Author: Amy [pie]
Email: pie_girly@yahoo.com
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through 2.17 to be safe
Classification: Angst
Character Pairing: S/V
Feedback: As always, feedback is cherished.
Disclaimer: These characters are the property of JJ Abrams, Bad Robot, Touchstone, ABC et al. I own nothing.
Author Note: Happy Birthday MJ! Thanks to Thorne, AgentB, CG, Daera and GirlNorth for various roles they played in bringing this story to life. From cheerleading to reading early versions to listening to me blather on about my issues to the final beta, each of them was instrumental in getting this story out the door.
Summary: "She was gone, but for a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of pressing his eyes closed and letting the blackness wash over him."
* * * *
For a moment, he let himself believe that it was all a dream. A dream so real that it made his stomach roll and bile rise in his throat. For a moment, he focused his attention only on the way the whirring of the ceiling fan combined with the faraway voices of children to make a lovely kind of music, on how the warm air hugged his body like a second skin. He would not let his mind wander to the empty space next to him in a bed decorated with only light cotton sheets and a colorful Indian blanket. She was gone, but for a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of pressing his eyes closed and letting the blackness wash over him.
* * * *
Ironically, the one person who suspected this might happen was the person they had been hiding from. Jack Bristow saw the signs before anyone else even suspected his daughter was planning something. Perhaps it was his experience in the field of betrayal that made him such an expert. Or maybe it was the years focused on the sole act of duplicity, of lying to every single person around him. Whatever it was – instinct, skill, love – he saw right through her. But he also knew, like only a father would, that she would chose her own path, ignoring any guidance he might have as being heavy-handed and self-serving. So he planned out strategies and countermeasures, all with the goal of protecting Sydney before she could make her final fateful move.
At the time, these clues, stuck in between briefings and lectures and steely glances, had been incomprehensible. Jack was subtly taking stock of the situation, of Sydney's relationships with Dixon, Vaughn and Will and how she might play those to her advantage. He watched how her expression changed with the mention of Derevko or Sloane. Jack even hacked into her computer in the hopes of tracking any intel she was getting from outside the purview of the CIA.
When he received notice that she and Vaughn had run off after completing their last mission together, he saw the final pieces moving into place. Jack knew that she would make her move soon, while far away from the grasp of the CIA. The father in him wanted to protect her, keep her close to him, but he also felt that she needed to do this and that she might just be successful. He would go to Oaxaca and decide on his next move there.
* * * *
The phone call had been an unexpected interruption. It came two days into their escape to the colonial Mexican town and a few minutes after he sat down on one of the iron benches that lined the zocalo.
Annoyed, he pulled the cell phone out of his pocket and cursed technology, the CIA and the fact he felt compelled to answer his stupid phone even on holiday.
"Vaughn," he answered tersely.
"Is she with you?" The voice was clear and strong on the other side of the line.
"Of course Sydney is with me," Vaughn answered. "Now, what can I do for you Jack?"
He heard Jack sigh heavily and for a second Vaughn found his mind wandering to thoughts about signal clarity and the fact he could hear such a sound with so many miles between him and the source. However, Jack's next words shocked him back to reality. "Agent Vaughn. Are you certain she is with you?"
It was something in the way Jack emphasized "certain", rolling over the first syllable and punching the second, that made him sit up straight and look around the square to where she had last been standing, deep in conversation with an older woman about some leather goods. But now, with the bright noontime sun hitting the bleached stone of the plaza, he was blinded by muted yellows, whites and beiges, and Sydney was nowhere to be seen.
Without thinking, he hung up the phone and began to run. The sound of his footfalls crashed through his head as his eyes tried to find the beautiful chestnut-haired woman dressed in white. Fear washed over him in waves, choking him and leaving him gasping for air. He kept seeing her. Flashes of hair and skin; a calf muscle or a wrist that might be hers. They were all an illusion. Locals and tourists with the same coloring, none of them Sydney.
He ran along cobblestone alleyways, peeking into the stores that rimmed the plaza with life. Changing directions, he charged towards the small hotel they were staying at. With every passing step, Jack's words echoed deeper into his soul, and as he neared his destination, hope was left trailing behind him without the means to catch up.
Before he even reached their room, he was certain she was gone. Vaughn could sense it in his heart, in his toes and in the back of his throat. As he pushed the door open, he was not concerned with betrayals of trust or other heady matters. All Vaughn knew was that she was gone, and one quick glance over the room confirmed it.
* * * *
"You want to go where?" he asked incredulously.
She smiled up at him, resplendent in an emerald gown. "Mexico, Vaughn. I want to go to Oaxaca. They make a chocolate there that is to die for."
Grinning at the woman in his arms, Vaughn continued to lead her around the ballroom. They had a few minutes to spare before they received the signal to move to the safe, so he had asked Sydney to dance. The last weeks, months even, had been hard on her. On them. The heat of the agency's disapproval and the continued sting of her mother's betrayal added a heaviness to their time together. This mission was a simple one, and he smiled easily, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms as they moved around the ballroom.
He felt her hands running over the back of his tuxedo jacket, the warmth of her touch penetrating the layers of fabric separating skin from skin. Her lips were close to his ear, dangerous territory if she had any hopes of actually completing the mission. The heat between them was still there. It was electric, and it had been far too long of a separation. If they kept this up, Vaughn thought he might have to put that mahogany desk in the office they were targeting to an altogether different use.
Trying to refocus on their conversation, he continued. "So, Agent Bristow. All of this pleading… for chocolate?"
"But of course," she replied. "A wise woman once said, my kingdom for a good ounce of chocolate."
Just as he was about to answer, the signal came through his comm. "Time to go," he said, maneuvering her smoothly to the edge of the dance floor. Squeezing her hand in his, he whispered, "Oaxaca it is," and led her out the door.
* * * *
Two days later, they found themselves holed up in a small inn near the center of the city. Sharing the small swing on their balcony, they sat in a companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Vaughn?" Her soft voice finally broke the solitude. "Do you trust me?"
Pulling Sydney to him, he wrapped an arm around her and replied, "Of course, why would you even ask that, Syd?"
Pushing herself deeper into his embrace, he could hear her sigh deeply. "Well, it is not as if the women in my family have a history of loyalty."
"It was one woman, Sydney, and you are not your mother. I know that, and I believe in you."
He watched as she disentangled herself from his embrace and walked to the edge of the balcony. Leaning over the wrought-iron railing, she said softly, "I only wish I had that same faith in myself."
Vaughn stood up, and moving behind her, he wrapped his arms around her again, hoping that his actions would bring her comfort even if his words failed. "Sydney, what's this really about?" he questioned.
"I don't know, Vaughn." She spoke softly, leaning back into him. "It's just hard sometimes, knowing that my mother is who she is."
"And that there is a part of you that still loves her." Vaughn added, holding her tighter.
Sydney turned in his arms and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. "You're right," she finally replied. "There is part of me that will always love my mother, and I cannot stand it. I would kill her if I had a chance. I would kill my own mother…"
Vaughn could feel the sobs wracking her body as her words trailed off, and he held her close, whispering soft words into her hair. Sydney pressed her whole body into his as if he was the one supporting both of them. When her tears finally subsided and she took a few deep breaths, he reached down and lifting her chin up, he lightly kissed her. Then he spoke quietly and confidently. "Syd, when we get back to LA, I want you to consider pulling yourself off your mother's case."
"But –," Sydney interrupted.
"Sydney, " Vaughn continued, pleading with her with his eyes and his words, "just consider it. Please?"
He saw her face slowly shift from anger to sadness to acceptance. "Okay, I will think about it," she said with a smile that didn't quite touch the deep brown of her eyes. "Now lets eat. I'm starving."
The playfulness in her voice sounded forced to Vaughn, but he wasn't going to push the matter further tonight. It was obvious Sydney wanted to move on and enjoy their brief holiday together. There would be plenty of time when they got back to LA to discuss the matter of her mother.
* * * *
Arriving back in their room after a night of eating, drinking, and walking through the main part of the city, they found themselves back out on their balcony, watching the night unfold around them. They could hear the sounds of conversation trickling up from the street below as well as the vague hint of music from the zocolo. The night air was warm and still, and they sat together on the swing soaking it all in with hands intertwined.
Sydney threw her legs over Vaughn's lap and leaned into him. "Thank you," she whispered, her words muffled by his shirt.
"For what?" he replied quietly, moving his hand through her hair and enjoying the sensation of having her so close.
She pulled back from him and flashed a smile. Languidly moving her body so she sat astride his lap, she lightly kissed his nose, his eyes, his forehead. "For this, Vaughn. Thank you." Then she leaned in closer, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that started soft and sweet and quickly escalated to something more lustful.
Vaughn wrapped his hands in her hair and pulled her closer, enjoying the deepness of their connection. When they paused to breathe, he smiled at her and said, "You should thank me more often."
Sydney placed her hands on his either side of his face and gently ran her fingers along the line of his jawbone. She had a wistful smile on her face, and for a brief moment he detected another wave of sadness that seemed to wash over her, but before he could say anything her lips were back on his, pushing all thoughts beyond the here and now out of his mind.
Sydney stood up, and the loss of her touch shocked Vaughn momentarily. But then she took his hand and pulled him off of the balcony and into their room. Lying down on the neatly made bed, he felt his mind go cloudy with desire, and he could see the same hunger coloring her eyes. They stayed there for countless minutes, just letting the warm breeze from outside blow over them as their hands and lips created their own paths of desire.
Vaughn breathed deeply, enjoying the intoxicating sensation of Sydney Bristow's mouth as it ignited nerves all along his body. He felt the light tickle of her fingers as she removed his shirt and shorts. When he reached for her, she moved swiftly aside. She was being evasive, and he loved it.
In a whisper of linen, she rolled off the bed and then capturing Vaughn's eyes with hers, began to slowly remove her top. Shrugging it off, she grinned seductively at him and continued by flipping her leather sandals off her feet. Vaughn soaked up the view of Sydney standing before him, clad only in a short skirt and bra. He longed to tear the rest of her clothes off of her, but he knew that right now she was setting the pace. So instead, Vaughn just laid back and waited for the next phase in her seduction.
Sydney swiveled on one bare foot, and then grinning at him over her shoulder, she undid the clasp on her bra and let the small piece of satin fall to her feet. She then turned and walked – no, strutted, Vaughn thought – to the other side of the bed. Taking a long drink of the glass of ice water on the nightstand, he saw her take a piece of ice in her mouth and couldn't hold back the low groan that erupted from the back of his throat.
She moved quickly and before he could register her movement, she was on top of him. He could feel the linen of her skirt moving along his thigh and then the amazingly sensual explosion of ice and lips and hair and skin along his chest and stomach.
The matching and contrasting sensations of heat and ice were too much for Vaughn. After a few minutes of delightful torture, he reached up and flipped Sydney underneath him. She opened her mouth to say something, but he pressed a finger on her lips and then used his mouth to slowly bring her to a state of arousal that matched his own.
Pulling the meager remains of her outfit off, he let his fingers, tongue, and teeth devour as much of her as he could. The sound of her low moans filled his ears, and he smiled, knowing exactly what they did to each other and how wonderful it was. He could feel her body tense under his, and anticipating her next move, he pressed his weight against the full length of her. They had a game of control going on tonight, and Vaughn felt the need to play the game to its fullest extent.
Sydney arched her back and pressed herself into Vaughn. Her skin burned against his, and he could feel the sweat building up on both of them. She wrapped her legs around him and pressing her heels into his hamstrings, forced him deep into her. He could feel her body tense around him and then open completely. Her eyes were wide and filled with love, and Vaughn only hoped she could see her expression reflected in his own eyes.
As they moved together, it was like they were pushing all their emotions – frustration, love, sadness, lust – into each and every moment. It had been a difficult few months, but perhaps this trip to Oaxaca was precisely what they needed. Vaughn felt like Sydney was really with him for the first time in awhile, and he savored the sensation. This feeling of moving as one, of being completely in tune with the one you love.
They both climaxed together, and Vaughn collapsed on top of Sydney in a flurry of kisses and low groans. Rolling off her, he gathered her in his arms, not wanting to forget the sensation of having her so close to him. He could feel her smile into his shoulder and sigh. Then her words came muffled and heavy. "Hold me tonight, Vaughn. Please?"
"Of course," he responded in a whisper. "I'll never let you go Syd."
* * * *
Still breathless from his run back from the plaza, Vaughn looked around their room in more detail. The door leading to the patio was open, and the ladder that connected their second story balcony to the street below was pulled down. The closet door was open, as was one of the armoire drawers. As the heat of the midday sun pressed through his skin, Vaughn noted in a quiet corner of his mind that he must have only missed her by a minute or two.
Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he quickly dialed. "Where is she, Jack?" he practically yelled into the phone.
Jack Bristow replied in a more measured cadence. "Meet me at the plaza outside the Santo Domingo cathedral in fifteen minutes." Before Vaughn could reply, the line was dead, and he could only wonder what Jack was doing in Oaxaca.
Striding purposefully toward the plaza, he absentmindedly shook his head at the various street vendors that pushed their wares in front of him. Sydney was missing, Jack was here, and Vaughn wanted answers. His mind searched for clues buried in the events of the past couple of days. There had been an edge to Sydney, a certain sadness that clouded her eyes, but that had been present since Irina Derevko's escape. His heart beat furiously with worry, and he could feel the beginning of a tension headache pushing at his temples.
There was the possibility that she had been kidnapped. Sloane or one of his cronies could've tracked them to Oaxaca and taken Sydney while she had been browsing amongst the merchant stalls lining the zocalo.
And then there was the other possibility. The one that was making his heart clench in pain. She could've left him on purpose, of her own volition. Someone had been in their hotel room, and Vaughn didn't think that a potential kidnapper would've made a frivolous stop there. But he wouldn't believe that she would leave him like Irina had left Jack in Panama. Sydney would not betray the CIA. She wouldn't betray him.
As he neared the plaza, he pushed any feelings of hurt or betrayal to the side. Finding Sydney was paramount, and Jack held the key. He spotted Jack across the plaza, sitting comfortably on a bench with a copy of the International Herald Tribune open in front of him. He was playing the part of a tourist, in linen pants and a silk shirt, but Vaughn could see the tension radiating from him. It was a tension that mirrored his own.
Jack must have seen him enter the plaza, because he folded up his newspaper and strolled casually into the church. Vaughn followed him, and as he pulled open the heavy wooden door, he was surprised by the cool air that rushed over him. La Iglesia de Santo Domingo was an imposing structure, one filled with baroque ornamentation, intricate paintings and reliefs. The heat of the mid-day sun didn't follow them into the church, but the bright light refracted through large stained glass windows and infused the building with a yellow glow.
Vaughn spotted Jack making his way to a partially concealed room on the outskirts of the antechamber. He followed him, and as soon as Jack was close enough, he said, "Jack, what the hell is going on?"
Jack looked at him with a hard expression that softened a bit at the eyes when he saw the concern coloring Vaughn's face. Handing over a manila folder, he replied tersely, "Look at these."
Vaughn opened up the envelope and pulled out three 5x7 photos. All of Sydney and Irina Derevko. One taken during their last mission, he recognized the emerald dress she had worn. And the other two must have been taken yesterday. Maybe during their dinner? The linen skirt was the same she had been wearing, and Vaughn recalled her leaving for the bathroom halfway through the meal. The realization that Sydney not only had been meeting with Irina, but she had been doing so while in his company, made Vaughn's blood run cold.
He paced in the small space, trying to gather his thoughts and resisting the urge to crumple the pictures in his fists. Finally, looking at Jack, he took a deep breath and asked, "Who took these?"
"I did," Jack replied simply.
"Wha-," Vaughn began and then stopped, trying to process this information. His head was roaring, and the images of Sydney with her mother made him feel sick. In a matter of a few short hours, his world had been sent spinning off its axis, and he was not sure how he was going to be able to right everything. The small space they were standing in was making Vaughn feel claustrophobic, and every muscle in his body was yearning for an escape. But he had to face the truth. He had to know what Jack knew.
Taking a deep breath, he straightened his spine, lifted his chin and looked straight into Jack's eyes. "Tell me what you know Jack."
Jack took out another folder and handed it to Vaughn. "She has been contacting Derevko through a series of email aliases. The messages are coded, but she employed a simple cipher text. One that was easily broken -"
"Jack -," Vaughn interrupted, his eyes scanning the contents of the file. "These emails date back at least six weeks. How long have you been tracking Sydney?"
When Jack answered, "for the past eight weeks," Vaughn looked up abruptly, shock and disgust clearly painted on his face. Jack shot him back an equally scathing look and continued, "Don't look at me like that until you have all the information Agent Vaughn."
"Jack, you were investigating your own daughter. Did you even try to talk to her or did you just break into her email account and track her movements?" Vaughn's stomach heaved again as he thought of Jack watching Sydney. If Jack had confronted her, she might not have left. If he had acted like a normal parent, Sydney might still be here. And now she was off with her mother doing God knows what, and Jack hadn't done shit to stop her.
The cool tones of Jack's voice broke through Vaughn's silent tirade. "Michael, you know my daughter well enough to know when she is set on a plan, there is nothing I can do to stop her." Jack leaned back against the cool stone of the cathedral wall and shook his head. "I would've stopped her if she was truly betraying the CIA, but Sydney has another agenda."
Vaughn hated himself for the question that came to his mind, but he had to ask it. "How can you be sure?" How could Jack be sure that Sydney wasn't betraying the CIA? Vaughn felt it in his gut, but he needed proof.
"It was too easy for me to track her. The email addresses, the cipher text – everything was done so I could follow her trail," Jack replied. "Sydney is a highly-trained spy. This stuff wasn't amateur by any stretch of the imagination, but it was easy enough for me to follow."
"But why did you let her go, Jack? Capturing Derevko and Sloane is the CIA's job, not Sydney's. She could be killed." Vaughn felt his blood run cold at the thought of what Sloane would do to Sydney if he thought she was going to betray him again. Leaning back against the wall, he placed his head in his hands and wondered what she was thinking exactly.
"I think she might succeed," Jack said. When Vaughn looked at him questioningly, Jack repeated himself. "I've examined every scenario, and I let her go because I believe she can succeed where the CIA has failed. And if she succeeds, she will finally be free to live her life."
Although he understood the logic behind Jack's reasoning, Vaughn felt a wave of dread sweep over him. Sydney was always one to take impossible risks, and he was just not ready to lose her. And now, he wasn't even in the position to help her. She had put him in this position. Not confiding in him, bringing him to Oaxaca just to forge her escape plan. He felt the sweat sliding down his back as he imagined what a fool she must've taken him for. Why hadn't he noticed her planning earlier?
As if reading his mind, Jack rested a hand on Vaughn's shoulder and said quietly, "You couldn't have known. Sydney is an expert in compartmentalizing her feelings. She hid this from everyone."
Vaughn closed his eyes tightly and tried to quiet the turmoil in his head. He knew he needed some time to absorb all this information. Time alone. Clutching the photos and papers in his hand, he turned and started to walk away.
Jack's voice stopped him mid-step. "She cared for you. She didn't want to hurt you or put you in a position of hiding intel from the CIA."
"How do you know?" Vaughn asked, turning to face Jack again.
Jack didn't smile but his eyes softened around the edges. Vaughn almost detected a sheen of vulnerability cross his features. "I know my daughter Agent Vaughn," he answered simply.
* * * *
When Vaughn returned to his hotel room, he fell onto the bed they had shared and closed his eyes. His mind swirled back to meetings in the warehouse, missions and counter-missions, dancing the waltz and making love to Sydney Bristow. The Sydney Bristow he loved and trusted. The Sydney Bristow who had walked out on him that morning.
It killed him that she hadn't bothered to confide in him, but he also blamed himself for not being more intuitive. Looking back, he recognized the telltale moments where she pulled away from him or where she covered her sadness with a plastered-on smile. Jack was right, Sydney was a master at compartmentalizing her feelings, but Vaughn felt that he knew Sydney better than that. He should've seen the signs.
As the raucous noise of the day blended with the serenity of the siesta and late night hours, it created a palate for his changing moods. The rage that had boiled inside of him after his conversation with Jack muted after a few hours and was replaced by a dull pain that was made sharp by a note he found stuffed haphazardly in between pages of his novel.
Vaughn, I have to do this. Please don't look for me. Sydney.
He shook his head as he traced the words over in his mind. It was a note unadorned by excess sentiment. Its goal was to push him away - to force him to expunge her from his life. She had been doing this in ways subtle and overt since her mother had teamed with Sloane, and now, her final move had been played.
Sydney had decided to carry the burden of vengeance on her own shoulders, joining with her mother and Sloane in order to take them down. But, right now, alone in a small hotel room in Oaxaca, the purity of her motives did not assuage the raw burning in his stomach. Sydney Bristow was gone, and Irina Derevko was responsible for taking yet another person he loved from him.
She was gone. It was really as simple as that.
* * * *
The blackness ceded space to his awakening mind, and finally pushing himself out of bed, he pulled the curtains back to let the bright morning wash over him in a haze of primary colors and street noise.
The morose thoughts that had consumed him yesterday were beginning to fade to Sydney and on keeping her safe. After a night of fitful sleep, he had returned to their conversation on the balcony. He did trust her. She was not Irina Derevko, and maybe, just maybe, she would succeed.
Vaughn remembered that they never had a chance to try the chocolate Sydney had enticed him to Oaxaca with. Today, he thought, he would sample some. It was supposed to be bittersweet with a hint of spice and pepper.
Then he would call Jack. It was time.
She was gone. But he had not left her. Not yet at least.