Title: Raw Precision
Author: UConnFan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.
Dedication: For Secret Agent Girl. What IS your name? lol, I'd love to put it in the story (or one of the stories) somewhere, and Erin because now I'm listening to "My Immortal" obsessively as I write this fic. Well, that and John Mayer.
A/N: I was thinking, I don't know about you guys but I listen to a lot of music when I write my stuff. Or when I read something - helps set the mood. If anyone's interested, I've primarily been listening to "My Immortal" (Evanescence - sp?); "Back to You" (John Mayer) & "You're Missing" (Bruce Springsteen) while writing this fic. Especially "My Immortal" and "You're Missing". Just a thought. Or really anything equally depressing will do.
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~*Back to me
I know that it comes
Back to me
Doesn't it scare you
Your will is not as strong
As it used to be*~ John Mayer, Back to You
Will was half-awake when he stumbled to answer his front door, surprised to see Sydney standing there. Still, he was more surprised to see the pools in her eyes. She looked up as the door creaked open and met his gaze, whispering, "Becky's leaving Vaughn."
"What?"
"Becky's going to leave Vaughn," she sniffled. "I thought that was what I wanted…So why am I so scared?"
"Syd," he sighed and pulled her into the house. "How'd you find this out?"
"She told me. I ruined their marriage."
"You haven't done anything wrong, you've just been yourself," he assured her. Seconds later he had her sitting on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "Are you sure she's going to leave him?"
A slight nod of her head was followed by her sniffles. "She's going home to Connecticut. How could I let this happen?"
"Becky and Michael are grown ups. If she's leaving him now then their marriage probably wasn't all that great to begin with."
"They loved each other."
Will sighed and handed her a tissue. "We both know that's not always enough."
"Why am I scared?"
"You're the bravest person I know Syd," he assured her, resting his arms around her on the sofa. "Whatever you're scared of, I know you won't let it keep you down. You can't blame yourself for this either. If Becky leaves Michael, it's her decision."
"I know I was a factor," she sniffled.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Neither you nor Michael would betray her like that. This is her decision. This is *her* life. If she felt that they legitimately had a chance, I don't think she'd be giving up this quickly."
"I just want my life back. Two years, no one has the right to take two years from me," she began to cry.
"They don't," Will calmly agreed. "We're going to get them Syd. Each day we're closer. Maybe when things finally settle down, your life will be even better than it was."
"I had almost everything I wanted," Sydney recalled. "My two best friends were happy, I had the man I loved, a job I was making a difference in…"
"You still have me Syd. You have your Dad. Dixon, Marshall, Carrie, we're all here for you. You still make a difference at the CIA," he reminded her. Then softly he added, "We both know you'll always have Vaughn. Maybe not the way you did before, but he'll always be there for you."
"Can I stay here tonight?" Her request was muffled against the fabric of his T-shirt. "I know my Dad will want an explanation, and I don't want to talk anymore."
"Sure Syd, you can stay as long as you like," he promised, holding her until she fell asleep.
The next morning, breakfast was an uncharacteristically silent affair in the Vaughn household. Breakfast had already been placed on the table when he emerged from the shower, and Becky smiled at him as she took a sip of her orange juice. She'd already been fast asleep on the sofa when he'd returned from his hockey game the night before, although she did leave a plate of dinner in the microwave for him. Halfway through the meal she finally broke the silence. "Did you ever watch the X-Files?"
"What? Why?" he replied, obviously caught off guard by his wife's question.
"A few days ago…Maybe it was a few weeks now," she struggled to remember. "I was in the parking garage at work and I saw you and Sydney. You weren't doing anything wrong, just holding hands, talking. In that moment I had this horrible realization Michael. All I could think was, I was Diana Fowley to your Mulder and Sydney's Scully. I *hated* that woman. Don't get me wrong, Mimi Rogers is a wonderful actress, but I hated the character. She was so obviously put there just to make Scully jealous, especially since everyone knew her and Mulder belonged together -"
Michael reached over to seize her hand. "Beck. I never saw whatever episode you're talking about," he explained. With a half smile he added, "You're babbling."
"I am, aren't I?" she realized. "For a season, maybe a season and a half, I loathed the sight of Diana Fowley. I would get so mad… She didn't belong, she was just interfering. The relationship between Mulder and Scully, the X-Files in general, it was something she had no business being a part of. When I saw you and Sydney together, just talking, I realized that *I* was interfering on something I had no part of. Something that I'll *never* have a part of," Becky calmly spoke.
Across from her his wrinkles emerged, "What are you talking about?"
"You and Sydney. When I was with Brandon, all of my energy was focused on *him*, on loving him and being with him. That's how it's supposed to be. I strode to do better in school and be better as a person for *him*. Brandon loved me with all my quirks and lukewarm academic achievement but I wanted to make him proud. At the end of a day I'd want to go home and either tell him everything or just rest in his arms. Right now, if someone called and told me that he was back, he was alive and needed me. I'd drop everything, Michael."
"Of course."
"You dropped everything for Sydney. You were out of here in less than fifteen minutes from the moment Kendall called. The thing is, if Brandon came back, I'd want to be with him. I can't fault you for wanting that with Sydney."
Distress crossed his strong features. "Beck, I never said -"
"Actions speak louder than words. Not to say you've done anything wrong, I know you haven't, but it's obvious. We could have been happy, but now that Sydney's back . . . I love you, and the best thing I can do for you is let you go."
"Excuse me?"
"I hate being alone, but I'm not happy. Not here, not with the agency. You are an amazing agent, and an incredible man. You've helped me through so much, and I hope that I've helped you too. This isn't what we want though. This isn't easy," she conceded as her chin started to tremble. "My tenure officially ends with the agency on Friday, but I'm using the remainder of my PTO days this upcoming week. I'm going to start packing and making arrangements. I'd like to get an annulment and I'd also like us to remain friends. I don't think that's too much to ask."
"Maybe you just need some time Becky, we could take some time -"
"You can run but you can't hide." She wiped away her tears and continued, "You can't argue or try to reason with me on this Michael. I've done nothing but think about this for a long time. Eventually it was my sister who convinced me that I had the strength to do this. That I had to. This is for me too. I'm going to go back home. Maybe set up a
practice, maybe not. I might just do some work for my mother's business . . . I haven't decided yet. I'm thirty-six years old, I shouldn't be afraid of being on my own anymore. You have been incredible Michael, and the time I had with you I would never change."
"I can't believe this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't think to consult me on this?" he stood and glared at her.
"Why?" She pulled to her feet. "Michael you would have tried to talk me out of it and if I hadn't made a decision I might have let you. You're a good man. You're one of the few I know who still firmly believes in the sacred nature of a marriage. Still, I don't think it'll be hard to prove to the church that you weren't in your right mind when you married me. You're *still* not in your right mind."
"I'm fine!"
"No, you're not." Becky calmly shook her head. "You're miserable, twisted in a thousand different pieces. First you were drenched with grief and now you've added guilt. I *know* you love me, but you're never going to look at me the way you look at her. I'm not angry and you shouldn't be either. I'm just tired."
"My wife is leaving me and you say I shouldn't be angry?"
Becky shrugged. "Call it a pre-emptive strike. I'm being realistic. Now that Sydney's back, we didn't have a chance in hell at a good marriage. One thing you and I are both cursed with is a guilty conscience. From the moment you looked her in the eye and told her you were married, I've watched you silently beat the crap out of yourself. Then when I met her and saw how devastated she was by all of this, I've hated myself. So I'm saving both of us the trouble."
Vaughn sat back down and glared at her, "You had no right to make this decision without me."
"Maybe, maybe not," she conceded. "It was *my* decision to make though. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to do this. One day I'm hoping you might even thank me for it."
"We were building a life together Becky!"
"You were going to build a life with Sydney too. That chance got taken from both of you. I'm giving it back to you."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because since Sydney's come back I've done nothing but put myself in your shoes. If it were me, I'd want you to give me the same respect, the same opportunity. You and Sydney . . . The difficulties in your relationship were set into motion decades before you ever met. Nothing will ever be easy, but it could be incredible. Some of the toughest years of my life were spent with Brandon; things were difficult financially and I was exhausted, he was overworked . . . yet they were still the best years of my life," she fondly recalled. Becky took a moment to compose herself and continued. "One thing you love to play is the comforter, the protector. You're good at that Michael, you can stay calm and strong when the rest of the world is in shambles. You were that for me, years after I believed I stopped needing one. It's one thing for me to need you, but it's an entirely different horse when Sydney needs you. I've seen that woman's file Michael, she deserves her own damn Barbie!" Becky's eyes widened. From his position near the refrigerator he couldn't help but laugh. "Of all the men in the world, she needs *you*, and I think you need her too. So keep working at it, take things slow. That woman loves you and as long as she thinks she has a snowball's chance in hell with you, she's not going to go anywhere."
"You deserve someone fantastic, you know that?" he softly inquired.
She smiled and slowly stood. "I'm being a bit selfish here too. Like I said, it's what I'd want you to do if things were the other way around."
"What do we do now?" Vaughn sighed, his arms crossed as his back rested against the cold refrigerator door. "Do I take the sofa?"
"No," she laughed. For a moment he remembered the first time he'd heard her melodic laugh and recalled how desperately he'd wanted to melt into that sound. "I take the sofa. You're much too tall. I'm going to stay with my sister, either tomorrow night or Tuesday. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to pack."
"You don't have to go right away Beck, take your time -"
"I want to go. My life in Los Angeles, my life with you, is over. Plus, the sooner I'm out of here, the sooner I can start crying," she forced a small smile. With a sad sigh he pulled his wife into his arms. In his arms Vaughn felt her body quiver and her hands grip his shirt before she began to cry. "I *know* I'm doing the right thing," she pushed out through her tears. "Damn it Michael, I *know*."
"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?" he replied, his head on top of hers. "Becky, I never meant to hurt you."
"Please," she pulled back to meet his features. In the dark kitchen light his green eyes seemed even darker, more beautiful than usual. "Just promise me something," Becky softly requested as she used one hand to wipe away her tears.
"What is it?"
"Promise me you don't waste this. I don't expect it to happen overnight but *please* don't be stupid. I need to know that you're going to be with her, that I'm not doing this completely stupid thing for no reason."
"You don't know Sydney," Vaughn chuckled. "She's not going to let it go that easily."
"Nor should she. Neither of us intended to, but we hurt her. Sydney wasn't there; she'll never completely understand the hell you went through. Don't you dare give up on her though, or you're a fool."
"The CIA frowns up fraternization between agents," he stoically reminded her.
Becky laughed and gently pulled from his gaze. Calmly she sat at the table, her face still slightly red and puffy from her recent outburst. "The CIA rules never seemed to matter too much to either of you," she pointed out, taking a bite of her now lukewarm breakfast. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, the CIA won't do anything to you. You've proven to be one of the best agents out there, and Sydney's reputation proceeds her. Plus you'll have Jack Bristow on your side. I doubt anyone would say anything. Just be discreet."
He rejoined her and shook his head, "I can't believe I'm getting relationship advice from my wife."
"I love you Michael, and I can't watch you spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over what happened with Sydney. Don't get me wrong, part of me hates you, hates that we both put ourselves in this situation . . . I don't want to have a nasty divorce. I've seen the inside of too many of those. I want us to be friends. I want to talk to you when this is over, to know that I did the right thing."
"Did you know you're one of the most incredible people I've ever met?"
Becky smiled for a moment and grew serious, "But I'm no Sydney Bristow, just like you'll never be Brandon."
"I wish I could bring him back for you Beck."
"You have Sydney back. I've prayed and wished day in and day out since I met you that you had some sort of resolution to all of this, some closure. This was obviously not what I had in mind, it's really a miracle," she smiled as her husband twisted uncomfortably. "I know you're not a particularly religious person Michael, but it gives me comfort. For me this is the closest I'll ever get to seeing a miracle."
"Do miracles mean happy endings?"
"I hope so."
Headquarters was filled with the appropriate amount of non-eager agents come Monday morning. Another weekend had passed too quickly and it was back to the surprisingly dull business of national security. For a handful of agents, however, the weekend had been perhaps too long.
Sydney was one of those agents as she entered the building with her father. Jack had asked all the right questions over the weekend, interested but not too eager to know what had caused his daughter's impromptu sleepover with Will Tippin. When he'd discovered her in the kitchen on the earliest hours of Monday, nursing a mug of lukewarm tea, he sat in silence with her. She'd felt no desire to talk, and he was more than willing to be her silent rock.
Kendall had scheduled a debrief first thing that morning. The director strode confidently into the conference room, his features contorting when he saw that he was only greeted by six faces, when he was certain he'd expected seven. Judging by the confusion on several of the agents' faces, they were just as confused as he was. "Where the hell is Sydney?" he demanded to know.
Jack straightened in his chair. "My daughter went to see Agent Kerr."
"I didn't schedule her next appointment until Wednesday," Kendall recalled.
"She felt it was more important to go see Agent Kerr than it was to be here," Jack explained.
"The whole damn point of this conference was to discuss what the forensic team found in Morocco related to Sydney's disappearance!"
"Sydney asked for my clearance to miss the meeting to go see Agent Kerr. I agreed with her assessment that it was more important," Jack replied. "I didn't think it would be an issue."
"Why don't we just reschedule until this afternoon?" Dixon calmly rationalized.
"The point is that Agent Bristow should have cleared this with *me*," Kendall shot back.
"Listen, Syd's not here, she had to go see Agent Kerr. Isn't it sort of important that she gets her memories back? Her memories are more likely to give us leads on Sloane than whatever we found in Morocco," Will reasoned.
"I want to have a word with your daughter before she leaves today," Kendall looked at Jack.
His face blank, Jack replied, "I don't think that's necessary. Sydney had my approval. Is this or is this not a joint-task between the FBI and CIA? You're FBI, I'm CIA. I gave her clearance, that's all she needed."
"You two aren't going to start fighting, are you? Because Carrie's pretty pregnant, any unnecessary tension -"
"Marshall," the two directors barked at once.
"This meeting is postponed, and someone please tell Agent Bristow that she *better* be here at two," Kendall snapped as the group disbanded.
Unaware of the conflict her absence caused, Sydney walked to Kerr's office with purpose. The door clicked open as Kerr looked up, surprise briefly on her face before she smiled. "Sydney. What are you doing here?"
"I had a nightmare," she explained before she shook her head. "Only it wasn't a nightmare, I was *remembering*."
"You had a flashback," Kerr corrected and silently offered Sydney a seat. "What, exactly, happened in your flashback?" she questioned, having placed a small recorder on the table and pressed record.
"I was in Morocco. The warehouse, I was *there*, and then I wasn't."
"Do you remember where they took you?"
"Not exactly," her head shook in frustration. "I saw signs, heard dialect . . . I don't have any proof, but I think I was in Rome."
"Rome?"
"It makes sense, doesn't it? We know I was with Sloane and everything about Sloane goes back to Rambaldi. He was the architect to the Pope, the Vatican is in Rome. Whatever he needed… whatever he needed me to for, I think it might have been in Rome."
"Do you remember anything else?"
"Sark. I remember bits and pieces of him, questioning me, threatening me . . . They'd tell me things, things I didn't possibly think could be true."
"What type of things did they tell you Sydney?"
Sydney readjusted her body in the chair and scratched her forehead. Kerr noted how the agent avoided looking directly at her. "About my father, how he was in a wheelchair. That the CIA had given up on finding me alive, that people thought I was a traitor…Anything to get me to cooperate."
"So you refused to cooperate?"
"Of course I did! I don't remember much, but I do remember whatever the hell they used me for, I was uncooperative!"
"Calm down Sydney," Kerr soothed. "You're safe now, I'm not making any accusations, I just want to understand."
"I know," she sighed and crossed her arms. "I know that, I do, but now I'm remembering all the things they told me. So much of it was lies, but I'm just trying to understand when they were telling the truth."
"Did they ever say anything about why they needed you?"
"I-I-I don't remember yet," she stuttered uncomfortably. "I don't want to have another therapy session, not yet. I want to see what else I can remember without assistance."
"We can postpone it a few days, give you some time," Kerr agreed.
"I remember Sloane told me I had brought it upon myself. If I hadn't found out about Francie…If I hadn't tried to find him after the Alliance fell . . . He tried to convince me that I did it to myself. I know I didn't, but he tried to make me think I had."
"Arvin Sloane is a very persuasive man, there's no other way he could have accomplished what he did."
"I know all of his tricks. No one knows better than I do, what sort of horrible person he is. I've met so many types of people in this business, so many undesirable characters, but no one makes me as sick to my stomach as Sloane does. I don't know how long it's going to take me, but I will find him and I will bring him back."
"You went to Morocco, correct? To follow up the lead on Sloane and Sark?" Kerr asked.
"Yes," Sydney agreed. "I went to Morocco. Being there apparently helped spur my memories."
"You're getting them back Sydney, that's a good sign. Your reappearance is the best lead we have on Sloane, you are your own best shot at catching him." Kerr smiled warmly at the brunette and then dismissed her. There was nothing else to share, and it was obvious the agent held no desire to be there longer than necessary.
Sydney was greeted by a breathless Marshall, who took nearly five minutes to convey the message that the debrief had been rescheduled in her absence. Still a few hours stood between her and whatever burst of temper Kendall would certainly share with her that afternoon. Instead she sat down and got down to work, eager to concentrate on something other than the newly discovered memories.
"Congratulations Agent Bristow, this seems to be your lucky day," Kendall declared as he swaggered into the conference room. "Not only did we uncover evidence that you were in Morocco for a significant time, Agent Kerr also tells me you've uncovered a bit of your memories on your own."
Nearly every head in the room swished to look at Sydney. The strength of her chin and the sharp curve of her back never faltered when she replied, "Yes. I believe I was being held in Rome."
"Good. I'll want to establish a better idea of why you were there or better yet where you were before we dispatch a team," the director explained. For a moment the group that had gathered watched his stance soften as he briefly looked at Sydney, "Will you be okay to continue with the dispatch or do you need to go home?"
"I'm fine," she was quick to promise.
Just as fast as it appeared, the nearly undetectable softness disappeared from Kendall's features. "Good. As I said before, we now have proof that you were in Morocco. The forensics team isn't certain, but they estimate that it was anywhere from four to six months. They found evidence in various parts of the warehouse and property, so it's possible you thought they'd relocated you when they just moved you around the property," Kendall droned on. "I expect you'll want to be on the team that goes to Rome Agent Bristow?"
"Yes," she agreed.
The director sighed, "Jack?"
"Sydney's trips into the field will be at her own discretion until she is given a field grade," Jack commented.
"What type of evidence did the team in Morocco discover?" Dixon questioned.
Kendall's lips pierced together. "Among other things, forensic evidence, DNA . . . "
"What do you mean among other things?" Sydney's eyes grew.
For a moment Kendall met Jack Bristow's eyes and for the first time they seemed to have reached a silent understanding. The FBI director sighed and placed a remote control in front of her. A horrible sense of deja vu surged through her veins as the group slowly began to disband towards the door, taking their cue from the directors. Vaughn accidentally met her gaze across the room as he began to get up, the last of the group to leave her be. Sydney picked up the remote as she heard his footsteps approach the door.
"Stay," she quietly requested.
Without turning around, she swore she could hear his internal debate. Finally the conference room door slid to a close, and she heard him settle into the seat behind her. "Are you sure you want to see this?" Vaughn asked quietly.
Still she didn't look at him. "I don't know," she confessed. Then she pressed 'play'.
Arvin Sloane was either the most egotistical or the most voyeuristic person she'd ever met. Perhaps he was both. Briefly she considered that he'd left the tape behind on purpose. Either way, the scene started out nearly benign. There was no sound, and the image was grainy. Years of training served as a double-edged sword, as she clearly saw what the tape was portraying. The image of herself tied down in a chair. For the next fifteen minutes they endured a morage of scenes. People neither of them recognized approached her, and it appeared as though she struggled as she was injected with some unknown substance. Towards the end Sloane appeared, and while it wasn't clear what he was telling her, it was obvious Sydney was doing her best to dish it out as good as she was getting it. Finally the feed died away to snow. Behind her Vaughn was stunned, rubbing his temples as he studied Sydney's reaction.
"Syd?"
Her elbows rested on the table, her chin settled onto her folded hands as they sat in silence. "I don't consider myself a violent person Vaughn," Sydney finally spoke. "I don't usually support the death penalty either, but when the time comes I want to be the one to pull the switch."
"We could probably arrange that."
With a chuckle she sat back in her chair and looked at him, "Promise?"
"We're going to find him," he promised her, his _expression sincere. "Are you okay?"
Sydney met his eyes, silently wondering how things had gone with Becky. Certainly the CIA conference room was not the place to bring it up, but the curiousity lingered, even as the subject remained untouched. "I'm fine," she assured him, internally wondering the same thing about him.
"Rome?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "I think so. It makes sense, doesn't it? We can only assume Rambaldi lived or at least worked in the area when he worked as an architect to the Pope. Everything about Sloane goes back to Rambaldi, I just wished I'd thought of it sooner."
"You'll remember everything Syd, it's just going to take some time."
The door clicked open as both turned to see Jack Bristow expectantly in the doorframe. "Sydney?"
Silently Vaughn looked at her before he respectfully brushed by Jack and out of the room. "I'm fine Dad," she promised him once Vaughn was gone.
"You know better than anyone how manipulative Sloane is. We have to anticipate that every piece of evidence we find was left with a purpose. This man never leaves anything behind by accident."
"Why did he want me to see this?"
"To flaunt that he had you all along? I've been in this business a long time and motive is rarely easy to understand."
"I didn't mean to upset Kendall -"
"I dealt with it Sydney, don't concern yourself with Director Kendall," Jack assured her. "Why don't you go home? You've had a long day."
Jack watched her shoulders droop as she looked back at the snowy screen. "Are there any more tapes?"
"No. Not that we've discovered," he explained. "Go home Sydney."
After a moment of internal debate she stood. At the doorway she exchanged a prolonged look with her father before she disappeared into the cluster of CIA agents.
The remaining hours in the day dragged on for Vaughn. By the time he approached his apartment complex he felt as if he'd worked eighty hours as opposed to the eight and a half he'd actually clocked in. Not that the CIA paid by the hour, his mind quipped as he pulled his car into a slot. Wearily he grabbed his briefcase and was already making short work of his tie and the first buttons of his dress shirt when he arrived on his floor.
Approaching the apartment he realized that the door was opened. Mere steps from the door a familiar figure of medium height with burnette hair walked out. "Linda," he spoke in greeting. The woman he'd called his sister in law for the past few months was carrying a box and looking none too pleased with him.
"Michael," she tensely replied and brushed past him. Stepping foot inside of the apartment he was surprised at how little he had. Gone was the plush La-Z-Boy recliner that Becky would curl into in the evenings, and only marks on the carpet remained from the antique wooden desk that was once by the window. Both had been in her family, both had sentimental value to her as well. Two bookcases were gone, and with them, all the medical texts that had baffled him. Sting and The Boss looked sullen without Mozart and Gospel stuck in between the slots of the CD tower. The aged crucifix that had come with her family from Italy over a century ago was gone from the wall, and his collection of photos had dwindled to a handful spread across the living area.
Becky emerged from the bedroom, suited in an oversized University of Connecticut T-shirt and gray sweatpants, both which he assumed must have belonged to Brandon. The silver band and diamond he'd placed on her left hand only months before were replaced by an aged slice of gold around her finger, this time on her right hand. After a moment he realized she'd put back on the ring Brandon had given her, although on the opposite hand. He remembered that she'd shown him the ring once when she recounted a story of her late husband, and he'd noticed the inscription - In Heaven, too, You Have My Hand. The young man who'd placed it on her finger could not have known how true those words would one day ring.
"We're almost done here," she smiled and set a box on the couch. "How was work?"
"It was fine," he wiped under his nose and stuck his hands uncomfortably in his pockets. "Do you need to stay here-"
"I'm fine," she promised. "I'm calling my attorney and priest tomorrow. I'll call the landlord too, get my name off of the deed."
With a solemn _expression he nodded, "Good." It was only in his eyes that she could see his obvious pain.
Becky sighed and leaned heavily against the back of the sofa. "I know you won't listen to me Michael, but I do wish you wouldn't feel guilty about this. I could be a real bitch and drag this out, but then I'd end up hating myself more than you ever could."
He sighed a matching sigh and rested next to her. "I'm sorry Becky."
"I'm not," she smiled and shook her head. "I'm really not. You gave me back something I lost. You gave me
someone to be with. Sometimes…Sometimes all you need is a hand to hold, someone's voice to be there to listen to yours at midnight . . . Thank you for that." She gently squeezed his hand. Slowly her posture straightened and she reached into the pocket of the loose pants. "I found something when I was packing. I think it belongs to you," she explained. From her pocket emerged a nearly forgotten black velvet box.
Michael's eyes widened slightly as he took it from her. "I'd forgotten about that," he whispered as he examined the box. "I wasn't ready to ask her," he sighed. "Not yet anyway. I was thinking about asking her in Santa Barbara. Actually I almost bought it before the Alliance even went down - stupid, huh?" he chuckled.
"No, it's not," Becky corrected.
"I just saw it one day. I wasn't looking for it. I was trying to get some damn hypo-allergenic shampoo for Donovan and ended up at the pet store in the mall. The ring was just sitting there in the jewelry case across from the pet shop. At the time I was quite pleased with myself - I waited ten days from the time I saw it until I purchased it."
"You went back after the Alliance fell."
"I knew it was the one." He clicked the box open slightly. From where she stood Becky couldn't even study the ring but had no doubt it was beautiful. When she'd discovered it, she knew immediately what it was - the ring he'd given her had come in an understated gray box. She hadn't known he'd ever bought a ring, but it didn't come as a particular surprise.
"Keep it Michael. You never know, you might still need it one day," she smiled.
Another chuckle as his body drooped even further against the sofa. "We hadn't even been together that long."
"In the time you knew her, the two of you endured more than some couples who have been married decades," she explained.
Linda reappeared in the doorway. "Ready to rock Sis?" she asked, picking up the box from the sofa.
"Yeah, I'll be right down," Becky called as her sister tersely nodded at Michael and left. Then she turned towards him and smiled apologetically.
"She never liked me much anyway."
"Not really," she chuckled. A few seconds later a sober _expression fluttered across her features. "Of all the people in the world, she chose you and you chose her. Now make it work."
His lips quirked into a smile, "Didn't you get that from a movie?"
"Sort of," she smiled. "I paraphrased."
"Do you believe it?"
Just as softly as it disappeared, her smile reappeared as she looked down at her right hand. "One person. If you can make it work, no matter what hell the rest of the world puts you through, no accomplishment ever feels quite as important."
"I'm sorry he's gone Becky."
Tears stubbornly appeared in her eyes, causing the light to glitter off of her orbs when she met his gaze. "So am I. But every night Michael, every night I thank whatever is or isn't up there that I had him." An impatient and distinctive car honked in the parking lot. "My sister's impatient," she chuckled. "I'll call you next week, once I get things settled?"
"Take care of yourself Beck," Michael whispered, pulling her into his arms. "Thank you."
"You too Michael," she said as she stepped out of his arms. One foot in the hallway, another in the door, he called her name.
Expectantly, she twisted her head to look at him.
"I do love you."
A sad smile spread across her face. "If only it was that simple, huh?" Seconds later, the door shut behind her with a click so quiet, that it resounded through the apartment for the remainder of the night.
A/N: Agent Gilmore - I expected Kentucky to do better. I really like them, they're a fun team to watch. I forget how far I had them going in the brackets (I'm such a loser, it's May and I finally tossed my March Madness brackets - than again I still have a tape of a UConn game in my VCR) but it was pretty deep. Don't mind me, I just watch every college basketball game I can get my hands on - needless to say, March is a pretty busy time for me!
Author: UConnFan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: Post "The Telling"; be warned, it picks up immediately where ep leaves off.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own. Never will. Dream job is a writer on this show, but I'm only seventeen so I'll stick to fanfiction. Don't own anything else recognizable either. The only thing I have control of is Becky, and if you really want her (why would you want her?!) then you can have her.
Dedication: For Secret Agent Girl. What IS your name? lol, I'd love to put it in the story (or one of the stories) somewhere, and Erin because now I'm listening to "My Immortal" obsessively as I write this fic. Well, that and John Mayer.
A/N: I was thinking, I don't know about you guys but I listen to a lot of music when I write my stuff. Or when I read something - helps set the mood. If anyone's interested, I've primarily been listening to "My Immortal" (Evanescence - sp?); "Back to You" (John Mayer) & "You're Missing" (Bruce Springsteen) while writing this fic. Especially "My Immortal" and "You're Missing". Just a thought. Or really anything equally depressing will do.
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~*Back to me
I know that it comes
Back to me
Doesn't it scare you
Your will is not as strong
As it used to be*~ John Mayer, Back to You
Will was half-awake when he stumbled to answer his front door, surprised to see Sydney standing there. Still, he was more surprised to see the pools in her eyes. She looked up as the door creaked open and met his gaze, whispering, "Becky's leaving Vaughn."
"What?"
"Becky's going to leave Vaughn," she sniffled. "I thought that was what I wanted…So why am I so scared?"
"Syd," he sighed and pulled her into the house. "How'd you find this out?"
"She told me. I ruined their marriage."
"You haven't done anything wrong, you've just been yourself," he assured her. Seconds later he had her sitting on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "Are you sure she's going to leave him?"
A slight nod of her head was followed by her sniffles. "She's going home to Connecticut. How could I let this happen?"
"Becky and Michael are grown ups. If she's leaving him now then their marriage probably wasn't all that great to begin with."
"They loved each other."
Will sighed and handed her a tissue. "We both know that's not always enough."
"Why am I scared?"
"You're the bravest person I know Syd," he assured her, resting his arms around her on the sofa. "Whatever you're scared of, I know you won't let it keep you down. You can't blame yourself for this either. If Becky leaves Michael, it's her decision."
"I know I was a factor," she sniffled.
"You didn't do anything wrong. Neither you nor Michael would betray her like that. This is her decision. This is *her* life. If she felt that they legitimately had a chance, I don't think she'd be giving up this quickly."
"I just want my life back. Two years, no one has the right to take two years from me," she began to cry.
"They don't," Will calmly agreed. "We're going to get them Syd. Each day we're closer. Maybe when things finally settle down, your life will be even better than it was."
"I had almost everything I wanted," Sydney recalled. "My two best friends were happy, I had the man I loved, a job I was making a difference in…"
"You still have me Syd. You have your Dad. Dixon, Marshall, Carrie, we're all here for you. You still make a difference at the CIA," he reminded her. Then softly he added, "We both know you'll always have Vaughn. Maybe not the way you did before, but he'll always be there for you."
"Can I stay here tonight?" Her request was muffled against the fabric of his T-shirt. "I know my Dad will want an explanation, and I don't want to talk anymore."
"Sure Syd, you can stay as long as you like," he promised, holding her until she fell asleep.
The next morning, breakfast was an uncharacteristically silent affair in the Vaughn household. Breakfast had already been placed on the table when he emerged from the shower, and Becky smiled at him as she took a sip of her orange juice. She'd already been fast asleep on the sofa when he'd returned from his hockey game the night before, although she did leave a plate of dinner in the microwave for him. Halfway through the meal she finally broke the silence. "Did you ever watch the X-Files?"
"What? Why?" he replied, obviously caught off guard by his wife's question.
"A few days ago…Maybe it was a few weeks now," she struggled to remember. "I was in the parking garage at work and I saw you and Sydney. You weren't doing anything wrong, just holding hands, talking. In that moment I had this horrible realization Michael. All I could think was, I was Diana Fowley to your Mulder and Sydney's Scully. I *hated* that woman. Don't get me wrong, Mimi Rogers is a wonderful actress, but I hated the character. She was so obviously put there just to make Scully jealous, especially since everyone knew her and Mulder belonged together -"
Michael reached over to seize her hand. "Beck. I never saw whatever episode you're talking about," he explained. With a half smile he added, "You're babbling."
"I am, aren't I?" she realized. "For a season, maybe a season and a half, I loathed the sight of Diana Fowley. I would get so mad… She didn't belong, she was just interfering. The relationship between Mulder and Scully, the X-Files in general, it was something she had no business being a part of. When I saw you and Sydney together, just talking, I realized that *I* was interfering on something I had no part of. Something that I'll *never* have a part of," Becky calmly spoke.
Across from her his wrinkles emerged, "What are you talking about?"
"You and Sydney. When I was with Brandon, all of my energy was focused on *him*, on loving him and being with him. That's how it's supposed to be. I strode to do better in school and be better as a person for *him*. Brandon loved me with all my quirks and lukewarm academic achievement but I wanted to make him proud. At the end of a day I'd want to go home and either tell him everything or just rest in his arms. Right now, if someone called and told me that he was back, he was alive and needed me. I'd drop everything, Michael."
"Of course."
"You dropped everything for Sydney. You were out of here in less than fifteen minutes from the moment Kendall called. The thing is, if Brandon came back, I'd want to be with him. I can't fault you for wanting that with Sydney."
Distress crossed his strong features. "Beck, I never said -"
"Actions speak louder than words. Not to say you've done anything wrong, I know you haven't, but it's obvious. We could have been happy, but now that Sydney's back . . . I love you, and the best thing I can do for you is let you go."
"Excuse me?"
"I hate being alone, but I'm not happy. Not here, not with the agency. You are an amazing agent, and an incredible man. You've helped me through so much, and I hope that I've helped you too. This isn't what we want though. This isn't easy," she conceded as her chin started to tremble. "My tenure officially ends with the agency on Friday, but I'm using the remainder of my PTO days this upcoming week. I'm going to start packing and making arrangements. I'd like to get an annulment and I'd also like us to remain friends. I don't think that's too much to ask."
"Maybe you just need some time Becky, we could take some time -"
"You can run but you can't hide." She wiped away her tears and continued, "You can't argue or try to reason with me on this Michael. I've done nothing but think about this for a long time. Eventually it was my sister who convinced me that I had the strength to do this. That I had to. This is for me too. I'm going to go back home. Maybe set up a
practice, maybe not. I might just do some work for my mother's business . . . I haven't decided yet. I'm thirty-six years old, I shouldn't be afraid of being on my own anymore. You have been incredible Michael, and the time I had with you I would never change."
"I can't believe this." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You didn't think to consult me on this?" he stood and glared at her.
"Why?" She pulled to her feet. "Michael you would have tried to talk me out of it and if I hadn't made a decision I might have let you. You're a good man. You're one of the few I know who still firmly believes in the sacred nature of a marriage. Still, I don't think it'll be hard to prove to the church that you weren't in your right mind when you married me. You're *still* not in your right mind."
"I'm fine!"
"No, you're not." Becky calmly shook her head. "You're miserable, twisted in a thousand different pieces. First you were drenched with grief and now you've added guilt. I *know* you love me, but you're never going to look at me the way you look at her. I'm not angry and you shouldn't be either. I'm just tired."
"My wife is leaving me and you say I shouldn't be angry?"
Becky shrugged. "Call it a pre-emptive strike. I'm being realistic. Now that Sydney's back, we didn't have a chance in hell at a good marriage. One thing you and I are both cursed with is a guilty conscience. From the moment you looked her in the eye and told her you were married, I've watched you silently beat the crap out of yourself. Then when I met her and saw how devastated she was by all of this, I've hated myself. So I'm saving both of us the trouble."
Vaughn sat back down and glared at her, "You had no right to make this decision without me."
"Maybe, maybe not," she conceded. "It was *my* decision to make though. Whether you like it or not, I'm going to do this. One day I'm hoping you might even thank me for it."
"We were building a life together Becky!"
"You were going to build a life with Sydney too. That chance got taken from both of you. I'm giving it back to you."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because since Sydney's come back I've done nothing but put myself in your shoes. If it were me, I'd want you to give me the same respect, the same opportunity. You and Sydney . . . The difficulties in your relationship were set into motion decades before you ever met. Nothing will ever be easy, but it could be incredible. Some of the toughest years of my life were spent with Brandon; things were difficult financially and I was exhausted, he was overworked . . . yet they were still the best years of my life," she fondly recalled. Becky took a moment to compose herself and continued. "One thing you love to play is the comforter, the protector. You're good at that Michael, you can stay calm and strong when the rest of the world is in shambles. You were that for me, years after I believed I stopped needing one. It's one thing for me to need you, but it's an entirely different horse when Sydney needs you. I've seen that woman's file Michael, she deserves her own damn Barbie!" Becky's eyes widened. From his position near the refrigerator he couldn't help but laugh. "Of all the men in the world, she needs *you*, and I think you need her too. So keep working at it, take things slow. That woman loves you and as long as she thinks she has a snowball's chance in hell with you, she's not going to go anywhere."
"You deserve someone fantastic, you know that?" he softly inquired.
She smiled and slowly stood. "I'm being a bit selfish here too. Like I said, it's what I'd want you to do if things were the other way around."
"What do we do now?" Vaughn sighed, his arms crossed as his back rested against the cold refrigerator door. "Do I take the sofa?"
"No," she laughed. For a moment he remembered the first time he'd heard her melodic laugh and recalled how desperately he'd wanted to melt into that sound. "I take the sofa. You're much too tall. I'm going to stay with my sister, either tomorrow night or Tuesday. I'm not sure how long it's going to take to pack."
"You don't have to go right away Beck, take your time -"
"I want to go. My life in Los Angeles, my life with you, is over. Plus, the sooner I'm out of here, the sooner I can start crying," she forced a small smile. With a sad sigh he pulled his wife into his arms. In his arms Vaughn felt her body quiver and her hands grip his shirt before she began to cry. "I *know* I'm doing the right thing," she pushed out through her tears. "Damn it Michael, I *know*."
"Doesn't make it any easier, does it?" he replied, his head on top of hers. "Becky, I never meant to hurt you."
"Please," she pulled back to meet his features. In the dark kitchen light his green eyes seemed even darker, more beautiful than usual. "Just promise me something," Becky softly requested as she used one hand to wipe away her tears.
"What is it?"
"Promise me you don't waste this. I don't expect it to happen overnight but *please* don't be stupid. I need to know that you're going to be with her, that I'm not doing this completely stupid thing for no reason."
"You don't know Sydney," Vaughn chuckled. "She's not going to let it go that easily."
"Nor should she. Neither of us intended to, but we hurt her. Sydney wasn't there; she'll never completely understand the hell you went through. Don't you dare give up on her though, or you're a fool."
"The CIA frowns up fraternization between agents," he stoically reminded her.
Becky laughed and gently pulled from his gaze. Calmly she sat at the table, her face still slightly red and puffy from her recent outburst. "The CIA rules never seemed to matter too much to either of you," she pointed out, taking a bite of her now lukewarm breakfast. "As long as it doesn't interfere with your work, the CIA won't do anything to you. You've proven to be one of the best agents out there, and Sydney's reputation proceeds her. Plus you'll have Jack Bristow on your side. I doubt anyone would say anything. Just be discreet."
He rejoined her and shook his head, "I can't believe I'm getting relationship advice from my wife."
"I love you Michael, and I can't watch you spend the rest of your life beating yourself up over what happened with Sydney. Don't get me wrong, part of me hates you, hates that we both put ourselves in this situation . . . I don't want to have a nasty divorce. I've seen the inside of too many of those. I want us to be friends. I want to talk to you when this is over, to know that I did the right thing."
"Did you know you're one of the most incredible people I've ever met?"
Becky smiled for a moment and grew serious, "But I'm no Sydney Bristow, just like you'll never be Brandon."
"I wish I could bring him back for you Beck."
"You have Sydney back. I've prayed and wished day in and day out since I met you that you had some sort of resolution to all of this, some closure. This was obviously not what I had in mind, it's really a miracle," she smiled as her husband twisted uncomfortably. "I know you're not a particularly religious person Michael, but it gives me comfort. For me this is the closest I'll ever get to seeing a miracle."
"Do miracles mean happy endings?"
"I hope so."
Headquarters was filled with the appropriate amount of non-eager agents come Monday morning. Another weekend had passed too quickly and it was back to the surprisingly dull business of national security. For a handful of agents, however, the weekend had been perhaps too long.
Sydney was one of those agents as she entered the building with her father. Jack had asked all the right questions over the weekend, interested but not too eager to know what had caused his daughter's impromptu sleepover with Will Tippin. When he'd discovered her in the kitchen on the earliest hours of Monday, nursing a mug of lukewarm tea, he sat in silence with her. She'd felt no desire to talk, and he was more than willing to be her silent rock.
Kendall had scheduled a debrief first thing that morning. The director strode confidently into the conference room, his features contorting when he saw that he was only greeted by six faces, when he was certain he'd expected seven. Judging by the confusion on several of the agents' faces, they were just as confused as he was. "Where the hell is Sydney?" he demanded to know.
Jack straightened in his chair. "My daughter went to see Agent Kerr."
"I didn't schedule her next appointment until Wednesday," Kendall recalled.
"She felt it was more important to go see Agent Kerr than it was to be here," Jack explained.
"The whole damn point of this conference was to discuss what the forensic team found in Morocco related to Sydney's disappearance!"
"Sydney asked for my clearance to miss the meeting to go see Agent Kerr. I agreed with her assessment that it was more important," Jack replied. "I didn't think it would be an issue."
"Why don't we just reschedule until this afternoon?" Dixon calmly rationalized.
"The point is that Agent Bristow should have cleared this with *me*," Kendall shot back.
"Listen, Syd's not here, she had to go see Agent Kerr. Isn't it sort of important that she gets her memories back? Her memories are more likely to give us leads on Sloane than whatever we found in Morocco," Will reasoned.
"I want to have a word with your daughter before she leaves today," Kendall looked at Jack.
His face blank, Jack replied, "I don't think that's necessary. Sydney had my approval. Is this or is this not a joint-task between the FBI and CIA? You're FBI, I'm CIA. I gave her clearance, that's all she needed."
"You two aren't going to start fighting, are you? Because Carrie's pretty pregnant, any unnecessary tension -"
"Marshall," the two directors barked at once.
"This meeting is postponed, and someone please tell Agent Bristow that she *better* be here at two," Kendall snapped as the group disbanded.
Unaware of the conflict her absence caused, Sydney walked to Kerr's office with purpose. The door clicked open as Kerr looked up, surprise briefly on her face before she smiled. "Sydney. What are you doing here?"
"I had a nightmare," she explained before she shook her head. "Only it wasn't a nightmare, I was *remembering*."
"You had a flashback," Kerr corrected and silently offered Sydney a seat. "What, exactly, happened in your flashback?" she questioned, having placed a small recorder on the table and pressed record.
"I was in Morocco. The warehouse, I was *there*, and then I wasn't."
"Do you remember where they took you?"
"Not exactly," her head shook in frustration. "I saw signs, heard dialect . . . I don't have any proof, but I think I was in Rome."
"Rome?"
"It makes sense, doesn't it? We know I was with Sloane and everything about Sloane goes back to Rambaldi. He was the architect to the Pope, the Vatican is in Rome. Whatever he needed… whatever he needed me to for, I think it might have been in Rome."
"Do you remember anything else?"
"Sark. I remember bits and pieces of him, questioning me, threatening me . . . They'd tell me things, things I didn't possibly think could be true."
"What type of things did they tell you Sydney?"
Sydney readjusted her body in the chair and scratched her forehead. Kerr noted how the agent avoided looking directly at her. "About my father, how he was in a wheelchair. That the CIA had given up on finding me alive, that people thought I was a traitor…Anything to get me to cooperate."
"So you refused to cooperate?"
"Of course I did! I don't remember much, but I do remember whatever the hell they used me for, I was uncooperative!"
"Calm down Sydney," Kerr soothed. "You're safe now, I'm not making any accusations, I just want to understand."
"I know," she sighed and crossed her arms. "I know that, I do, but now I'm remembering all the things they told me. So much of it was lies, but I'm just trying to understand when they were telling the truth."
"Did they ever say anything about why they needed you?"
"I-I-I don't remember yet," she stuttered uncomfortably. "I don't want to have another therapy session, not yet. I want to see what else I can remember without assistance."
"We can postpone it a few days, give you some time," Kerr agreed.
"I remember Sloane told me I had brought it upon myself. If I hadn't found out about Francie…If I hadn't tried to find him after the Alliance fell . . . He tried to convince me that I did it to myself. I know I didn't, but he tried to make me think I had."
"Arvin Sloane is a very persuasive man, there's no other way he could have accomplished what he did."
"I know all of his tricks. No one knows better than I do, what sort of horrible person he is. I've met so many types of people in this business, so many undesirable characters, but no one makes me as sick to my stomach as Sloane does. I don't know how long it's going to take me, but I will find him and I will bring him back."
"You went to Morocco, correct? To follow up the lead on Sloane and Sark?" Kerr asked.
"Yes," Sydney agreed. "I went to Morocco. Being there apparently helped spur my memories."
"You're getting them back Sydney, that's a good sign. Your reappearance is the best lead we have on Sloane, you are your own best shot at catching him." Kerr smiled warmly at the brunette and then dismissed her. There was nothing else to share, and it was obvious the agent held no desire to be there longer than necessary.
Sydney was greeted by a breathless Marshall, who took nearly five minutes to convey the message that the debrief had been rescheduled in her absence. Still a few hours stood between her and whatever burst of temper Kendall would certainly share with her that afternoon. Instead she sat down and got down to work, eager to concentrate on something other than the newly discovered memories.
"Congratulations Agent Bristow, this seems to be your lucky day," Kendall declared as he swaggered into the conference room. "Not only did we uncover evidence that you were in Morocco for a significant time, Agent Kerr also tells me you've uncovered a bit of your memories on your own."
Nearly every head in the room swished to look at Sydney. The strength of her chin and the sharp curve of her back never faltered when she replied, "Yes. I believe I was being held in Rome."
"Good. I'll want to establish a better idea of why you were there or better yet where you were before we dispatch a team," the director explained. For a moment the group that had gathered watched his stance soften as he briefly looked at Sydney, "Will you be okay to continue with the dispatch or do you need to go home?"
"I'm fine," she was quick to promise.
Just as fast as it appeared, the nearly undetectable softness disappeared from Kendall's features. "Good. As I said before, we now have proof that you were in Morocco. The forensics team isn't certain, but they estimate that it was anywhere from four to six months. They found evidence in various parts of the warehouse and property, so it's possible you thought they'd relocated you when they just moved you around the property," Kendall droned on. "I expect you'll want to be on the team that goes to Rome Agent Bristow?"
"Yes," she agreed.
The director sighed, "Jack?"
"Sydney's trips into the field will be at her own discretion until she is given a field grade," Jack commented.
"What type of evidence did the team in Morocco discover?" Dixon questioned.
Kendall's lips pierced together. "Among other things, forensic evidence, DNA . . . "
"What do you mean among other things?" Sydney's eyes grew.
For a moment Kendall met Jack Bristow's eyes and for the first time they seemed to have reached a silent understanding. The FBI director sighed and placed a remote control in front of her. A horrible sense of deja vu surged through her veins as the group slowly began to disband towards the door, taking their cue from the directors. Vaughn accidentally met her gaze across the room as he began to get up, the last of the group to leave her be. Sydney picked up the remote as she heard his footsteps approach the door.
"Stay," she quietly requested.
Without turning around, she swore she could hear his internal debate. Finally the conference room door slid to a close, and she heard him settle into the seat behind her. "Are you sure you want to see this?" Vaughn asked quietly.
Still she didn't look at him. "I don't know," she confessed. Then she pressed 'play'.
Arvin Sloane was either the most egotistical or the most voyeuristic person she'd ever met. Perhaps he was both. Briefly she considered that he'd left the tape behind on purpose. Either way, the scene started out nearly benign. There was no sound, and the image was grainy. Years of training served as a double-edged sword, as she clearly saw what the tape was portraying. The image of herself tied down in a chair. For the next fifteen minutes they endured a morage of scenes. People neither of them recognized approached her, and it appeared as though she struggled as she was injected with some unknown substance. Towards the end Sloane appeared, and while it wasn't clear what he was telling her, it was obvious Sydney was doing her best to dish it out as good as she was getting it. Finally the feed died away to snow. Behind her Vaughn was stunned, rubbing his temples as he studied Sydney's reaction.
"Syd?"
Her elbows rested on the table, her chin settled onto her folded hands as they sat in silence. "I don't consider myself a violent person Vaughn," Sydney finally spoke. "I don't usually support the death penalty either, but when the time comes I want to be the one to pull the switch."
"We could probably arrange that."
With a chuckle she sat back in her chair and looked at him, "Promise?"
"We're going to find him," he promised her, his _expression sincere. "Are you okay?"
Sydney met his eyes, silently wondering how things had gone with Becky. Certainly the CIA conference room was not the place to bring it up, but the curiousity lingered, even as the subject remained untouched. "I'm fine," she assured him, internally wondering the same thing about him.
"Rome?"
"Yeah," she nodded. "I think so. It makes sense, doesn't it? We can only assume Rambaldi lived or at least worked in the area when he worked as an architect to the Pope. Everything about Sloane goes back to Rambaldi, I just wished I'd thought of it sooner."
"You'll remember everything Syd, it's just going to take some time."
The door clicked open as both turned to see Jack Bristow expectantly in the doorframe. "Sydney?"
Silently Vaughn looked at her before he respectfully brushed by Jack and out of the room. "I'm fine Dad," she promised him once Vaughn was gone.
"You know better than anyone how manipulative Sloane is. We have to anticipate that every piece of evidence we find was left with a purpose. This man never leaves anything behind by accident."
"Why did he want me to see this?"
"To flaunt that he had you all along? I've been in this business a long time and motive is rarely easy to understand."
"I didn't mean to upset Kendall -"
"I dealt with it Sydney, don't concern yourself with Director Kendall," Jack assured her. "Why don't you go home? You've had a long day."
Jack watched her shoulders droop as she looked back at the snowy screen. "Are there any more tapes?"
"No. Not that we've discovered," he explained. "Go home Sydney."
After a moment of internal debate she stood. At the doorway she exchanged a prolonged look with her father before she disappeared into the cluster of CIA agents.
The remaining hours in the day dragged on for Vaughn. By the time he approached his apartment complex he felt as if he'd worked eighty hours as opposed to the eight and a half he'd actually clocked in. Not that the CIA paid by the hour, his mind quipped as he pulled his car into a slot. Wearily he grabbed his briefcase and was already making short work of his tie and the first buttons of his dress shirt when he arrived on his floor.
Approaching the apartment he realized that the door was opened. Mere steps from the door a familiar figure of medium height with burnette hair walked out. "Linda," he spoke in greeting. The woman he'd called his sister in law for the past few months was carrying a box and looking none too pleased with him.
"Michael," she tensely replied and brushed past him. Stepping foot inside of the apartment he was surprised at how little he had. Gone was the plush La-Z-Boy recliner that Becky would curl into in the evenings, and only marks on the carpet remained from the antique wooden desk that was once by the window. Both had been in her family, both had sentimental value to her as well. Two bookcases were gone, and with them, all the medical texts that had baffled him. Sting and The Boss looked sullen without Mozart and Gospel stuck in between the slots of the CD tower. The aged crucifix that had come with her family from Italy over a century ago was gone from the wall, and his collection of photos had dwindled to a handful spread across the living area.
Becky emerged from the bedroom, suited in an oversized University of Connecticut T-shirt and gray sweatpants, both which he assumed must have belonged to Brandon. The silver band and diamond he'd placed on her left hand only months before were replaced by an aged slice of gold around her finger, this time on her right hand. After a moment he realized she'd put back on the ring Brandon had given her, although on the opposite hand. He remembered that she'd shown him the ring once when she recounted a story of her late husband, and he'd noticed the inscription - In Heaven, too, You Have My Hand. The young man who'd placed it on her finger could not have known how true those words would one day ring.
"We're almost done here," she smiled and set a box on the couch. "How was work?"
"It was fine," he wiped under his nose and stuck his hands uncomfortably in his pockets. "Do you need to stay here-"
"I'm fine," she promised. "I'm calling my attorney and priest tomorrow. I'll call the landlord too, get my name off of the deed."
With a solemn _expression he nodded, "Good." It was only in his eyes that she could see his obvious pain.
Becky sighed and leaned heavily against the back of the sofa. "I know you won't listen to me Michael, but I do wish you wouldn't feel guilty about this. I could be a real bitch and drag this out, but then I'd end up hating myself more than you ever could."
He sighed a matching sigh and rested next to her. "I'm sorry Becky."
"I'm not," she smiled and shook her head. "I'm really not. You gave me back something I lost. You gave me
someone to be with. Sometimes…Sometimes all you need is a hand to hold, someone's voice to be there to listen to yours at midnight . . . Thank you for that." She gently squeezed his hand. Slowly her posture straightened and she reached into the pocket of the loose pants. "I found something when I was packing. I think it belongs to you," she explained. From her pocket emerged a nearly forgotten black velvet box.
Michael's eyes widened slightly as he took it from her. "I'd forgotten about that," he whispered as he examined the box. "I wasn't ready to ask her," he sighed. "Not yet anyway. I was thinking about asking her in Santa Barbara. Actually I almost bought it before the Alliance even went down - stupid, huh?" he chuckled.
"No, it's not," Becky corrected.
"I just saw it one day. I wasn't looking for it. I was trying to get some damn hypo-allergenic shampoo for Donovan and ended up at the pet store in the mall. The ring was just sitting there in the jewelry case across from the pet shop. At the time I was quite pleased with myself - I waited ten days from the time I saw it until I purchased it."
"You went back after the Alliance fell."
"I knew it was the one." He clicked the box open slightly. From where she stood Becky couldn't even study the ring but had no doubt it was beautiful. When she'd discovered it, she knew immediately what it was - the ring he'd given her had come in an understated gray box. She hadn't known he'd ever bought a ring, but it didn't come as a particular surprise.
"Keep it Michael. You never know, you might still need it one day," she smiled.
Another chuckle as his body drooped even further against the sofa. "We hadn't even been together that long."
"In the time you knew her, the two of you endured more than some couples who have been married decades," she explained.
Linda reappeared in the doorway. "Ready to rock Sis?" she asked, picking up the box from the sofa.
"Yeah, I'll be right down," Becky called as her sister tersely nodded at Michael and left. Then she turned towards him and smiled apologetically.
"She never liked me much anyway."
"Not really," she chuckled. A few seconds later a sober _expression fluttered across her features. "Of all the people in the world, she chose you and you chose her. Now make it work."
His lips quirked into a smile, "Didn't you get that from a movie?"
"Sort of," she smiled. "I paraphrased."
"Do you believe it?"
Just as softly as it disappeared, her smile reappeared as she looked down at her right hand. "One person. If you can make it work, no matter what hell the rest of the world puts you through, no accomplishment ever feels quite as important."
"I'm sorry he's gone Becky."
Tears stubbornly appeared in her eyes, causing the light to glitter off of her orbs when she met his gaze. "So am I. But every night Michael, every night I thank whatever is or isn't up there that I had him." An impatient and distinctive car honked in the parking lot. "My sister's impatient," she chuckled. "I'll call you next week, once I get things settled?"
"Take care of yourself Beck," Michael whispered, pulling her into his arms. "Thank you."
"You too Michael," she said as she stepped out of his arms. One foot in the hallway, another in the door, he called her name.
Expectantly, she twisted her head to look at him.
"I do love you."
A sad smile spread across her face. "If only it was that simple, huh?" Seconds later, the door shut behind her with a click so quiet, that it resounded through the apartment for the remainder of the night.
A/N: Agent Gilmore - I expected Kentucky to do better. I really like them, they're a fun team to watch. I forget how far I had them going in the brackets (I'm such a loser, it's May and I finally tossed my March Madness brackets - than again I still have a tape of a UConn game in my VCR) but it was pretty deep. Don't mind me, I just watch every college basketball game I can get my hands on - needless to say, March is a pretty busy time for me!
