If anything it only irritated her more. No amount of kindness or
pity or even sympathy was going to resurrect a love long dead and buried
(dead and buried by his own hand she might add), but he persisted.
Somewhere in his heart, Vaughn was torn by his past and his present.
Because of that, he managed to be all over the map, at once hot and cold,
distancing himself from her while at the same time cautiously rekindling
the friendship which had never existed in the first place. To him, they
were back to that game of concealed flirtation, filled with shame and
betrayal, that had characterized the demise of his relationship with Alice.
But this time it was different. Sydney's adversary was not a girlfriend
that could be easily shed, but rather a wife, an attachment so permanent
that he felt it necessary to bind himself with gold. The game, once full
of sexual tension and anticipation was now nothing but old. Stale.
So Sydney sent a silent prayer upwards that he would just shut up and leave her in peace. Ironically, she wondered if he'd been this annoying when she was the one sleeping with him. Someone above must have heard, because his next words were tinged with worry and concern.
"Syd, are you alright?" He leaned across the suitcases he'd originally set between them, as if constructing a barrier the minute they'd settled at their seats. Abruptly, he stopped and drew back the hand he had instinctively held out, as if met by an invisible wall.
"Agent Vaughn, I think I just need a little bit of quiet."
Stunned by the harshness she'd let slip into her tired voice, Vaughn's forehead wrinkled into a hurt expression. Indignation rose in Sydney's chest fast and furious. Hurt? He was hurt? When did he decide he'd have the fucking right to be the victim in this situation? With that, Sydney purposefully turned toward the window, leaning slightly, and settled down to a dreamless sleep. It would be a good two hours before they picked up Sloane in Paris, and she'd be damned before she spent it reminiscing with Vaughn.
"Agent Bristow." The voice was hesitant, trying out a new designation with the uncertainty of a child. There was still a marked amount of hurt thrown in for decent measure as well. Syd rolled her eyes behind the lids, when the hell did he become such a baby? "We've just gotten out of Paris, it'll probably be best to grab him while we're crossing under the water. The conductor said only one man got on at the last stop."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Realizing that she too sounded like a petulant child, Syd took the edge off her last remarks by smiling at him brightly. The smile was genuine, after all this was the first field mission Kendall had granted her, but the smile lacked love. She was smiling for the situation, not for Vaughn. It had taken a fair amount of guilting and prodding to convince both her father and Kendall that she deserved this mission, after all that she'd gone through. Interestingly, they'd been more reluctant to allow her alone with Vaughn than back into the field in general.
Absently, she played with the gold ring sitting on her fourth finger, unaware that Vaughn too was staring at her choice of adornment. Unaware that is, until she met his longing glance. Again, irritation and indignation fought for dominance.
"Syd-"
Sydney leveled a gaze which could have burned through steel at Vaughn, daring him to say anything, anything at all. Caught off guard, he backed down, unsure of her recent change of heart.
Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely. The train, engulfed in the darkness of the Chunnel, grinded to a halt. A few gasps, and muttered expletives traveled down the length of the passenger car, but most of the bored businessmen aboard chose to fall back asleep rather than panic. After a moment, the lights resurged but the train remained unmoving.
Vaughn cast a wary eye in her direction and motioned to the backdoor which led to the freight cars. Wordlessly, Sydney followed him, her hand already at the gun hidden beneath her pink leather coat. A few quick searches brought them to the second to last car without hint or sign of Sloane, much less anything out of the ordinary. That is, except for the fact that each and every freight car they searched was utterly devoid of freight. In fact, each and every one had been stripped bare. Leaning against the door, Vaughn paused to catch his breath. Sydney watched with satisfaction as he huffed for a good solid minute. Their reprise however, was short-lived.
The gunshot sounded once before the sounds of a violent struggle penetrated to their car. Without warning, the door flew open and two black clad men were unceremoniously thrown from within. Neither was alive. Vaughn cast one glance back at Sydney and slipped into the fray which was evidently still underway.
The fight was short and brutal. Sydney counted 5 total, none of whom remotely resembled Sloane. As Vaughn tied together the last of the assailants, crisp applause broke through the air.
"Well. Should I thank you, or has it become the business of the CIA to rescue old friends?"
Sark. The situation was so unbelievable that Sydney's first reaction was to burst out laughing. But Vaughn beat her to the punch, quite literally. Without even registering surprise, Vaughn launched himself at the blond lounging in the door way of the final car. Sark dodged the punch easily, but allowed Vaughn to grab his collar and shove him against the wall. Sydney followed him, moving to stand close, eyes searching Sark's, questioning.
"Sark, what the hell are you doing here? Where's Sloane?" The pure animosity in Vaughn's voice surprised Sydney, but didn't seem to register with Sark. Instead, crystal blue eyes darkened and flickered past Vaughn, past Sydney. She had the distinct impression that he was avoiding eye contact with her. "Well?"
"Mr. Sloane was unable to make it, he did however send his regards via-" Sark nodded toward the men strewn amidst the empty car.
"Where are the files?" Vaughn demanded, tightening his grip.
"What files would that be?" Somehow, Sark managed to sound amused.
"You know very well which files I mean." Silence followed. Vaughn it seemed, wasn't willing to take that as an answer. Quick as lightening, he drew his gun and slammed it against the side of Sark's forehead, drawing a thin trickle of blood along his eyebrow. "Don't fucking mess with me Sark, I might not have shot you last time, but I sure as well plan on doing it this time."
"Agent Vaughn." Sydney's voice was mildly disapproving, more out of principal than out of any real worry. The scene was altogether too intriguing for her to break it up so soon. Something had obviously gone down between these two while she'd been missing.
Vaughn ignored her, he stepped back and took aim between Sark's eyes. "Alright Sark, you wanna play? Fine, there's nothing keeping me from shooting you right now and dumping your body in the ocean as soon as we get on British soil."
"Actually, I beg to differ." The conductor, frazzled and obviously more than a little afraid of the armed madman and the array of prone bodies, voiced his concern from the doorway. "We're currently unable to move, and if you could hold off on the homicides until we reach London, a new conductor will take my place and you can proceed on his watch."
"Unable to move?"
"An explosion ahead caused a section of rock to fall in, and it's blocking our path. It should be cleared shortly."
"Goddammit." Vaughn glowered for half a second and slammed his gun into Sark's jaw again. Though Sydney didn't think Vaughn had threw his full weight into the blow, Sark went down like a sack of potatoes. A loud gasp was elicited from the conductor.
"Agent Vaughn!" This time she was actually pissed. Vaughn was completely out of line. Sark had neither threatened nor provoked him. She moved quickly to step between the two, glaring. Purposefully, she turned her back to Vaughn and moved to help Sark up. As soon as he managed to stand, he pulled his hand from hers, as if she'd burned him. Curious.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no." The little French conductor was moaning with anxiety in the corner, uncertain as to whether he was a witness to a crime or the next victim.
"We're CIA," Sydney reassured the conductor, though it was partially for Vaughn's benefit. She had never seen him so feral before. It was as if he truly wanted to kill Sark. The conductor still seemed to doubt their legitimacy, but he'd loosened his death grip on the shovel he carried for protection.
"Oh." He was utterly at a loss with these damn Americans.
"Could you provide us a place to interrogate this man? He's a known terrorist."
If those words startled the poor conductor, he managed to hide it. "The café car should be sufficient, it's been closed for some time and I don't believe anybody's there."
It was with that, that the four proceeded through the passenger cars, an oddity that the passengers chose to ignore. Once they were settled in the soft leather chairs of the makeshift investigation room, the conductor conveniently slipped away, begging a need to contact the police.
The train soon restarted, and the conductor seemed more than happy to stay away from the "investigation" going down. Sydney sat opposite Sark, fascinated by his ability to look past her eyes and stare at a point on the wall two feet behind her forehead. What exactly was he playing at?
Vaughn paced back and forth next to the table, rage conveyed by his every step. "I know you have the files Sark, give them up and maybe, just maybe, someone besides me will find it in their heart to go easy on you. Because I'm warning you, you are quickly running out of time."
He punctuated his threats with quick lunges at Sark, but refrained from openly attacking.
Instead of answering him, Sark seemed to be concentrating on something else. His breathing was quickening, and his hands were braced on the table in front of him. His eyes still seemed to focus past Sydney, but now it seemed as if he was having trouble focusing at all.
"Goddammit Sark." Vaughn raised his gun again, but before he could move, Sydney was on her feet and twisting the weapon out of his hands.
"Control yourself Agent, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Surprise finally registered, and Vaughn stared at her as if for the first time. His eyes narrowed and all sense seemed to leave his brown pupils. With a disgusted snarl hardly resembling words, Vaughn stalked out of the café car.
Peeved at Vaughn's out of character behavior, Sydney brooded for a minute without taking note of Sark. By the time she turned back to him, he was staring at her with an expression resembling abject terror. Before she could stop herself, she asked. "What?"
"Nothing." He mumbled it, the swagger and arrogance so inborn in him vanishing without a trace. Again he took to staring at the spot on the wall past her head. His breathing, which Sydney had assumed had been caused by Vaughn's violent display, was as shallow as ever, and his knuckles began to slowly turn chalk white. Either he had a concussion and was about to pass out, or he was deathly afraid of her for some reason.
The concussion notion seemed to fit better, so Sydney decided it was in her responsibility to at least keep the man alive for further questioning, if not for humanitarian reasons. She was not, however, prepared for Sark's reaction. Drawing a hand across his forehead to feel for the telltale bump, Sydney was more curious about the tension with which he stared at her. What was going on?
But before she could explore further, the conductor reappeared. "We're here, the police notified some other agents waiting for you at the station, I think they're expecting you?"
Sydney nodded curtly, and turned back to Sark. He had, in the meantime, passed out.
So Sydney sent a silent prayer upwards that he would just shut up and leave her in peace. Ironically, she wondered if he'd been this annoying when she was the one sleeping with him. Someone above must have heard, because his next words were tinged with worry and concern.
"Syd, are you alright?" He leaned across the suitcases he'd originally set between them, as if constructing a barrier the minute they'd settled at their seats. Abruptly, he stopped and drew back the hand he had instinctively held out, as if met by an invisible wall.
"Agent Vaughn, I think I just need a little bit of quiet."
Stunned by the harshness she'd let slip into her tired voice, Vaughn's forehead wrinkled into a hurt expression. Indignation rose in Sydney's chest fast and furious. Hurt? He was hurt? When did he decide he'd have the fucking right to be the victim in this situation? With that, Sydney purposefully turned toward the window, leaning slightly, and settled down to a dreamless sleep. It would be a good two hours before they picked up Sloane in Paris, and she'd be damned before she spent it reminiscing with Vaughn.
"Agent Bristow." The voice was hesitant, trying out a new designation with the uncertainty of a child. There was still a marked amount of hurt thrown in for decent measure as well. Syd rolled her eyes behind the lids, when the hell did he become such a baby? "We've just gotten out of Paris, it'll probably be best to grab him while we're crossing under the water. The conductor said only one man got on at the last stop."
"Sure. Fine. Whatever." Realizing that she too sounded like a petulant child, Syd took the edge off her last remarks by smiling at him brightly. The smile was genuine, after all this was the first field mission Kendall had granted her, but the smile lacked love. She was smiling for the situation, not for Vaughn. It had taken a fair amount of guilting and prodding to convince both her father and Kendall that she deserved this mission, after all that she'd gone through. Interestingly, they'd been more reluctant to allow her alone with Vaughn than back into the field in general.
Absently, she played with the gold ring sitting on her fourth finger, unaware that Vaughn too was staring at her choice of adornment. Unaware that is, until she met his longing glance. Again, irritation and indignation fought for dominance.
"Syd-"
Sydney leveled a gaze which could have burned through steel at Vaughn, daring him to say anything, anything at all. Caught off guard, he backed down, unsure of her recent change of heart.
Suddenly, the overhead lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely. The train, engulfed in the darkness of the Chunnel, grinded to a halt. A few gasps, and muttered expletives traveled down the length of the passenger car, but most of the bored businessmen aboard chose to fall back asleep rather than panic. After a moment, the lights resurged but the train remained unmoving.
Vaughn cast a wary eye in her direction and motioned to the backdoor which led to the freight cars. Wordlessly, Sydney followed him, her hand already at the gun hidden beneath her pink leather coat. A few quick searches brought them to the second to last car without hint or sign of Sloane, much less anything out of the ordinary. That is, except for the fact that each and every freight car they searched was utterly devoid of freight. In fact, each and every one had been stripped bare. Leaning against the door, Vaughn paused to catch his breath. Sydney watched with satisfaction as he huffed for a good solid minute. Their reprise however, was short-lived.
The gunshot sounded once before the sounds of a violent struggle penetrated to their car. Without warning, the door flew open and two black clad men were unceremoniously thrown from within. Neither was alive. Vaughn cast one glance back at Sydney and slipped into the fray which was evidently still underway.
The fight was short and brutal. Sydney counted 5 total, none of whom remotely resembled Sloane. As Vaughn tied together the last of the assailants, crisp applause broke through the air.
"Well. Should I thank you, or has it become the business of the CIA to rescue old friends?"
Sark. The situation was so unbelievable that Sydney's first reaction was to burst out laughing. But Vaughn beat her to the punch, quite literally. Without even registering surprise, Vaughn launched himself at the blond lounging in the door way of the final car. Sark dodged the punch easily, but allowed Vaughn to grab his collar and shove him against the wall. Sydney followed him, moving to stand close, eyes searching Sark's, questioning.
"Sark, what the hell are you doing here? Where's Sloane?" The pure animosity in Vaughn's voice surprised Sydney, but didn't seem to register with Sark. Instead, crystal blue eyes darkened and flickered past Vaughn, past Sydney. She had the distinct impression that he was avoiding eye contact with her. "Well?"
"Mr. Sloane was unable to make it, he did however send his regards via-" Sark nodded toward the men strewn amidst the empty car.
"Where are the files?" Vaughn demanded, tightening his grip.
"What files would that be?" Somehow, Sark managed to sound amused.
"You know very well which files I mean." Silence followed. Vaughn it seemed, wasn't willing to take that as an answer. Quick as lightening, he drew his gun and slammed it against the side of Sark's forehead, drawing a thin trickle of blood along his eyebrow. "Don't fucking mess with me Sark, I might not have shot you last time, but I sure as well plan on doing it this time."
"Agent Vaughn." Sydney's voice was mildly disapproving, more out of principal than out of any real worry. The scene was altogether too intriguing for her to break it up so soon. Something had obviously gone down between these two while she'd been missing.
Vaughn ignored her, he stepped back and took aim between Sark's eyes. "Alright Sark, you wanna play? Fine, there's nothing keeping me from shooting you right now and dumping your body in the ocean as soon as we get on British soil."
"Actually, I beg to differ." The conductor, frazzled and obviously more than a little afraid of the armed madman and the array of prone bodies, voiced his concern from the doorway. "We're currently unable to move, and if you could hold off on the homicides until we reach London, a new conductor will take my place and you can proceed on his watch."
"Unable to move?"
"An explosion ahead caused a section of rock to fall in, and it's blocking our path. It should be cleared shortly."
"Goddammit." Vaughn glowered for half a second and slammed his gun into Sark's jaw again. Though Sydney didn't think Vaughn had threw his full weight into the blow, Sark went down like a sack of potatoes. A loud gasp was elicited from the conductor.
"Agent Vaughn!" This time she was actually pissed. Vaughn was completely out of line. Sark had neither threatened nor provoked him. She moved quickly to step between the two, glaring. Purposefully, she turned her back to Vaughn and moved to help Sark up. As soon as he managed to stand, he pulled his hand from hers, as if she'd burned him. Curious.
"Oh no, oh no, oh no." The little French conductor was moaning with anxiety in the corner, uncertain as to whether he was a witness to a crime or the next victim.
"We're CIA," Sydney reassured the conductor, though it was partially for Vaughn's benefit. She had never seen him so feral before. It was as if he truly wanted to kill Sark. The conductor still seemed to doubt their legitimacy, but he'd loosened his death grip on the shovel he carried for protection.
"Oh." He was utterly at a loss with these damn Americans.
"Could you provide us a place to interrogate this man? He's a known terrorist."
If those words startled the poor conductor, he managed to hide it. "The café car should be sufficient, it's been closed for some time and I don't believe anybody's there."
It was with that, that the four proceeded through the passenger cars, an oddity that the passengers chose to ignore. Once they were settled in the soft leather chairs of the makeshift investigation room, the conductor conveniently slipped away, begging a need to contact the police.
The train soon restarted, and the conductor seemed more than happy to stay away from the "investigation" going down. Sydney sat opposite Sark, fascinated by his ability to look past her eyes and stare at a point on the wall two feet behind her forehead. What exactly was he playing at?
Vaughn paced back and forth next to the table, rage conveyed by his every step. "I know you have the files Sark, give them up and maybe, just maybe, someone besides me will find it in their heart to go easy on you. Because I'm warning you, you are quickly running out of time."
He punctuated his threats with quick lunges at Sark, but refrained from openly attacking.
Instead of answering him, Sark seemed to be concentrating on something else. His breathing was quickening, and his hands were braced on the table in front of him. His eyes still seemed to focus past Sydney, but now it seemed as if he was having trouble focusing at all.
"Goddammit Sark." Vaughn raised his gun again, but before he could move, Sydney was on her feet and twisting the weapon out of his hands.
"Control yourself Agent, what the hell do you think you're doing?"
Surprise finally registered, and Vaughn stared at her as if for the first time. His eyes narrowed and all sense seemed to leave his brown pupils. With a disgusted snarl hardly resembling words, Vaughn stalked out of the café car.
Peeved at Vaughn's out of character behavior, Sydney brooded for a minute without taking note of Sark. By the time she turned back to him, he was staring at her with an expression resembling abject terror. Before she could stop herself, she asked. "What?"
"Nothing." He mumbled it, the swagger and arrogance so inborn in him vanishing without a trace. Again he took to staring at the spot on the wall past her head. His breathing, which Sydney had assumed had been caused by Vaughn's violent display, was as shallow as ever, and his knuckles began to slowly turn chalk white. Either he had a concussion and was about to pass out, or he was deathly afraid of her for some reason.
The concussion notion seemed to fit better, so Sydney decided it was in her responsibility to at least keep the man alive for further questioning, if not for humanitarian reasons. She was not, however, prepared for Sark's reaction. Drawing a hand across his forehead to feel for the telltale bump, Sydney was more curious about the tension with which he stared at her. What was going on?
But before she could explore further, the conductor reappeared. "We're here, the police notified some other agents waiting for you at the station, I think they're expecting you?"
Sydney nodded curtly, and turned back to Sark. He had, in the meantime, passed out.
