I'm going on vacation. Alone. Actually I'm going to see a baseball game. But no one can no. I am Secret Agent Man, after all. "Tell Weiss I'm in operations and if Alice calls, just –"

"I need you."

Oh no! Has he found out about my little work-skipping shenanigans? I've never done this before, I just think that my hairline is receding, and damnit, I like my hairline!

"Yeah, I know." I look back at my secretary. "Just call me if there's anything." OK, now the clear solution to this is to avoid the topic and jump into a safer one. "Let me just say this, about Bristow –"

"Don't bother. Don't apologise. You're not in any trouble. Virginia was my call." Well there goes my Balls of Steel story.

"She's intimately familiar with Hassan's base, she's going to get in, disable the weapon. We're all over it." If I do say so myself.

"Well you don't have to be." Whatthefuck? "That's what I'm here to tell you. You're being pulled off the Bristow case."

Sweet mother. "WHAT? Why?"

"Devlin wants a more senior officer. Apparently you were right: this girl is pretty important to us."

I'm not angry. I'm not ready to punch anyone out. I'm not ready to get drunk. I'm just kind of sad. "Yeah, I know."

"He wants you to oversee the office presentation at the D.C.I. non-proliferation meeting, which under the circumstances is pretty ironic," he grins at me and walks away.

Woop-dee-fucking-doo. I guess that's it for the surprises in my pants.