Chapter Nineteen: Help from an Unexpected Source

Brooke Banning took a deep breath as she rang Michael Vaughn's doorbell. "Showtime," she muttered to herself. She had to play this exactly right. Irina would kill her if she messed things up.

Michael threw open the door, and Brooke almost took a step back at the sight of him. Yikes. Irina had just told him about Sydney and Sark that morning, and already he looked like hell. Obviously, he had a few drinks in him.

When he saw her, though, his face broke into a smile, that gorgeous smile that Brooke had admired for years. A smile that, when accompanied by the right words and right tone of voice, could convince anyone to do anything, not that Brooke would know. This was the first time he'd ever directed the smile at her.

"Brooke," he said, in that perfect, gorgeous voice. And then, before he'd even invited her in, he leaned forward and kissed her, his lips as gentle and wonderful as she'd always imagined they'd be, though he tasted of whiskey and stale pizza.

He seemed almost apologetic when he pulled away from her. Well, she'd have to do her best to let him know that she didn't care, that he could take whatever he needed from her. Tonight, she was there for him, and only him.

"Oh, Michael," she crooned as they made their way through the front door. She waited until they were seated on his couch before she took him in her arms, pulling her to him and letting her fingers stroke his light brown hair. "Irina told me what she told you. I can only imagine what you must be feeling."

"Did you know, Brooke?" The pleading look in his green eyes told her that he needed her to say No, even if it was a lie. Then, as if second-guessing himself, he hastily said, "No, no, don't answer that. If you did know, it doesn't matter. I'm sure you were just following orders."

"I'm so sorry, Michael," she said, her voice soft.

"No, no, don't apologize," he said quickly. "It's she who--" his voice broke, and Brooke feared he was going to cry. He was so strong, normally. She didn't know if she could handle seeing him cry. "I loved her for more than a decade, Brooke, and it only took her six months to-- to--"

"I'm sure she doesn't love him, Michael." Brooke didn't know if that was the right thing to say. She wanted to comfort him, but not render him ready to take Sydney back with open arms.

"I know she doesn't," Michael said quietly. "Actually, no, I don't. I don't know what I know anymore, Brooke. I don't know if she loves him, if she ever loved me, if--"

"I'm sure she loved you, Michael." How could she not? "She probably just…needed…"

"That's what Irina said," Michael said bitterly, taking a pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table. Brooke wondered if she should take the bottle away, put on some coffee or something. For now, she figured she'd just let him be. "And I know, she thinks I'm dead, she's allowed to be with whoever she wants, but--"

"That doesn't make the thought of the two of them together any less painful," Brooke cut in quietly. Actually, even she'd been surprised to learn that Sydney had taken up with Sark, and it wasn't like she gave a damn one way or the other about Derevko's bitch daughter. It seemed as if Sydney had gone from bedridden with grief for Michael to fucking Sark's brains out on a nightly basis in no time at all. Maybe that's what she'd needed. Maybe that was the only way she'd been able to get through the day.

Oh, who the hell was Brooke kidding? Sydney Vaughn was nothing more than a self-serving, self-righteous bitch, and Michael was better off without her.

At least now he was trying to get over her, or at least it seemed that way as he placed a hand on Brooke's thigh. "Thanks for coming over, Brooke," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just-- I couldn't be alone."

"You shouldn't be alone right now, Michael." Would he flinch away if she tried to kiss him?

She didn't have to worry about it. It was he who made the first move. "I don't want to be alone," he said. And as if making a decision, he kissed her. She responded, letting her hands roam over his well-muscled back as he deepened the kiss.

He pulled away all too quickly. "I'm sorry. I want this, but I can't--" He stood suddenly and began to pace the length of the room. "I can't help feeling like this is all Irina's fault."

"Why?" Oh, shit, Irina wasn't going to like this. Undoubtedly, it had never occurred to the woman that Michael Vaughn might turn against her in all this.

"Hiding the fact that I was alive from Sydney and the children? Telling me that Sydney was dead? That was nothing but fucking cruel and self-serving, Brooke. The truth is, she got scared that Sydney and I might try to betray her, and she decided it would serve her interests better to have us working against each other than against her."

Brooke stayed silent. No, Irina wasn't going to like this one bit. "Please don't do anything stupid, Michael," she finally said. "Maybe you don't believe what Irina says are her reasons for doing what she did, but-- it is better to be working with her than against her, okay?"

"Yeah," Michael said, a bit distractedly. "Look, it's late, Brooke. I think I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"Okay," she said, rising from the couch.

Michael looked at her, his green eyes sad, wistful. He moved toward her, placing a tender hand on her cheek. "I really do appreciate you coming over," he said, a bit regretfully. "And I won't pretend I don't wish that I were a different kind of man."

She knew what he meant, though he was too kind to actually say it. The kind of man that could just blithely take a willing girl to bed without a thought of the consequences, of her feelings. Irina would have been pleased if the two of them had slept together that night, and the two of them probably would have enjoyed it, too. But it was better this way. Michael was better this way.

"Don't wish that," she told him, her voice firm. Why would he want to be a different kind of man, when he was already one of the best she knew? God. If Irina hadn't taken her soul so many years ago, maybe she really could have brought herself to love him. To let him save her, to prove herself worthy of him.

But he didn't want that any more than she did. Even if he was heartbroken at what Sydney had done right then, there was no doubt in Brooke's mind that he would get past it. He loved her. "Michael, I told you not to do anything stupid," she said, a bit hesitantly.

"Yes," he said, removing the hand from her cheek.

"But if you were to do something stupid tonight, like, say, go to Sydney and your children--" She sighed. Maybe she did have something of a heart left, after all. "I'd give you a head start before I told Irina."

Michael smiled that gorgeous smile once again. Brooke knew she should cherish it. It was probably the last time she'd see it directed at her. "Thank you, Brooke," he said. "Now go, before you know for a fact that I'm going to do something that you should tell her."

"Got it," Brooke said with a smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Good luck, Michael."

"Thanks, Brooke. I'm going to need it."

She didn't respond.

If he was going against Irina, he would.