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. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.
Dedication: To Linda
A/N: This was originally going to be the end before the epilogue. There will be one more chapter after this *then* the epilogue - you guys would have gone nuts if I ended it here, don't you think?
"There's nothing good that lasts forever." - David Gray, "Freedom"
Those that love beyond the world cannot be seperated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies - William Penn
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Vaughn felt the wrinkles press painfully together on his forehead at the single word she solemnly uttered. "Syd?" He watched as she met his eyes.
"Mom?" she repeated again, this time only to a dial tone.
"Syd?" he repeated as she turned off the phone and looked at him.
"That was my mother," she spoke softly, confusion spread across her face as she looked away. "She wants me to be at a warehouse in Paris tomorrow night."
"What?" The crow's feet on his usually chiseled face grew deeper as he waited for her response.
"The Alliance owned a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris. She wants me there tomorrow night," Sydney repeated. Finally lifting her eyes from the grocery cart, she met his eyes, the confusion and concern easily read. "What could she possibly want from me?"
"I don't know," he conceded. "You're not going without back up," Vaughn confidently spoke. They both knew instinctively what he meant. In all actuality, he could care less about what else the CIA sent to Paris, as long as he was there for her.
Sydney nodded, looking down at her cell phone as she spoke. "I need to call my father."
For a short period of time, it felt to both of them as though nothing had changed. Vaughn followed Sydney's car to her new condo, following closely behind her as she dropped her bag on the counter and then left. Then less than an hour later they walked together into the CIA building, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked. As they entered, Marshall stuttered his greetings, quickly working on whatever new gadget was necessary with his wife helpfully by his side.
"Good, you're here. Kendall's about to start. When I came in I thought his head was about to burst." Will had quickly walked over to join them en-route to the conference room.
"What about the date?" Sydney asked, looking over Vaughn's form to her best friend.
"I told her that I had a family emergency," he explained. Leaning closer to the pair, his voice dropped a heavy octave. "Hey, you guys, what do you think about me telling Elise the truth -" he started before Kendall whizzed by.
"Let's get moving ladies and gentleman, time is of paramount importance," the director pointed out as he led them into the conference room. Moments later he took command of the room with Jack Bristow, a grainy surveillance photo of her mother on the screen.
"Irina Derevko. For those of you who don't remember, she's responsible for the death of twelve CIA operatives, as well as countless others we cannot prove. Formerly known as 'The Man'. Mother of Sydney Bristow, former wife of Jack Bristow," he explained. "Sixty-three minutes ago, Ms. Derevko contacted her daughter via cell phone from a payphone in a remote area of France. She instructed Sydney to be at a warehouse tomorrow at quarter to eight in the evening," he spoke and pushed another button, a grainy image of an overgrown warehouse coming onto the screen. "This is a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris, formerly property of the Alliance. It's believed they held some of their most important documents here, perhaps even bodies from time to time. This is where Ms. Derevko instructed her daughter to be.
"We have good reason to believe that Ms. Derevko could lead us straight to Arvin Sloane and Mr. Sark," he said as another image of the two men appeared. "Mr. Sark escaped our custody over a year ago while on transport to Camp Harris. This time people, given the opportunity, let's not be so careless," he commanded.
"Given his experience with both Arvin Sloane and Irina Derevko, Jack Bristow will be overseeing this operation. Not only are we looking to apprehend Derevko, Sloane and Sark, but we're also looking for any Rambaldi artifacts or any evidence that could lead us to uncover where Ms. Bristow's been the last two years, or what happened to her," he pointed out. He then looked at Jack and sat down.
Wheeling closer to the center front of the room, Jack Bristow turned to look at all of them. "The warehouse is nothing special. We've been observing it from time to time since the destruction of the Alliance, and have no reason to believe it's been in use. We performed an annual search throughout the warehouse four months ago and found nothing out of the ordinary. Although I'm certain that Irina Derevko has motivation for directing Sydney to this specific warehouse, it's not clear why yet," he conceded.
"I'll be running the operation from base ops. Agent Dixon, Agent Weiss, you'll be accompanying Sydney and Agent Vaughn to Paris," he explained. Looking directly at the younger man he added, "Agent Vaughn, I assumed you'd be interested in being part of the team." Solemnly the man in question nodded before the elder agent continued, "Weiss, Dixon and Vaughn will be waiting outside the warehouse as back up. Sydney will proceed in on her own."
Carefully listening to the plan, Vaughn sat up straight and spoke. "Wouldn't it make more sense for someone to enter the warehouse with Sydney? We don't know what sort of back up Derevko will have. We don't want her entering without immediate back up."
"Fine," Jack relented. After two years he was tired of fighting with Agent Vaughn. When it all melted away, they were fighting for the same side and cause anyway. For his determination and loyalty to his daughter, even for his naive morality, Jack Bristow had spent the last two years coming to respect Michael Vaughn. If Vaughn wanted to accompany Sydney, to give her the back up his disability prevented him from providing, he'd allow it. "Agent Vaughn and Sydney will enter the warehouse with Agent Dixon and Agent Weiss acting as back up outside. We'll also need to contact local authorities."
"I'm sorry," Will spoke up. "I still don't understand why Derevko would suddenly want to meet Sydney now," he conceded, glancing apologetically at his best friend.
"Although Derevko's motive isn't obvious, there is a strategy here. We need to be prepared against any action she may have planned," Jack Bristow insisted. "This woman's strategy has been proven time and time again to be long-term. Decades perhaps. We have no way of knowing how long she's had this planned."
"We'll never know," Sydney sighed and dropped her hands. A moment later she regained her posture as she looked at her father. "We might never know what their strategy is, but this is the best shot we have at getting Mom and getting a lead on Sloane. Their motive shouldn't matter, not if we take the proper precautions."
"Sydney's right," Jack nodded. "Right now motivation is not our concern. In time it will become obvious. Currently, with the intelligence we have, it's impossible to predict their next move. This is our best opportunity. Once the jet is prepared, the team will leave."
The team disbanded as Sydney walked out of the conference room with Vaughn, Will and Weiss. "If everything goes well Syd, this sounds promising," Dixon commented.
Shaking her head, Sydney replied, "I know my mother too well to expect this to go as planned. There's something here we don't see, something we don't know about. It's unlikely that now, for no apparent reason, she suddenly wants to see me."
"Your dad's right, I'm sure her motivation will be become clear."
"Yeah," she agreed, sounding far from convinced. "I just hope it's not too late then."
Vaughn looked at his two friends, all three men silently echoing the same sentiment.
By the end of the night, the small team was on a plane flying towards France. Exhausted from the late-night emotional roller coaster, Sydney had fallen asleep shortly after they'd reviewed the mission specs. As they'd boarded the cargo plane, she'd chosen to sit between a large pile of wooden crates and Vaughn. As she slept, the three men dozed in and out of their own slumber, and once again covered the mission plan as she unconsciously got comfortable with her head on Vaughn's shoulder.
According to the CIA's Intel, it was nearly an hour and a half drive from the heart of Paris to the warehouse that they'd been directed to. When the plane landed in Paris, with the flight and the time difference, they had less than four hours before the scheduled meet. Directly from the airport, they briefly left one another to change in the airport bathrooms, before piling into a compact car and heading towards the warehouse.
"Are you ready for this Syd?" Dixon asked as they stood outside the car, slipping on the appropriate tactical gear. High above them, the moon offered them their only light as they surveyed the area, relying on the government surveillance and base-ops to show them what the moonlight did not.
"I'm fine," his former partner insisted as she adjusted her shirt over her bulletproof vest. Checking the ammunition in her gun, Sydney glanced over to find Vaughn doing the same. Under the moonlight, he followed half a step behind her as she opened the warehouse door.
"Do you see anything?" Weiss asked into their earpiece.
"Nothing," Sydney answered, her eyes adjusting to the warehouse's dim light.
"I don't see a light switch either," Vaughn muttered.
"Okay guys, the specs we have on the warehouse are old but you're going to want to take five steps forward. You're in a massive hallway. The first storage room is to your right, roughly six steps from the door. I guess we start there," Weiss sighed.
"Copy that," Sydney replied. Reaching for the door handle, she quickly looked over her shoulder at Vaughn. Despite the darkness, her eyes detected his slight nod before they stepped into the warehouse.
Both had to struggle not to cover their eyes at the fluorescent lights that bounced off the walls and the gray and white speckled linoleum floor. Guns forward, both turned around at the sound of a gun clicking. Neither was surprised to face Arvin Sloane, pointing a gun directly at Sydney.
"Put the gun down," Sydney demanded.
"Punctual as always Sydney. It's good to see that some things never change," he snickered. He then trailed his eyes over to her companion, his snicker turning into a snarl. "Mr. Vaughn. I can't say you look better than I remember. However, I suppose two years without the woman you love could do that to you, as I know from personal experience."
"Emily's death is no one's fault but your own. You put her in that position," Sydney snapped.
"Yes, well," Sloane sighed and looked back at his former agent. "I suppose it's all in your perspective."
"Put the gun down," she repeated. If anything, the training he'd forced her to endure, luring her into thinking she'd be working for the good of humanity, had taught her never to let an opponent get her off track. In the back of her mind she was unsure who would suffer more from a discussion about Emily, and she refused to come out the loser.
"Now what fun would that be?" he replied, his gun still evenly lined with her.
Although she didn't believe the words she spoke, she challenged him with a steady voice, "You wouldn't actually shoot me."
"No," he sighed. "I know you Sydney, far better than you think I do. I know you value the lives of the people you care about more than your own," Sloane recalled. Faster than she could blink, he readjusted the barrel of the gun, this time directing it straight at Vaughn.
"Put the gun down," Sydney demanded, catching the slight crack at the end of her words. "Put the gun down!" she screamed, recognizing her voice losing its confidence, despite her tone. "You aren't even telling us what this is all about! What do you want?" she asked, anxious to get the gun directed away from Vaughn, even if it did get aimed back at her.
"Isn't that obvious Sydney? It's what I've always wanted, from the moment I recruited you into SD-6. I want you to work with me. You're the key to Rambaldi. I didn't realize it right away, but you are. Together, we can have more power than you could ever imagine. Work with me Sydney, and you'll never want for anything again," Sloane calmly explained, not removing his eyes or his gun from the form of Michael Vaughn, seemingly unflustered by the gun the other man had pointed back at him.
"Why should I work with you? You've done nothing but cause me pain from the moment I entered this life. You *lured* me into this life, you tricked me into thinking I was working for good!" she snapped. "You ruined my life! You killed Danny and Francie! You *killed* my unborn child and took away *two* years of my life! Give me one good reason not to kill you, nevermind to *work* with you," she scoffed.
"That's quite simple. I know you Sydney, I know your Agent Vaughn as well. You're both skilled shooters, but I doubt either one of you has ever killed with a weapon. Both people of such naive morals. I can only assume you'd hesitate to pull the trigger."
"Guess again," Vaughn muttered.
"After all these years Sydney, you should know I always make these decisions extremely easy. Either you come with me, work with me, or I detonate half a dozen explosives triggered throughout this warehouse. Then the three of us, along with whatever team I'm sure has accompanied you, die."
Whatever instructions Weiss and Dixon were yelling in her ear went unnoticed. Even with the most evil man he'd ever known aiming a gun at him, Vaughn pulled his eyes from Sloane's to Sydney's when he sensed her looking at him. Reading her eyes, he silently pleaded with her. It had been all too easy for him to see that she was considering this, that unless he could silently talk her out of this, she would go with him; that Sydney would not let Sloane inflict his damage on anyone else. Unfortunately, Vaughn was all too aware that if he let her go, he might never see her again. Although there was no clear alternative, he was certain there had to be a loophole, anything other than letting her agree to this insane plan.
Before Sydney could answer, a gunshot echoed through the lofty storage space. In horror, he watched her brown orbs widen in fear before she realized that it wasn't either one of them. The reaction time played out over a span of a few short seconds, her brown eyes running from terror to relief. They both looked over to watch Arvin Sloane slump forward against the dusty linoleum. Without taking another step towards him, she was certain he was dead. Lifting her eyes across the warehouse, she was shocked to meet the eyes of her own mother, as the gun dropped from a hand resting limply at Irina's side.
The sound of boots approaching from the hall sent both Sydney and Vaughn turning around, drawing their guns on an equally shocked and slightly out of breath Weiss and Dixon.
"Why the hell weren't you listening to us? What the hell happened?" Weiss struggled. Only a moment later did he see the form of Arvin Sloane and watched as Dixon approached Irina Derevko, taking her in handcuffs. "Oh," he muttered under his breath.
Irina pulled her heels into the ground as Dixon led her past the half-circle the three agents had formed around Sloane's body.
"Sydney," she spoke her daughter's name as all three heads turned. "There are forests all around this area. Three and a half kilometers southeast of here there's a safehouse. In the kitchen there's a walk-in pantry. Behind the broom and mop is a keypad. The code's 41775. It will open up panels on the floor of the pantry. It's a bunker. Sark should be there. You must find him before ten, or he'll know something's gone wrong with the plan; then he'll be expecting you."
Swallowing back her mixed emotions, Sydney nodded. "Thank you," she replied as Dixon took her mother out to be met by local authorities.
"Syd..." Vaughn gently reached over to touch the inside skin of her elbow. Around them paramedics walked in, taking only a few moments of observation before pronouncing Sloane dead. Sydney watched, unblinking, as they took his body off of the ground. Placing it on the stretcher, she watched the sheet pulled up over his face, hoping he'd taken all the evil in her life along with him.
Finally she met Vaughn's eyes, her posture straightening instantly. "Ninety-one minutes Vaughn, or we lose any chance we have of getting Sark," she reminded him, looking at her watch.
"Hey!" Weiss walked back in to the area, carrying something that resembled a walkie-talkie. "We just got off with base ops. The local authorities are going to hold Derevko until your father and Kendall can get out here to bring her back."
"My father's coming?" Sydney's eyes widened.
"What? You thought they'd trust us with something that important?" Weiss' eyes widened. Sighing, he muttered, "Yeah, me too, but no such luck. Anyway, the guys back in L.A. have been surveilling the area and we've got pretty decent locations on how to get to this safehouse your mother's directed us to. They're checking it out as we speak, surveying the area with infrared, anything that might be in the building - you name it, they're looking for it. Depending on what the bunker is composed of, we might not be able to detect anything in there, but it's the best we've got."
"C'mon guys," Dixon walked in. "We've got to get going or else we could lose Sark."
"How reliable do you think my mother's Intel is?" Sydney asked softly, all three men looking at her.
"She's the best lead we've got right now Syd," Vaughn gently pointed out. "If anything she's more credible now. She led us here, to Sloane."
"But why? Why now?" she pointed out.
"Maybe because she's your mother," Weiss proposed. "Maybe because of that, she *doesn't* need a reason," he softly suggested.
With that in mind, the three returned to the compact car, folding their tired and increasingly aching bodies into the car. Silence once again wrapped over them, an invisible bubble wrap against the rest of the world. All of their minds raced, but none faster than Sydney's. Less than twenty-four hours after a bizarre phone call, Arvin Sloane was dead and her mother was on her way to spending time in a Paris prison. Meanwhile, her father and Kendall were on their way out to accompany Irina Derevko and anyone else they could possibly detain, back to the United States. This time they wouldn't escape, even if she had to watch them herself.
"Don't enter yet!" Jack commanded into their ears as they approached the house. Twenty-three minutes left, if her mother's warning was accurate.
"Are we clear?" Sydney demanded.
"C'mon Jack, we're running out of time here," Dixon reminded him.
"You're clear," her father relayed. Dixon used a picklock to open the door, the agents slowly entering the safehouse.
The layout was nothing unusual. The living room was decorated sparsely, a fireplace that had obviously been recently used. Under them the carpet was quiet as they walked over it, into a hallway. No photos were visible, nothing that went from making a house a home. A sterile feeling echoed throughout the place as they stepped into a dimly lit kitchen.
"Found the pantry," Sydney replied into her earpiece. To the left of the kitchen sink there was a tiny pantry, barely long enough to fit two agents as she moved the directed objects out of the room.
"What was the code again?" Vaughn asked, staring at the keypad.
"41775," Weiss reminded him.
Softly she added, "My birthday."
A quick glance of gentle sympathy was directed at her from green eyes before he entered the code. Just as Irina had predicted, a small portion of the floor raised slightly, revealing a steep staircase. Gun pointed forward, Sydney looked back at the three men before she started down the stairs.
"Now Sydney, what a pleasant surprise," Sark greeted her with the barrel of a gun. The young man stood in front of a desk in a dimly lit area. Three other chairs were in the room and nothing looked particularly comfortable. There were, however, a fax machine and various other ways of communication. "I thought for sure I'd never see you again, or at least not in such good condition," he sneered.
"You bastard," she swore softly, all three guns still aimed steadily at him. "You're not getting away this time."
"How can you be so sure? After these past two years, how can you be so sure of *anything?" he mocked her. "I can only assume you received my greeting. I hoped it made you smile as it much it made me."
"I guess my sense of humor's been damaged," she dryly retorted.
"This ends here Sark," Vaughn commanded. "We can either do it the easy way, or the hard way."
"So what? I can enjoy your government's lovely facilities at Camp Harris?"
"If you don't cooperate, you're not getting out of here alive," Dixon vowed.
"What makes you certain you will?" the younger man challenged. "I do, of course, have my loyalties to my employer to consider."
"We know from personal experience how flexible that is," Vaughn reminded him.
"Then make it worth my while," he shrugged calmly, his gun still even.
"Are you insane?" Sydney asked. "This is three against one, this shouldn't even be a *question* in your mind."
"Really?" Sark smirked. Only moments later the sound of a gun going off echoed through the bunker. Almost as if in slow motion, Sydney looked to her right in time to see Dixon fall to the ground, the bullet having impacted his lower left side. Instinctively, it had been Weiss who had retaliated, his aim landing on Sark's shoulder. Unable to quickly fire back with his injury, Sydney attended to Dixon, as Vaughn was able to handcuff the young man.
"Dixon! Dixon, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he choked out. "I have my vest on, I just feel slightly out of breath."
"Syd." Vaughn knelt down next to her as they slowly helped him up. "We've got medical services on their way," he reassured her.
"I'll be fine," Dixon promised. Nevertheless, under his protests, the two insisted on helping him slowly up the steep stairs. "I'm just glad we finally have him in custody," he heaved as they sat him gently down in the sparse living area.
"Where's Sark?" Vaughn asked as Weiss re-entered the house.
"Medical services just arrived, they're looking him over. One of us is supposed to supervise his medical care before Jack and Kendall can get their asses out here."
"I'll do it -" Sydney started.
Vaughn quickly stepped up to her side to interject. "Syd. I'm sure Weiss wouldn't mind doing it, would you? I mean how far off are they?"
During their friendship, Eric Weiss had been, at best, fair at reading his friend's expressions, but it was even clear to him that he would agree to observe Sark or face hell for it later. He looked quickly at his watch and answered, "They're probably another twelve hours away."
"How about you take the first six and then I'll take over," Vaughn offered.
"Yeah," he sighed. "Fine" He turned to leave. Under his breath, Vaughn thought he heard Weiss mutter, "But I better get a damn eclair this time," as he walked away.
Standing next to her in the dim room, he looked over at her and smiled when Sydney's eyes caught his. "So," he started as they slowly walked out, oblivious to the team around them that was busy gathering evidence. "Are you hungry?"
Sydney stopped. "Vaughn," she sighed.
"What?" he shrugged, unable to stop his smile. "I don't think I've seen you eat anything since before we left L.A. After all we've been through... Aren't you hungry?"
"What about Sark?"
Wrinkling his nose he inquired, "You want to eat with him?"
"No," she laughed and shook her head.
"Weiss can handle it. Dixon's going to be resting. There's no need for three agents to watch one man. Not when he'll be in a local prison anyway. It'll only be a few hours," he reminded her.
Pushing hair behind her ear, Sydney looked down at her outfit and then back at him. "I can't go like this."
"We can go back, make sure Sark's where he should be and that Dixon's checked out. You can change there," he suggested. Then he took in his own attire and chuckled. "I should probably change too," he agreed, swiping the bottom of his nose with his finger.
"Okay," she nodded, releasing a small smile.
"Really?" Vaughn's own smile reflected his enthusiasm as she nodded.
"Really," Sydney agreed.
Smiling at one another for a moment, he eventually broke the moment by cocking his head to the opened door. "We should probably go."
"Right," she nodded and followed him out of the house.
By Paris time, it was just after eleven when they stepped foot inside the restaurant. In the car they'd been nearly silent, neither touching the other on the short drive, allowing the late-night French music to fill the air. Still, Vaughn had hurried around the car to help her out, openly inspecting the outfit she wore under her coat. He'd then led her into the restaurant, his hand on the small of her back as he held the door open for her. The restaurant was one of the few that looked good and was still open at that hour, the atmosphere soft with the scent of good food and dim lighting. Their arms brushing one another's, they stood as Vaughn gave the maitre'd their name, Sydney wondering how he'd managed to get reservations in such short time.
"Your table will be ready momentarily," the maitre'd spoke to them in Vaughn's native tongue. "If monsieur and mademoiselle would like, you could put your coats in the closet." He gestured to a small room off of their right. Vaughn then peeked over at Sydney, noting her slight nod as they walked into the closet.
Only a few various coats were resting on padded hangers in the room as a full-length mirror stood near the door. Quickly he shrugged off his own coat before helping her out of hers, smiling as she softly thanked him. Then he rested the coat on a hanger next to his and walked over to her.
In the few moments she'd had to herself, she'd stood inspecting herself in the mirror. It was true that her image had changed ever so slightly since she'd reappeared, but to him, she looked no less beautiful. Standing close behind her, he ached down to the marrow in his bones with the urge to touch her. Instead, Vaughn smiled as her brown eyes caught his in the reflection of the glass.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered. Sydney's silent response was her smile, and he wondered what she would have said if the maitre'd hadn't arrived to take them to their table. After she was sitting across from him, their waiter briefly gone, they sat silently looking at their menus. The wine was poured and her menu was down before he finally broke the silence. "Well, it's no Trattori Di Nardi, but it's certainly nice."
Smiling, she sipped her wine before responding, "I'd still love to go there one day."
His voice dipped and his smile grew soft. "And I'd still love to take you."
Sydney allowed her eyes to drop down to her plate, afraid of once again being lost in his deep gaze. Something about his eyes always drew her to him, even in the beginning when she thought he was too cocky and a little too young to be doing his job. Now, she couldn't imagine having endured the hell she had, without Vaughn on her side. Drifting back to their earliest days, her mind wandered around to one of their earliest meetings, prompting her next question. "How's Donovan?"
"Lazy, overweight and perfectly happy that way," he chuckled. "He's good. He never gets excited about anything. I swear, with his lack of stress, he'll outlive us all."
"He sound wonderful," she smiled.
"He is," he agreed. "He's a good dog. Loves the Kings," Vaughn explained as she laughed. "What? I'm serious. He sits there and watches them with me!"
"Are you sure he's not sleeping?"
"I'm sure!" he insisted, both of them now laughing. The waiter arrived, ending their laughter. For a few seconds they paused to give him their order, thanking him as he walked away. Eventually Sydney looked back at him, enjoying the way the soft lighting lit up his features and the smile he had directed at her, melting every part of her.
"Have you played any pool lately?"
Vaughn shook his head, taking a sip of his wine. "I haven't had a chance. Most of my free time is spent at the rink. Will and I play once in a while. Weiss refuses to play with me. I would too if I were him, he's horrendous," he shook his head, his nose wrinkled as she laughed.
"Is Will any good?"
"He's getting better. Now I'll tell you who *is* good - Marshall."
Nearly sputtering on her wine, she replied, "Marshall? Marshall Flinkman?"
Grinning, he nodded. "He said it all comes down to geometry. I'm not entirely sure what he meant, but he's not half-bad."
"Still, he's not quite at your caliber?" she teased.
"Syd, he's got years of hustling and thousands of hours of playing before he reaches my experience," he reminded her. "You know," he grew slightly somber, setting his wineglass down. "We never got to play."
"I know," she nodded.
"We should."
"We should," Sydney confirmed. "Not that I have any vacation time coming up though," she pointed out with a smile. "I think I've used up my quota for a while."
"Don't listen to Kendall Syd. When all of this is done, you deserve a vacation."
In the moment she tore her eyes away from his, Vaughn was certain of the question she was about to ask, and prepared himself for the emotional punch. "Did you ever go to Santa Barbara?"
"No," he shook his head. "I... At the time, I couldn't imagine leaving your apartment, nevermind the city..." he trailed off. Finally, he captured her gaze and spoke softly, "I never would have gone without you."
So many responses raced through her mind - some cruel, others not as harsh. Instead, she just smiled, nodding briefly as the waiter reappeared with their meal. A comfortable silence draped across the table as they ate, occasionally breaking it to ask the other one how their meal was. For the time, they were both happy just sitting across from one another, enjoying the other's presence. Sydney reveled in knowing his smiles were directed at her, and the warmth in his eyes was made to make her melt. Meanwhile, Vaughn quietly cherished that he could once again look up and find her there; that after what had felt like a lifetime, she was back and finally with him.
"I was thinking about getting a dog," she broke the silence over dessert.
"Really?" Vaughn looked up from his dessert to see her nodding.
"I've wanted once since I was a little girl. Francie and I couldn't have pets at the apartment, and my father didn't like dogs. I can have them now. A bunch of my neighbors do. I have to wait though, make sure I won't have to go on any more last minute trips."
"Weiss usually keeps an eye on Donovan when I go away. Right now he's with my mom," he explained. "What kind of dog?"
"Whatever the pound has," she smiled. "I want to buy a car, and I just got the condo, so right now I can't afford a pet store. The pound's my best option."
"I'll give you the name of my vet when you do. She's really good with Donovan, and he was from a pound."
"That'd be great," Sydney agreed. "I just don't want anything too big. Something that won't destroy my house."
"You'll find something," he assured her.
They finished their dinner quietly. The few patrons who were there when they had arrived had slowly dribbled out of the restaurant. Vaughn instinctively helped her slip on her coat, his hand once again on the small of her back as he led her to the car. Above them, the chalk-colored stars shone down through the few dusty clouds. As they arrived at the passenger's door, she turned around to face him.
"Vaughn..." She reached out to take his hand. "Thank you."
"It was just dinner Syd," he smiled, their eyes meeting.
"Just dinner," Sydney replied. Nodding, she felt his free hand place itself instinctively on her hip. "I had a great time."
"Me too," he whispered.
Then, she leaned up and kissed him.
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. Case closed. Sue at your own risk.
Dedication: To Linda
A/N: This was originally going to be the end before the epilogue. There will be one more chapter after this *then* the epilogue - you guys would have gone nuts if I ended it here, don't you think?
"There's nothing good that lasts forever." - David Gray, "Freedom"
Those that love beyond the world cannot be seperated by it. Death cannot kill what never dies - William Penn
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Vaughn felt the wrinkles press painfully together on his forehead at the single word she solemnly uttered. "Syd?" He watched as she met his eyes.
"Mom?" she repeated again, this time only to a dial tone.
"Syd?" he repeated as she turned off the phone and looked at him.
"That was my mother," she spoke softly, confusion spread across her face as she looked away. "She wants me to be at a warehouse in Paris tomorrow night."
"What?" The crow's feet on his usually chiseled face grew deeper as he waited for her response.
"The Alliance owned a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris. She wants me there tomorrow night," Sydney repeated. Finally lifting her eyes from the grocery cart, she met his eyes, the confusion and concern easily read. "What could she possibly want from me?"
"I don't know," he conceded. "You're not going without back up," Vaughn confidently spoke. They both knew instinctively what he meant. In all actuality, he could care less about what else the CIA sent to Paris, as long as he was there for her.
Sydney nodded, looking down at her cell phone as she spoke. "I need to call my father."
For a short period of time, it felt to both of them as though nothing had changed. Vaughn followed Sydney's car to her new condo, following closely behind her as she dropped her bag on the counter and then left. Then less than an hour later they walked together into the CIA building, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked. As they entered, Marshall stuttered his greetings, quickly working on whatever new gadget was necessary with his wife helpfully by his side.
"Good, you're here. Kendall's about to start. When I came in I thought his head was about to burst." Will had quickly walked over to join them en-route to the conference room.
"What about the date?" Sydney asked, looking over Vaughn's form to her best friend.
"I told her that I had a family emergency," he explained. Leaning closer to the pair, his voice dropped a heavy octave. "Hey, you guys, what do you think about me telling Elise the truth -" he started before Kendall whizzed by.
"Let's get moving ladies and gentleman, time is of paramount importance," the director pointed out as he led them into the conference room. Moments later he took command of the room with Jack Bristow, a grainy surveillance photo of her mother on the screen.
"Irina Derevko. For those of you who don't remember, she's responsible for the death of twelve CIA operatives, as well as countless others we cannot prove. Formerly known as 'The Man'. Mother of Sydney Bristow, former wife of Jack Bristow," he explained. "Sixty-three minutes ago, Ms. Derevko contacted her daughter via cell phone from a payphone in a remote area of France. She instructed Sydney to be at a warehouse tomorrow at quarter to eight in the evening," he spoke and pushed another button, a grainy image of an overgrown warehouse coming onto the screen. "This is a warehouse on the outskirts of Paris, formerly property of the Alliance. It's believed they held some of their most important documents here, perhaps even bodies from time to time. This is where Ms. Derevko instructed her daughter to be.
"We have good reason to believe that Ms. Derevko could lead us straight to Arvin Sloane and Mr. Sark," he said as another image of the two men appeared. "Mr. Sark escaped our custody over a year ago while on transport to Camp Harris. This time people, given the opportunity, let's not be so careless," he commanded.
"Given his experience with both Arvin Sloane and Irina Derevko, Jack Bristow will be overseeing this operation. Not only are we looking to apprehend Derevko, Sloane and Sark, but we're also looking for any Rambaldi artifacts or any evidence that could lead us to uncover where Ms. Bristow's been the last two years, or what happened to her," he pointed out. He then looked at Jack and sat down.
Wheeling closer to the center front of the room, Jack Bristow turned to look at all of them. "The warehouse is nothing special. We've been observing it from time to time since the destruction of the Alliance, and have no reason to believe it's been in use. We performed an annual search throughout the warehouse four months ago and found nothing out of the ordinary. Although I'm certain that Irina Derevko has motivation for directing Sydney to this specific warehouse, it's not clear why yet," he conceded.
"I'll be running the operation from base ops. Agent Dixon, Agent Weiss, you'll be accompanying Sydney and Agent Vaughn to Paris," he explained. Looking directly at the younger man he added, "Agent Vaughn, I assumed you'd be interested in being part of the team." Solemnly the man in question nodded before the elder agent continued, "Weiss, Dixon and Vaughn will be waiting outside the warehouse as back up. Sydney will proceed in on her own."
Carefully listening to the plan, Vaughn sat up straight and spoke. "Wouldn't it make more sense for someone to enter the warehouse with Sydney? We don't know what sort of back up Derevko will have. We don't want her entering without immediate back up."
"Fine," Jack relented. After two years he was tired of fighting with Agent Vaughn. When it all melted away, they were fighting for the same side and cause anyway. For his determination and loyalty to his daughter, even for his naive morality, Jack Bristow had spent the last two years coming to respect Michael Vaughn. If Vaughn wanted to accompany Sydney, to give her the back up his disability prevented him from providing, he'd allow it. "Agent Vaughn and Sydney will enter the warehouse with Agent Dixon and Agent Weiss acting as back up outside. We'll also need to contact local authorities."
"I'm sorry," Will spoke up. "I still don't understand why Derevko would suddenly want to meet Sydney now," he conceded, glancing apologetically at his best friend.
"Although Derevko's motive isn't obvious, there is a strategy here. We need to be prepared against any action she may have planned," Jack Bristow insisted. "This woman's strategy has been proven time and time again to be long-term. Decades perhaps. We have no way of knowing how long she's had this planned."
"We'll never know," Sydney sighed and dropped her hands. A moment later she regained her posture as she looked at her father. "We might never know what their strategy is, but this is the best shot we have at getting Mom and getting a lead on Sloane. Their motive shouldn't matter, not if we take the proper precautions."
"Sydney's right," Jack nodded. "Right now motivation is not our concern. In time it will become obvious. Currently, with the intelligence we have, it's impossible to predict their next move. This is our best opportunity. Once the jet is prepared, the team will leave."
The team disbanded as Sydney walked out of the conference room with Vaughn, Will and Weiss. "If everything goes well Syd, this sounds promising," Dixon commented.
Shaking her head, Sydney replied, "I know my mother too well to expect this to go as planned. There's something here we don't see, something we don't know about. It's unlikely that now, for no apparent reason, she suddenly wants to see me."
"Your dad's right, I'm sure her motivation will be become clear."
"Yeah," she agreed, sounding far from convinced. "I just hope it's not too late then."
Vaughn looked at his two friends, all three men silently echoing the same sentiment.
By the end of the night, the small team was on a plane flying towards France. Exhausted from the late-night emotional roller coaster, Sydney had fallen asleep shortly after they'd reviewed the mission specs. As they'd boarded the cargo plane, she'd chosen to sit between a large pile of wooden crates and Vaughn. As she slept, the three men dozed in and out of their own slumber, and once again covered the mission plan as she unconsciously got comfortable with her head on Vaughn's shoulder.
According to the CIA's Intel, it was nearly an hour and a half drive from the heart of Paris to the warehouse that they'd been directed to. When the plane landed in Paris, with the flight and the time difference, they had less than four hours before the scheduled meet. Directly from the airport, they briefly left one another to change in the airport bathrooms, before piling into a compact car and heading towards the warehouse.
"Are you ready for this Syd?" Dixon asked as they stood outside the car, slipping on the appropriate tactical gear. High above them, the moon offered them their only light as they surveyed the area, relying on the government surveillance and base-ops to show them what the moonlight did not.
"I'm fine," his former partner insisted as she adjusted her shirt over her bulletproof vest. Checking the ammunition in her gun, Sydney glanced over to find Vaughn doing the same. Under the moonlight, he followed half a step behind her as she opened the warehouse door.
"Do you see anything?" Weiss asked into their earpiece.
"Nothing," Sydney answered, her eyes adjusting to the warehouse's dim light.
"I don't see a light switch either," Vaughn muttered.
"Okay guys, the specs we have on the warehouse are old but you're going to want to take five steps forward. You're in a massive hallway. The first storage room is to your right, roughly six steps from the door. I guess we start there," Weiss sighed.
"Copy that," Sydney replied. Reaching for the door handle, she quickly looked over her shoulder at Vaughn. Despite the darkness, her eyes detected his slight nod before they stepped into the warehouse.
Both had to struggle not to cover their eyes at the fluorescent lights that bounced off the walls and the gray and white speckled linoleum floor. Guns forward, both turned around at the sound of a gun clicking. Neither was surprised to face Arvin Sloane, pointing a gun directly at Sydney.
"Put the gun down," Sydney demanded.
"Punctual as always Sydney. It's good to see that some things never change," he snickered. He then trailed his eyes over to her companion, his snicker turning into a snarl. "Mr. Vaughn. I can't say you look better than I remember. However, I suppose two years without the woman you love could do that to you, as I know from personal experience."
"Emily's death is no one's fault but your own. You put her in that position," Sydney snapped.
"Yes, well," Sloane sighed and looked back at his former agent. "I suppose it's all in your perspective."
"Put the gun down," she repeated. If anything, the training he'd forced her to endure, luring her into thinking she'd be working for the good of humanity, had taught her never to let an opponent get her off track. In the back of her mind she was unsure who would suffer more from a discussion about Emily, and she refused to come out the loser.
"Now what fun would that be?" he replied, his gun still evenly lined with her.
Although she didn't believe the words she spoke, she challenged him with a steady voice, "You wouldn't actually shoot me."
"No," he sighed. "I know you Sydney, far better than you think I do. I know you value the lives of the people you care about more than your own," Sloane recalled. Faster than she could blink, he readjusted the barrel of the gun, this time directing it straight at Vaughn.
"Put the gun down," Sydney demanded, catching the slight crack at the end of her words. "Put the gun down!" she screamed, recognizing her voice losing its confidence, despite her tone. "You aren't even telling us what this is all about! What do you want?" she asked, anxious to get the gun directed away from Vaughn, even if it did get aimed back at her.
"Isn't that obvious Sydney? It's what I've always wanted, from the moment I recruited you into SD-6. I want you to work with me. You're the key to Rambaldi. I didn't realize it right away, but you are. Together, we can have more power than you could ever imagine. Work with me Sydney, and you'll never want for anything again," Sloane calmly explained, not removing his eyes or his gun from the form of Michael Vaughn, seemingly unflustered by the gun the other man had pointed back at him.
"Why should I work with you? You've done nothing but cause me pain from the moment I entered this life. You *lured* me into this life, you tricked me into thinking I was working for good!" she snapped. "You ruined my life! You killed Danny and Francie! You *killed* my unborn child and took away *two* years of my life! Give me one good reason not to kill you, nevermind to *work* with you," she scoffed.
"That's quite simple. I know you Sydney, I know your Agent Vaughn as well. You're both skilled shooters, but I doubt either one of you has ever killed with a weapon. Both people of such naive morals. I can only assume you'd hesitate to pull the trigger."
"Guess again," Vaughn muttered.
"After all these years Sydney, you should know I always make these decisions extremely easy. Either you come with me, work with me, or I detonate half a dozen explosives triggered throughout this warehouse. Then the three of us, along with whatever team I'm sure has accompanied you, die."
Whatever instructions Weiss and Dixon were yelling in her ear went unnoticed. Even with the most evil man he'd ever known aiming a gun at him, Vaughn pulled his eyes from Sloane's to Sydney's when he sensed her looking at him. Reading her eyes, he silently pleaded with her. It had been all too easy for him to see that she was considering this, that unless he could silently talk her out of this, she would go with him; that Sydney would not let Sloane inflict his damage on anyone else. Unfortunately, Vaughn was all too aware that if he let her go, he might never see her again. Although there was no clear alternative, he was certain there had to be a loophole, anything other than letting her agree to this insane plan.
Before Sydney could answer, a gunshot echoed through the lofty storage space. In horror, he watched her brown orbs widen in fear before she realized that it wasn't either one of them. The reaction time played out over a span of a few short seconds, her brown eyes running from terror to relief. They both looked over to watch Arvin Sloane slump forward against the dusty linoleum. Without taking another step towards him, she was certain he was dead. Lifting her eyes across the warehouse, she was shocked to meet the eyes of her own mother, as the gun dropped from a hand resting limply at Irina's side.
The sound of boots approaching from the hall sent both Sydney and Vaughn turning around, drawing their guns on an equally shocked and slightly out of breath Weiss and Dixon.
"Why the hell weren't you listening to us? What the hell happened?" Weiss struggled. Only a moment later did he see the form of Arvin Sloane and watched as Dixon approached Irina Derevko, taking her in handcuffs. "Oh," he muttered under his breath.
Irina pulled her heels into the ground as Dixon led her past the half-circle the three agents had formed around Sloane's body.
"Sydney," she spoke her daughter's name as all three heads turned. "There are forests all around this area. Three and a half kilometers southeast of here there's a safehouse. In the kitchen there's a walk-in pantry. Behind the broom and mop is a keypad. The code's 41775. It will open up panels on the floor of the pantry. It's a bunker. Sark should be there. You must find him before ten, or he'll know something's gone wrong with the plan; then he'll be expecting you."
Swallowing back her mixed emotions, Sydney nodded. "Thank you," she replied as Dixon took her mother out to be met by local authorities.
"Syd..." Vaughn gently reached over to touch the inside skin of her elbow. Around them paramedics walked in, taking only a few moments of observation before pronouncing Sloane dead. Sydney watched, unblinking, as they took his body off of the ground. Placing it on the stretcher, she watched the sheet pulled up over his face, hoping he'd taken all the evil in her life along with him.
Finally she met Vaughn's eyes, her posture straightening instantly. "Ninety-one minutes Vaughn, or we lose any chance we have of getting Sark," she reminded him, looking at her watch.
"Hey!" Weiss walked back in to the area, carrying something that resembled a walkie-talkie. "We just got off with base ops. The local authorities are going to hold Derevko until your father and Kendall can get out here to bring her back."
"My father's coming?" Sydney's eyes widened.
"What? You thought they'd trust us with something that important?" Weiss' eyes widened. Sighing, he muttered, "Yeah, me too, but no such luck. Anyway, the guys back in L.A. have been surveilling the area and we've got pretty decent locations on how to get to this safehouse your mother's directed us to. They're checking it out as we speak, surveying the area with infrared, anything that might be in the building - you name it, they're looking for it. Depending on what the bunker is composed of, we might not be able to detect anything in there, but it's the best we've got."
"C'mon guys," Dixon walked in. "We've got to get going or else we could lose Sark."
"How reliable do you think my mother's Intel is?" Sydney asked softly, all three men looking at her.
"She's the best lead we've got right now Syd," Vaughn gently pointed out. "If anything she's more credible now. She led us here, to Sloane."
"But why? Why now?" she pointed out.
"Maybe because she's your mother," Weiss proposed. "Maybe because of that, she *doesn't* need a reason," he softly suggested.
With that in mind, the three returned to the compact car, folding their tired and increasingly aching bodies into the car. Silence once again wrapped over them, an invisible bubble wrap against the rest of the world. All of their minds raced, but none faster than Sydney's. Less than twenty-four hours after a bizarre phone call, Arvin Sloane was dead and her mother was on her way to spending time in a Paris prison. Meanwhile, her father and Kendall were on their way out to accompany Irina Derevko and anyone else they could possibly detain, back to the United States. This time they wouldn't escape, even if she had to watch them herself.
"Don't enter yet!" Jack commanded into their ears as they approached the house. Twenty-three minutes left, if her mother's warning was accurate.
"Are we clear?" Sydney demanded.
"C'mon Jack, we're running out of time here," Dixon reminded him.
"You're clear," her father relayed. Dixon used a picklock to open the door, the agents slowly entering the safehouse.
The layout was nothing unusual. The living room was decorated sparsely, a fireplace that had obviously been recently used. Under them the carpet was quiet as they walked over it, into a hallway. No photos were visible, nothing that went from making a house a home. A sterile feeling echoed throughout the place as they stepped into a dimly lit kitchen.
"Found the pantry," Sydney replied into her earpiece. To the left of the kitchen sink there was a tiny pantry, barely long enough to fit two agents as she moved the directed objects out of the room.
"What was the code again?" Vaughn asked, staring at the keypad.
"41775," Weiss reminded him.
Softly she added, "My birthday."
A quick glance of gentle sympathy was directed at her from green eyes before he entered the code. Just as Irina had predicted, a small portion of the floor raised slightly, revealing a steep staircase. Gun pointed forward, Sydney looked back at the three men before she started down the stairs.
"Now Sydney, what a pleasant surprise," Sark greeted her with the barrel of a gun. The young man stood in front of a desk in a dimly lit area. Three other chairs were in the room and nothing looked particularly comfortable. There were, however, a fax machine and various other ways of communication. "I thought for sure I'd never see you again, or at least not in such good condition," he sneered.
"You bastard," she swore softly, all three guns still aimed steadily at him. "You're not getting away this time."
"How can you be so sure? After these past two years, how can you be so sure of *anything?" he mocked her. "I can only assume you received my greeting. I hoped it made you smile as it much it made me."
"I guess my sense of humor's been damaged," she dryly retorted.
"This ends here Sark," Vaughn commanded. "We can either do it the easy way, or the hard way."
"So what? I can enjoy your government's lovely facilities at Camp Harris?"
"If you don't cooperate, you're not getting out of here alive," Dixon vowed.
"What makes you certain you will?" the younger man challenged. "I do, of course, have my loyalties to my employer to consider."
"We know from personal experience how flexible that is," Vaughn reminded him.
"Then make it worth my while," he shrugged calmly, his gun still even.
"Are you insane?" Sydney asked. "This is three against one, this shouldn't even be a *question* in your mind."
"Really?" Sark smirked. Only moments later the sound of a gun going off echoed through the bunker. Almost as if in slow motion, Sydney looked to her right in time to see Dixon fall to the ground, the bullet having impacted his lower left side. Instinctively, it had been Weiss who had retaliated, his aim landing on Sark's shoulder. Unable to quickly fire back with his injury, Sydney attended to Dixon, as Vaughn was able to handcuff the young man.
"Dixon! Dixon, are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he choked out. "I have my vest on, I just feel slightly out of breath."
"Syd." Vaughn knelt down next to her as they slowly helped him up. "We've got medical services on their way," he reassured her.
"I'll be fine," Dixon promised. Nevertheless, under his protests, the two insisted on helping him slowly up the steep stairs. "I'm just glad we finally have him in custody," he heaved as they sat him gently down in the sparse living area.
"Where's Sark?" Vaughn asked as Weiss re-entered the house.
"Medical services just arrived, they're looking him over. One of us is supposed to supervise his medical care before Jack and Kendall can get their asses out here."
"I'll do it -" Sydney started.
Vaughn quickly stepped up to her side to interject. "Syd. I'm sure Weiss wouldn't mind doing it, would you? I mean how far off are they?"
During their friendship, Eric Weiss had been, at best, fair at reading his friend's expressions, but it was even clear to him that he would agree to observe Sark or face hell for it later. He looked quickly at his watch and answered, "They're probably another twelve hours away."
"How about you take the first six and then I'll take over," Vaughn offered.
"Yeah," he sighed. "Fine" He turned to leave. Under his breath, Vaughn thought he heard Weiss mutter, "But I better get a damn eclair this time," as he walked away.
Standing next to her in the dim room, he looked over at her and smiled when Sydney's eyes caught his. "So," he started as they slowly walked out, oblivious to the team around them that was busy gathering evidence. "Are you hungry?"
Sydney stopped. "Vaughn," she sighed.
"What?" he shrugged, unable to stop his smile. "I don't think I've seen you eat anything since before we left L.A. After all we've been through... Aren't you hungry?"
"What about Sark?"
Wrinkling his nose he inquired, "You want to eat with him?"
"No," she laughed and shook her head.
"Weiss can handle it. Dixon's going to be resting. There's no need for three agents to watch one man. Not when he'll be in a local prison anyway. It'll only be a few hours," he reminded her.
Pushing hair behind her ear, Sydney looked down at her outfit and then back at him. "I can't go like this."
"We can go back, make sure Sark's where he should be and that Dixon's checked out. You can change there," he suggested. Then he took in his own attire and chuckled. "I should probably change too," he agreed, swiping the bottom of his nose with his finger.
"Okay," she nodded, releasing a small smile.
"Really?" Vaughn's own smile reflected his enthusiasm as she nodded.
"Really," Sydney agreed.
Smiling at one another for a moment, he eventually broke the moment by cocking his head to the opened door. "We should probably go."
"Right," she nodded and followed him out of the house.
By Paris time, it was just after eleven when they stepped foot inside the restaurant. In the car they'd been nearly silent, neither touching the other on the short drive, allowing the late-night French music to fill the air. Still, Vaughn had hurried around the car to help her out, openly inspecting the outfit she wore under her coat. He'd then led her into the restaurant, his hand on the small of her back as he held the door open for her. The restaurant was one of the few that looked good and was still open at that hour, the atmosphere soft with the scent of good food and dim lighting. Their arms brushing one another's, they stood as Vaughn gave the maitre'd their name, Sydney wondering how he'd managed to get reservations in such short time.
"Your table will be ready momentarily," the maitre'd spoke to them in Vaughn's native tongue. "If monsieur and mademoiselle would like, you could put your coats in the closet." He gestured to a small room off of their right. Vaughn then peeked over at Sydney, noting her slight nod as they walked into the closet.
Only a few various coats were resting on padded hangers in the room as a full-length mirror stood near the door. Quickly he shrugged off his own coat before helping her out of hers, smiling as she softly thanked him. Then he rested the coat on a hanger next to his and walked over to her.
In the few moments she'd had to herself, she'd stood inspecting herself in the mirror. It was true that her image had changed ever so slightly since she'd reappeared, but to him, she looked no less beautiful. Standing close behind her, he ached down to the marrow in his bones with the urge to touch her. Instead, Vaughn smiled as her brown eyes caught his in the reflection of the glass.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered. Sydney's silent response was her smile, and he wondered what she would have said if the maitre'd hadn't arrived to take them to their table. After she was sitting across from him, their waiter briefly gone, they sat silently looking at their menus. The wine was poured and her menu was down before he finally broke the silence. "Well, it's no Trattori Di Nardi, but it's certainly nice."
Smiling, she sipped her wine before responding, "I'd still love to go there one day."
His voice dipped and his smile grew soft. "And I'd still love to take you."
Sydney allowed her eyes to drop down to her plate, afraid of once again being lost in his deep gaze. Something about his eyes always drew her to him, even in the beginning when she thought he was too cocky and a little too young to be doing his job. Now, she couldn't imagine having endured the hell she had, without Vaughn on her side. Drifting back to their earliest days, her mind wandered around to one of their earliest meetings, prompting her next question. "How's Donovan?"
"Lazy, overweight and perfectly happy that way," he chuckled. "He's good. He never gets excited about anything. I swear, with his lack of stress, he'll outlive us all."
"He sound wonderful," she smiled.
"He is," he agreed. "He's a good dog. Loves the Kings," Vaughn explained as she laughed. "What? I'm serious. He sits there and watches them with me!"
"Are you sure he's not sleeping?"
"I'm sure!" he insisted, both of them now laughing. The waiter arrived, ending their laughter. For a few seconds they paused to give him their order, thanking him as he walked away. Eventually Sydney looked back at him, enjoying the way the soft lighting lit up his features and the smile he had directed at her, melting every part of her.
"Have you played any pool lately?"
Vaughn shook his head, taking a sip of his wine. "I haven't had a chance. Most of my free time is spent at the rink. Will and I play once in a while. Weiss refuses to play with me. I would too if I were him, he's horrendous," he shook his head, his nose wrinkled as she laughed.
"Is Will any good?"
"He's getting better. Now I'll tell you who *is* good - Marshall."
Nearly sputtering on her wine, she replied, "Marshall? Marshall Flinkman?"
Grinning, he nodded. "He said it all comes down to geometry. I'm not entirely sure what he meant, but he's not half-bad."
"Still, he's not quite at your caliber?" she teased.
"Syd, he's got years of hustling and thousands of hours of playing before he reaches my experience," he reminded her. "You know," he grew slightly somber, setting his wineglass down. "We never got to play."
"I know," she nodded.
"We should."
"We should," Sydney confirmed. "Not that I have any vacation time coming up though," she pointed out with a smile. "I think I've used up my quota for a while."
"Don't listen to Kendall Syd. When all of this is done, you deserve a vacation."
In the moment she tore her eyes away from his, Vaughn was certain of the question she was about to ask, and prepared himself for the emotional punch. "Did you ever go to Santa Barbara?"
"No," he shook his head. "I... At the time, I couldn't imagine leaving your apartment, nevermind the city..." he trailed off. Finally, he captured her gaze and spoke softly, "I never would have gone without you."
So many responses raced through her mind - some cruel, others not as harsh. Instead, she just smiled, nodding briefly as the waiter reappeared with their meal. A comfortable silence draped across the table as they ate, occasionally breaking it to ask the other one how their meal was. For the time, they were both happy just sitting across from one another, enjoying the other's presence. Sydney reveled in knowing his smiles were directed at her, and the warmth in his eyes was made to make her melt. Meanwhile, Vaughn quietly cherished that he could once again look up and find her there; that after what had felt like a lifetime, she was back and finally with him.
"I was thinking about getting a dog," she broke the silence over dessert.
"Really?" Vaughn looked up from his dessert to see her nodding.
"I've wanted once since I was a little girl. Francie and I couldn't have pets at the apartment, and my father didn't like dogs. I can have them now. A bunch of my neighbors do. I have to wait though, make sure I won't have to go on any more last minute trips."
"Weiss usually keeps an eye on Donovan when I go away. Right now he's with my mom," he explained. "What kind of dog?"
"Whatever the pound has," she smiled. "I want to buy a car, and I just got the condo, so right now I can't afford a pet store. The pound's my best option."
"I'll give you the name of my vet when you do. She's really good with Donovan, and he was from a pound."
"That'd be great," Sydney agreed. "I just don't want anything too big. Something that won't destroy my house."
"You'll find something," he assured her.
They finished their dinner quietly. The few patrons who were there when they had arrived had slowly dribbled out of the restaurant. Vaughn instinctively helped her slip on her coat, his hand once again on the small of her back as he led her to the car. Above them, the chalk-colored stars shone down through the few dusty clouds. As they arrived at the passenger's door, she turned around to face him.
"Vaughn..." She reached out to take his hand. "Thank you."
"It was just dinner Syd," he smiled, their eyes meeting.
"Just dinner," Sydney replied. Nodding, she felt his free hand place itself instinctively on her hip. "I had a great time."
"Me too," he whispered.
Then, she leaned up and kissed him.
