Chapter Six
Maybe, Just Maybe
* What else can I do?
I said I'm sorry, yeah I'm sorry.
I said I'm sorry, but what for?
If I hurt you then I hate myself.
I don't want to hate myself, don't want to hurt you.
Why do you chew your pain?
If you only knew how much I love you, love you.
I won't be your winter.
I won't be anyone's excuse to cry.
We can be forgiven-
I will be here. *
--Your Winter, Sister Hazel
He noticed her the third time she passed by his window.
He had decided on a small restaurant for lunch and had convinced the hostess with the most compelling smile he could muster to seat him by the window overlooking the street outside so he could people watch. It's become almost a second nature to him after all his years of training, studying people like he does; he keeps half his mind on what those around him are doing and that habit tends to keep him a step ahead of trouble. There's only been one woman who's shaken that instinctive concentration of his, occupied his awareness fully with her presence--and gotten him into a tight spot for that temporary failure--but he doesn't like to mention her name, not even in the quiet of his own thoughts.
Sometimes, though, he people watches purely for his own diversion. He likes to pick out one or two of them from the crowd and imagine what their lives are like, where they live and work, what they dream of doing. And slowly he integrates himself into their existence, maybe as a coworker or a friend, someone who they would stop on the sidewalk to say hello and shake hands with without any fear of being seen in public together. Then they would both fade away back into the anonymous mob, just two more among billions. Every now and then he even imagines what it would have been like to meet Sydney that way, just two strangers with normal jobs passing each other in the park, hurrying home to get out of the rain; he would bump her shoulder by accident, and she would drop the book she was carrying into a growing puddle. They would both stoop to pick it up, murmuring apologies as they looked up and their eyes clashed, time freezing around them. Maybe he would scoop up the soggy book and gallantly offer to buy her a new one, or maybe dinner? She would smile, flattered at the attention, and accept. Their second date he would take her to the movies, their third would be to his favorite café in the city, and on their second year anniversary he would rent out the ice skating rink and propose to her right there. Or maybe she would just take back her book on that rainy afternoon, telling him it was no problem at all, and walk the other way.
The first time she passed by his window, she was just one of the many blurry, indistinct faces, swabbed in a tan trench coat as she was swept along with the current of the mass of moving people. The second time, he only caught a glimpse of tan cloth winding around the corner, but it made him instantly suspicious that she would go by the same spot twice. The third time he was waiting for her, and she knew she was being observed as she found his eyes. Resigned, she approached the door and the bell jingled to announce her arrival as she opened it. She and the hostess exchanged a few polite words, and the other woman began to lead her towards the center of the seating area, but she protested, requesting respectfully if it wasn't too much of a bother, could she please be seated by the window? It was such a beautiful day outside and she wanted to see it. Usually, such a request would have been seen as rude and picky, but the matronly woman could little take offense from the wide-eyed look she was given and the slightest hint of a trembling lip. So, she slipped into the seat behind him, putting them back-to-back like they had been so many times before in communal spaces like this, and across the limited space he could almost felt the heat she displaced searing his skin.
"You shouldn't be here," he started his scolding in a low voice so no one would notice, just as Sydney matched his tone, "I told myself I wouldn't come, but--"
Silence fell as they both waited on the other, and Sydney snatched up the thread of conversation after a long pause. "I told myself I wouldn't come," she echoed firmly, each word pronounced in a clipped manner like she was trying to keep her voice from wobbling, "but I couldn't help myself." He glanced sharply towards the window at that remark, where he could make out her faint, wavy outline reflected there, tracing trembling fingers across her tabletop as she stared at the woodwork. "It kills me to think that you could hate me without ever giving me a chance to explain myself. I can't help thinking that maybe, maybe if you heard why I did it then you could see what was so important that I couldn't tell you about it...Maybe you could forgive me."
"I'm listening now." But she didn't get a chance to speak as the waitress advanced to take her order. Sydney asked for tea only, and they remain rigidly staring in the opposite direction of each other until she brought it back and departed again.
She took a long draught out of her cup like it was courage itself. "The CIA was getting no where with its search for Sloane and my mother, so Dad and I came up with a plan."
"What about me in all of this?" It was a selfish remark, but a desperately broken part of him needed the answer.
"I would have let you in on it, Vaughn, I swear I almost did, but I knew you would have talked me out of it, and your reaction had to be genuine like everyone else's so they wouldn't suspect you of treason again."
"That's not what I meant."
"Vaughn..." the word was raw and throbbing with pain.
"Never mind." He hadn't meant to cause her anguish, and he hurried to mend his cutting suggestion. "Finish what you were saying."
Things were quiet between them as she tried to recover her point in the tale."...So Dad made an arrangement with Mom to get me on the inside of Sloane's operations; Sloane may never trust my being there, but he would never deny my mother anything she wants. So this way, I get access not only to him but also to his operations, and--though she doesn't know it--to my mother's as well. They're all going to share the same fate.
"It should have been over and done with within a week, but I had to change my plans. He's building something, Vaughn, some Rambaldi device worse than anything we've seen yet. If I do it now, while it's still uncompleted, someone could pick up where he left off, but if I wait until it's done I can destroy him and his work at the same time. I want him to know he failed." She closed her mouth quickly after the last part spilled out in an angry burst, washing the resentment down with more of her tea, and started again more gently. "And then, when it's over, I get my life, Vaughn. A life with no strings attached."
She froze, and he perceived her reflection in the glass out of the corner of his eye furrow its brow as a new thought dawned on her. "But there are strings already, aren't there? They all must hate me for what I've done."
Before he could assure her unreasonably that of course they didn't, she shook her head to clear it from her melancholy. "It so much more complicated than what I've told you, though. I can't discuss everything here; it's too dangerous." She dug in her coat pocket and passed the scrap of paper she produced to him under the cover of their chairs. "You can leave a message for me there and I'll find you."
He memorized the phone number as quickly as he could and tore it into tiny pieces, dropping them into the remainder of his drink and let them dissolve. Then he casually edged a hand under the lapel of his jacket, his fingers prodding around for some object.
Sydney knew what he kept under there, and she wilted as she realized her words had had no effect on him. "You have a right to," she told him evenly to disguise the quivering inside her, meekly accepting her lot. "You should have done it when we met in the warehouse...but can we go somewhere more private? I don't want to disturb these people's meals."
But instead of producing the gun she had been expecting, he flung a wad of cash onto the table. "If you reach over before the waitress comes, there should be enough there to cover your drink. Lunch is on me." He detached himself, everything about him subtly adjusting to convey his regret that she could think him able to do such a thing. "I need time to think," he addressed the air in front of him as he pushed back from the table, and he strode out without looking back.
* * * * * * * * * *
He had just slid his key into the door, pushing down on the handle so the door swung in ahead of him, when he realized he had overlooked what he had gone out for in the first place.
"Shit," he announced to the room. "I'm sorry, Eric. I completely forgot your food."
Weiss turned towards him, one hand shutting his laptop with an audible click. "Don't worry about it. I wouldn't have had time to eat anyway. We have to get ready." It was only when he saw the confused expression that flickered across Vaughn's face that he became conscious that he wasn't following, and he elaborated.
"Mike, we've found Sydney."
A/N: So, pretty good chapter, huh? Or was it absolutely horrible? I need you to tell me. Leave me some nice feedback to read when I get home from vacation. Please?
Maybe, Just Maybe
* What else can I do?
I said I'm sorry, yeah I'm sorry.
I said I'm sorry, but what for?
If I hurt you then I hate myself.
I don't want to hate myself, don't want to hurt you.
Why do you chew your pain?
If you only knew how much I love you, love you.
I won't be your winter.
I won't be anyone's excuse to cry.
We can be forgiven-
I will be here. *
--Your Winter, Sister Hazel
He noticed her the third time she passed by his window.
He had decided on a small restaurant for lunch and had convinced the hostess with the most compelling smile he could muster to seat him by the window overlooking the street outside so he could people watch. It's become almost a second nature to him after all his years of training, studying people like he does; he keeps half his mind on what those around him are doing and that habit tends to keep him a step ahead of trouble. There's only been one woman who's shaken that instinctive concentration of his, occupied his awareness fully with her presence--and gotten him into a tight spot for that temporary failure--but he doesn't like to mention her name, not even in the quiet of his own thoughts.
Sometimes, though, he people watches purely for his own diversion. He likes to pick out one or two of them from the crowd and imagine what their lives are like, where they live and work, what they dream of doing. And slowly he integrates himself into their existence, maybe as a coworker or a friend, someone who they would stop on the sidewalk to say hello and shake hands with without any fear of being seen in public together. Then they would both fade away back into the anonymous mob, just two more among billions. Every now and then he even imagines what it would have been like to meet Sydney that way, just two strangers with normal jobs passing each other in the park, hurrying home to get out of the rain; he would bump her shoulder by accident, and she would drop the book she was carrying into a growing puddle. They would both stoop to pick it up, murmuring apologies as they looked up and their eyes clashed, time freezing around them. Maybe he would scoop up the soggy book and gallantly offer to buy her a new one, or maybe dinner? She would smile, flattered at the attention, and accept. Their second date he would take her to the movies, their third would be to his favorite café in the city, and on their second year anniversary he would rent out the ice skating rink and propose to her right there. Or maybe she would just take back her book on that rainy afternoon, telling him it was no problem at all, and walk the other way.
The first time she passed by his window, she was just one of the many blurry, indistinct faces, swabbed in a tan trench coat as she was swept along with the current of the mass of moving people. The second time, he only caught a glimpse of tan cloth winding around the corner, but it made him instantly suspicious that she would go by the same spot twice. The third time he was waiting for her, and she knew she was being observed as she found his eyes. Resigned, she approached the door and the bell jingled to announce her arrival as she opened it. She and the hostess exchanged a few polite words, and the other woman began to lead her towards the center of the seating area, but she protested, requesting respectfully if it wasn't too much of a bother, could she please be seated by the window? It was such a beautiful day outside and she wanted to see it. Usually, such a request would have been seen as rude and picky, but the matronly woman could little take offense from the wide-eyed look she was given and the slightest hint of a trembling lip. So, she slipped into the seat behind him, putting them back-to-back like they had been so many times before in communal spaces like this, and across the limited space he could almost felt the heat she displaced searing his skin.
"You shouldn't be here," he started his scolding in a low voice so no one would notice, just as Sydney matched his tone, "I told myself I wouldn't come, but--"
Silence fell as they both waited on the other, and Sydney snatched up the thread of conversation after a long pause. "I told myself I wouldn't come," she echoed firmly, each word pronounced in a clipped manner like she was trying to keep her voice from wobbling, "but I couldn't help myself." He glanced sharply towards the window at that remark, where he could make out her faint, wavy outline reflected there, tracing trembling fingers across her tabletop as she stared at the woodwork. "It kills me to think that you could hate me without ever giving me a chance to explain myself. I can't help thinking that maybe, maybe if you heard why I did it then you could see what was so important that I couldn't tell you about it...Maybe you could forgive me."
"I'm listening now." But she didn't get a chance to speak as the waitress advanced to take her order. Sydney asked for tea only, and they remain rigidly staring in the opposite direction of each other until she brought it back and departed again.
She took a long draught out of her cup like it was courage itself. "The CIA was getting no where with its search for Sloane and my mother, so Dad and I came up with a plan."
"What about me in all of this?" It was a selfish remark, but a desperately broken part of him needed the answer.
"I would have let you in on it, Vaughn, I swear I almost did, but I knew you would have talked me out of it, and your reaction had to be genuine like everyone else's so they wouldn't suspect you of treason again."
"That's not what I meant."
"Vaughn..." the word was raw and throbbing with pain.
"Never mind." He hadn't meant to cause her anguish, and he hurried to mend his cutting suggestion. "Finish what you were saying."
Things were quiet between them as she tried to recover her point in the tale."...So Dad made an arrangement with Mom to get me on the inside of Sloane's operations; Sloane may never trust my being there, but he would never deny my mother anything she wants. So this way, I get access not only to him but also to his operations, and--though she doesn't know it--to my mother's as well. They're all going to share the same fate.
"It should have been over and done with within a week, but I had to change my plans. He's building something, Vaughn, some Rambaldi device worse than anything we've seen yet. If I do it now, while it's still uncompleted, someone could pick up where he left off, but if I wait until it's done I can destroy him and his work at the same time. I want him to know he failed." She closed her mouth quickly after the last part spilled out in an angry burst, washing the resentment down with more of her tea, and started again more gently. "And then, when it's over, I get my life, Vaughn. A life with no strings attached."
She froze, and he perceived her reflection in the glass out of the corner of his eye furrow its brow as a new thought dawned on her. "But there are strings already, aren't there? They all must hate me for what I've done."
Before he could assure her unreasonably that of course they didn't, she shook her head to clear it from her melancholy. "It so much more complicated than what I've told you, though. I can't discuss everything here; it's too dangerous." She dug in her coat pocket and passed the scrap of paper she produced to him under the cover of their chairs. "You can leave a message for me there and I'll find you."
He memorized the phone number as quickly as he could and tore it into tiny pieces, dropping them into the remainder of his drink and let them dissolve. Then he casually edged a hand under the lapel of his jacket, his fingers prodding around for some object.
Sydney knew what he kept under there, and she wilted as she realized her words had had no effect on him. "You have a right to," she told him evenly to disguise the quivering inside her, meekly accepting her lot. "You should have done it when we met in the warehouse...but can we go somewhere more private? I don't want to disturb these people's meals."
But instead of producing the gun she had been expecting, he flung a wad of cash onto the table. "If you reach over before the waitress comes, there should be enough there to cover your drink. Lunch is on me." He detached himself, everything about him subtly adjusting to convey his regret that she could think him able to do such a thing. "I need time to think," he addressed the air in front of him as he pushed back from the table, and he strode out without looking back.
* * * * * * * * * *
He had just slid his key into the door, pushing down on the handle so the door swung in ahead of him, when he realized he had overlooked what he had gone out for in the first place.
"Shit," he announced to the room. "I'm sorry, Eric. I completely forgot your food."
Weiss turned towards him, one hand shutting his laptop with an audible click. "Don't worry about it. I wouldn't have had time to eat anyway. We have to get ready." It was only when he saw the confused expression that flickered across Vaughn's face that he became conscious that he wasn't following, and he elaborated.
"Mike, we've found Sydney."
A/N: So, pretty good chapter, huh? Or was it absolutely horrible? I need you to tell me. Leave me some nice feedback to read when I get home from vacation. Please?
