Chapter Four
Mistakes
* Maybe it's not
That I don't care anymore
Maybe I just never did
You can't say
That I have ever lied
Because I kept the truth well hid
Tell me what's wrong
Is something wrong?
You can't be sad
When something you have never had
Suddenly feels gone
I wish you health
I wish you happiness
But absolutely nothing else *
--Health and Happiness, The Wallflowers
It was all one big mistake after another.
He shouldn't have made the meeting so late; any time to think is too much time, especially when you're doing your thinking in the CIA ops center under the curious eyes of Kendall and Jack Bristow. His mind had chased itself in circles, beating out a frantic pace as it tried to decide who was lying to him, and who--if anyone--was telling him the truth, whom was he betraying, who deserved his trust and to whom should he give his loyalties. His fears and suspicions had finally deteriorated his semblance of concentration to the point where Kendall approached him to suggest a session with Dr. Barnett.
He shouldn't have chosen the rendezvous site as the warehouse, either. He had had to spend a good deal of effort securing the location, borrowing a few bug killers off an unsuspecting Marshall and looping the constant surveillance feed they kept on the place. But despite the physical efforts he had to go to, the emotional ramifications would be that much worse. This was hallowed ground to him, a sacred temple built of all his best memories, and seeing her here, under these circumstances, would certainly tear it down piece by piece.
It was dangerous, too. Not dangerous in the way that she might pull a gun or a knife on him, but one smile from her was nearly as crippling as a blade between his ribs. He doesn't know what kind of effect she'll have on him because he doesn't know just how much she'll play on his 'emotional attachment' to gain sympathy, to persuade him to her cause--whatever that was. It's hard to admit, but the truth is he's still half in love with the woman. Hell, maybe even three-quarters. But that last quarter is reserved for a shady, slimy feeling that pools at the base of his backbone, something that he associates with people like Irina Derevko, something that he's been taught to term professionalism.
Like always, he hears her footsteps clicking on the concrete before he sees her, and that fact gives him the upper hand, allowing him to pick the best defensible position in the caged area--in this instance settled lazily on a crate--and to compose his face into a mask of indifference, hopefully putting on air of distance that with discourage her.
As her shadow separated itself from the rest that filled the echoing spaces a muscle jumped involuntarily in his jaw and his gaze clung to every curve, verifying what he had only dared to dream: she was still safe and whole. She paused at the fence and the light edged its way across her features.
No matter what ethereal image his mind cloaked her in, it was undeniable, she looked terrible. Judging from her appearance, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in almost a month; under her eyes were awful dark circles that resembled new bruises, new haggard lines had etched themselves around her mouth and eyes, and she had tried to disguise the fact that her hair was limp and lifeless by pulling it back in a severe ponytail.
"Vaughn, I--"
"Don't talk. Just--just not another word, okay?" His voice came out a little quieter, less commanding than he meant it to, but she complied anyway, her fingers interlacing with the chain link enclosure like she was drawing strength from the sturdy metal. He forced more venom into his tone, "I didn't come to hear your excuses."
Confusion flitted over her face, making her seem even more innocent in his eyes. "Then what did you come for?"
He shouldn't have, but he felt he had an obligation to explain himself to her. "I came...to, to make it real for me. To see you here, of your own compulsion..." He motioned dispassionately with his hand, indicating every inch of her. "And I came to see if I could really do it."
"Do what?" Her voice was gentle, cajoling, as if she were trying to coax a skittish animal.
He lifted back his jacket, revealing his holster, and leisurely pulled out his gun. He cradled it in his hands, staring at it instead of her. "I have permission to shoot you on sight, you know. I wanted to see if I could."
"So?" Though she tried to hide it, her hand quivered where it was locked around the metal of the cage, causing the whole length of it to shake and shudder.
His arms folded helplessly back to his sides, all the strength draining instantly out of them. "But I can't. I can't do it. Not after everything we've been through."
Her obvious relief manifested itself in a smile, one glorious, heart-rending smile that was nearly his undoing. "Vaughn, you have to understand," she began as she took a step toward him.
His arms came back up in a way of warding her off, not realizing he was even now clutching the gun until he saw it aimed at her. She stopped in mid-stride, the breath for words escaping her lips in a gasp.
He waved the gun threateningly in her direction, knowing only that if she came any closer he would lose what little control he still retained, that he would follow her anywhere. But he can't do that, he's devoted his life to his government in memory of his father and she can't change that with one look, she can't change his past and she won't have the future he's been planning for so long now. "Go. Get out of here before I decide I can shoot you."
She hovered for a moment longer, something forming in her eyes, but he turned his head away before it could reach him. He heard the first footfall, hesitant, then the next a little stronger, hammering out a faster and faster retreat the way she had come. He stayed like he was until the last echo of her shoes on the concrete died out forever. He prayed silently that she had finally walked out of his life, but he knew in some corner of his mind that he would never be that lucky.
And all the while, he couldn't escape the feeling that he had made a mistake.
Mistakes
* Maybe it's not
That I don't care anymore
Maybe I just never did
You can't say
That I have ever lied
Because I kept the truth well hid
Tell me what's wrong
Is something wrong?
You can't be sad
When something you have never had
Suddenly feels gone
I wish you health
I wish you happiness
But absolutely nothing else *
--Health and Happiness, The Wallflowers
It was all one big mistake after another.
He shouldn't have made the meeting so late; any time to think is too much time, especially when you're doing your thinking in the CIA ops center under the curious eyes of Kendall and Jack Bristow. His mind had chased itself in circles, beating out a frantic pace as it tried to decide who was lying to him, and who--if anyone--was telling him the truth, whom was he betraying, who deserved his trust and to whom should he give his loyalties. His fears and suspicions had finally deteriorated his semblance of concentration to the point where Kendall approached him to suggest a session with Dr. Barnett.
He shouldn't have chosen the rendezvous site as the warehouse, either. He had had to spend a good deal of effort securing the location, borrowing a few bug killers off an unsuspecting Marshall and looping the constant surveillance feed they kept on the place. But despite the physical efforts he had to go to, the emotional ramifications would be that much worse. This was hallowed ground to him, a sacred temple built of all his best memories, and seeing her here, under these circumstances, would certainly tear it down piece by piece.
It was dangerous, too. Not dangerous in the way that she might pull a gun or a knife on him, but one smile from her was nearly as crippling as a blade between his ribs. He doesn't know what kind of effect she'll have on him because he doesn't know just how much she'll play on his 'emotional attachment' to gain sympathy, to persuade him to her cause--whatever that was. It's hard to admit, but the truth is he's still half in love with the woman. Hell, maybe even three-quarters. But that last quarter is reserved for a shady, slimy feeling that pools at the base of his backbone, something that he associates with people like Irina Derevko, something that he's been taught to term professionalism.
Like always, he hears her footsteps clicking on the concrete before he sees her, and that fact gives him the upper hand, allowing him to pick the best defensible position in the caged area--in this instance settled lazily on a crate--and to compose his face into a mask of indifference, hopefully putting on air of distance that with discourage her.
As her shadow separated itself from the rest that filled the echoing spaces a muscle jumped involuntarily in his jaw and his gaze clung to every curve, verifying what he had only dared to dream: she was still safe and whole. She paused at the fence and the light edged its way across her features.
No matter what ethereal image his mind cloaked her in, it was undeniable, she looked terrible. Judging from her appearance, she hadn't had a decent night's sleep in almost a month; under her eyes were awful dark circles that resembled new bruises, new haggard lines had etched themselves around her mouth and eyes, and she had tried to disguise the fact that her hair was limp and lifeless by pulling it back in a severe ponytail.
"Vaughn, I--"
"Don't talk. Just--just not another word, okay?" His voice came out a little quieter, less commanding than he meant it to, but she complied anyway, her fingers interlacing with the chain link enclosure like she was drawing strength from the sturdy metal. He forced more venom into his tone, "I didn't come to hear your excuses."
Confusion flitted over her face, making her seem even more innocent in his eyes. "Then what did you come for?"
He shouldn't have, but he felt he had an obligation to explain himself to her. "I came...to, to make it real for me. To see you here, of your own compulsion..." He motioned dispassionately with his hand, indicating every inch of her. "And I came to see if I could really do it."
"Do what?" Her voice was gentle, cajoling, as if she were trying to coax a skittish animal.
He lifted back his jacket, revealing his holster, and leisurely pulled out his gun. He cradled it in his hands, staring at it instead of her. "I have permission to shoot you on sight, you know. I wanted to see if I could."
"So?" Though she tried to hide it, her hand quivered where it was locked around the metal of the cage, causing the whole length of it to shake and shudder.
His arms folded helplessly back to his sides, all the strength draining instantly out of them. "But I can't. I can't do it. Not after everything we've been through."
Her obvious relief manifested itself in a smile, one glorious, heart-rending smile that was nearly his undoing. "Vaughn, you have to understand," she began as she took a step toward him.
His arms came back up in a way of warding her off, not realizing he was even now clutching the gun until he saw it aimed at her. She stopped in mid-stride, the breath for words escaping her lips in a gasp.
He waved the gun threateningly in her direction, knowing only that if she came any closer he would lose what little control he still retained, that he would follow her anywhere. But he can't do that, he's devoted his life to his government in memory of his father and she can't change that with one look, she can't change his past and she won't have the future he's been planning for so long now. "Go. Get out of here before I decide I can shoot you."
She hovered for a moment longer, something forming in her eyes, but he turned his head away before it could reach him. He heard the first footfall, hesitant, then the next a little stronger, hammering out a faster and faster retreat the way she had come. He stayed like he was until the last echo of her shoes on the concrete died out forever. He prayed silently that she had finally walked out of his life, but he knew in some corner of his mind that he would never be that lucky.
And all the while, he couldn't escape the feeling that he had made a mistake.
