chapter/two// SO IMPOSSIBLE

"If Jack gets on a horse... and Jack can't get off the horse... will you... help Jack off the horse?"

Will told the worst jokes. He liked to think otherwise--but yes, he was the worst joke teller Sydney had ever known. She usually laughed, though--not at the joke, at the teller--but this time she didn't respond. Will had managed to squeeze a mild chuckle out of Francie, but nothing out of Sydney, not even the usual exaggerated sigh or downcast head-shake, and that made him wonder.

"What's up?" Will asked, as if not-laughing-at-his-jokes meant there was something seriously wrong with you.

"Nothing."

Actually, everything, Sydney thought. School. Work. The date, or whatever you wanted to call it, she'd had with Vaughn a week ago (she hadn't seen him since). Everything was coming together and falling apart at the same time (if that made sense--and it didn't to Sydney; that's why she was so pre-occupied with it all).

Okay, so she'd had a date with Vaughn. Big deal. They had a nice dinner, and went their separate ways. It wasn't like they got caught in the heat of the moment, stripped down to their bare bodies gripped in a tumultuous whirlwind of feverish passion, and made sweet love on the cold concrete floor of the warehouse. No, they ate and talked. Millions of people did that everyday, millions of people were probably doing that right now. So how come it was such a big deal?

And it was a big deal, Sydney realized after minutes of contemplation. Eating and talking might have been as mundane and banal as dusting off the furniture, but that particular dinner brought with it all-too-obvious complications and oh-so-subtle implications. And the main thing--the main problem--Sydney could see, was how she was going to act the next time she saw Vaughn, and in case he acted first, how she was going to react. Was she going to play it cool and nonchalant? Or was she going to swallow her pride and just come out with it: "Vaughn, I don't know about you, but that date--or whatever you want to call it--it meant something to me." This was an important decision; it wasn't a white shirt or blue shirt?--Cocoa Pebbles or Fruity Pebbles?--kind of decision. This was a Ben or Noel? kind of decision (she'd always been partial to Noel for some reason, don't ask why). How she acted around Vaughn the next Joey's Pizza call could, at its peak potential, indicate the status of their relationship, and build the foundation of their relationship, if they had one, and pretty much determine the rest of her life (yes, it was a little extreme, but you know that movie Run Lola Run, where even a little tiny, itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, seemingly insignificant thing could completely change the sequence and course of events? It was kind of like that.)

"Hey." Francie broke the silence. They had been sitting there, at the dinner table, very quietly for the past couple of minutes; apparently the conversation stopped dead after Will's joke. "What are you doing Saturday night?"

"Who, me?" Sydney asked, still a little out of it.

"Yeah."

"I don't know. Why?"

"Just..." Francie paused, and gave Sydney a little wink of a smile. Sydney knew that Francie only did that when she wanted something.

"What?"

"I need a favor. And I think it'll do you good also."

"What is it?"

"You know how I told you I met this guy, Steven, well we're going out Saturday."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I agreed to make it a double date."

"Oh... Francie."

"No, I know, but c'mon Syd, you need to get out. All you do is work and study."

Francie was partially right, of course--most of Sydney's hours were consumed by term papers or "bank stuff"--but she wasn't aware of Sydney's illicit dinner dates with her CIA case handler (okay, they'd only had one, but hopefully they would have more). And as much as Sydney didn't want to participate in this double date, she wasn't about to bring up one Michael Vaughn as a means of getting out of it--doing that would require a hell of a lot of explaining, and Sydney didn't want to do any explaining. She wasn't supposed to anyway.

"C'mon. I promise he won't be psycho." As soon as Francie said that, Sydney knew he was going to be psycho.

"I don't know." Whether or not he was psycho didn't really matter, though--it wasn't the point. And unfortunately, the real point didn't matter either, because she wouldn't, couldn't bring it up with Francie.

Then there was a silence.

Francie had mastered the art of asking-for-favors. She didn't beg and plead with desperation like the rest of them; she asked and quietly waited for you to answer--which was what she was doing now--and that quiet period was, in itself, a kind of courteous coercion.

"Okay..." Honestly, Sydney felt sort of obliged to join Francie on this double date, as if she owed her something. She had already rejected Francie's other invitations a number of times before (and another rejection would cause some sort of argument, at the very least). What harm would it do anyway?

* * * * * *

Michael heard a knock at the door and went to answer it.

"Hi," she said.

"...hi," he said after a slight pause, after the initial shock wore off. "What are you doing here?"

"Just... came round, I guess. Just wanted to see you... you know..."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah... I mean... everything's fine... except, you know, well... I've been thinking about you a lot, Michael."

"Oh." He wasn't sure what to say next.

Alice stood outside the door for a while; Michael had neglected to ask her to come in, and she didn't feel comfortable enough to slide past him and let herself in, given their current relationship climate.

Then he realized. "Oh, do you wanna come in?"

She nodded gently and made her way to the living room, plopped her purse onto the reclining chair, and sat down on the right side of the sofa--just like she always did--and that gave Michael an ill feeling inside. He disguised it though, and went with the moment, sitting down next to her on the couch.

"Do you want something to drink?" Saying these words gave him another ill feeling inside: they suggested that he was talking to someone who had never helped herself to a drink before, someone who had never been inside his house, someone he hardly knew at all. It was funny, because here he was, with the woman who had spent the past year and a half living in this house (well, not exactly living, but she was here all the time, so practically living in this house), sharing laughter and joy and disappointment and frustration and all the rest of it, with him. And all he could do now was ask her what you would politely ask any other relative stranger inside your home--whether she would care for a beverage.

"No thanks."

There was a quiet desperation in both of them to get some sort of conversation started, but this wasn't the type of situation where you could just bring up any random topic and start discussing it. "Hey, have you tried the new Vanilla Coke?" Michael didn't think this was the proper time to ask her about new cola flavors. He didn't think it was his responsibility to do the talking here either; it was her's. She was the one that came over, she initiated this--not him. It was like calling someone up, remaining silent, and expecting the person on the other end--the person who was still wondering why you called them up in the first place--to deliver a monologue.

"Michael..."

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

Did he miss her, too? Obviously the noble, benevolent thing to do would be to respond with "I miss you too." But Michael wasn't sure, and he wasn't about to concede even a hint of an impulsive desire to restore what was left of their relationship. It was amazing then, how Alice ended up spending the night.

* * * * * *

The double date went fine, not good, not terrible, if you didn't count one little incident that happened toward the end. Francie (who gave the impression that she was over Charlie completely) and Steven got along famously, but the same couldn't be said about Sydney and that other guy (Syd forgot his name, and would prefer not to remember.)

As far as that "incident that happened toward the end of the date" was concerned, it would be much better not to divulge any details. It would read too much like those like those corny, hideously cheesy, post-adolescent, pre-teen entries in "Seventeen" or "YM" about how totally embarrassing something was. But the reader should at least know a little bit, right? Nah, it wasn't important, and besides, Sydney had too much on her mind to think about it anyway. Let's just say that going on this date (or being "the accompanying presence for the other guy not in a relationship so he wouldn't feel like the third wheel," as Sydney saw it) left her in an odd state: she missed Danny so much she wanted to run away with Vaughn.

* * * * * *

So, Alice spent the night--that phrase has connotations, of course--and Michael wasn't quite sure how it happened. Alice had dropped by unexpectedly, not to have a drink, but to tell him that she missed him; she wanted to renew what was left of their relationship--and Michael was pretty sure that he didn't want the same thing. So how did he end up lying in bed next to her in a very intimate post-coital position?

Michael traced back his steps, but to no avail; it would take much deeper thought to unravel this mystery. One usually didn't go from having a vaguely awkward brief exchange of words with an ex-girlfriend to engaging in an act that more or less erased the "ex" part of "ex-girlfriend." Surely something must have happened in between, something with enough substance and momentum and inertia to bring them all the way to this point. And that something had to be microscopic and inconspicuous, because Michael couldn't see it, no matter how hard he searched and stared and squinted.

"I missed this, Michael... I missed us." Alice said as she snuggled up closer. They were the first words she uttered after, and funnily enough, they were also the same words she uttered before. The only difference now was that she said it using the past tense, meaning that she didn't miss it anymore. There was a period when she didn't have it and she missed it; she didn't miss it now because she had it now and there was no reason to miss something you already had. And those words, exactly as they were--"I missed this, I missed us"--they alarmed Michael.

What did she think? She acted as if everything was all right now, Michael thought--as if their temporary break from each other had sanded down the nicks and rough edges, and had left them with a smooth clean surface to start all over from. It hadn't. Everything was as jagged and thorny as it had always been. Apparently she'd forgotten why they broke up in the first place--it was something, Michael knew, that couldn't be fixed.

She snuggled up even closer, and he didn't know why, but this was as comfortable as he had been in quite a long time, despite the way he thought he was supposed to feel about it.

* * * * * *

Who was Michael Vaughn? Aside from getting to know the Vaughn who briefed her on countermissions, consoled her at times with comforting arms and sensitive ears, and saved her tail every now and then, Sydney didn't really know Vaughn--not really. And this was a problem, she realized.

The Vaughn she knew? That was CIA Vaughn. And the other Vaughn, the real Vaughn? He was a complete stranger. She knew the "Michael" part of Vaughn existed, she just didn't know how to reach it, and if it was even possible given their situation. He was inaccessible, as far as Sydney was concerned; she didn't even feel casual enough to call him by his first name.

The phone rang. Joey's Pizza. Here we go.

* * * * * *

There was a very formal, professional atmosphere around them as they discussed, in great detail, the next CIA countermission. They really didn't have the freedom and laxity that had been present during the last couple of Joey's Pizza meetings; this countermission was complicated and dangerous. So neither Sydney nor Vaughn knew, or received any hint, how the other felt about that dinner.

Sydney felt betrayed; this wasn't the plan. This wasn't how this meeting was supposed to go. It wasn't supposed to go from "Hi" to "Devlin wants you to do this" without any perspective on the grounds of their relationship. She wanted a sign. She silently pleaded for him to give her a sign. And if he wasn't going to give her a sign, then she would have to give him a sign. Sydney wondered how Vaughn would feel if she called him "Michael?"

"Michael." Sydney practically whispered.

"Alice," Vaughn said abruptly.

"What?" Sydney had been too busy thinking about how she would call him Michael for the first time that she completely blinked on reality. She had missed the part where Vaughn's beeper went off, and he was merely informing her who it was.

"What?" he said, in an off-guard tone that echoed Sydney's.

"What?" That was three "whats" in a row. One more "what" and this conversion was sure to nose-dive into point-of-no-return oblivion.

"What?" Vaughn asked. "What did you say?"

She wasn't sure whether he heard or not. "Nothing. What were you saying?"

Vaughn paused for breath, a gesture that suggested he was pulling back the throttle and setting this conversation back on its proper course.

"Oh. Alice, she just paged me."

Alice!--Sydney thought--why on earth was Alice paging him? Surely Alice wouldn't have the cheek to randomly page ex-boyfriends... Unless this wasn't a random page because he wasn't her ex-boyfriend anymore. At first Sydney thought that Vaughn had accidentally called her Alice, which just a second ago had left her with an awful feeling, but now it wasn't so bad--certainly not as bad as the real Alice interrupting their meeting, their relationship, their future together as a couple.

Sydney knew that a relationship with Vaughn was going to be complicated, to say the least. There were going to be problems, yes. But Alice was supposed to be out of the picture; she didn't think Alice was going to be the one to fuck it all up.