VAUGHN
He breathed in and out. And in again and out again. Any second, he expected one of two things to happen. Either death would finally come or the doctor would come rushing in with the antidote in hand. He counted on the first one. He couldn't get his hopes up. He rolled over and his eyes lazily drifted toward the clock posted on the wall. It was 4:59..no wait, it was 5:00. Annoyed with the time, he turned back over towards the wall. In a two hours, the other agents would start to file in. Well, at least those who were so dedicated to their jobs that they lived here, like him. He used to show up to work so early and stay so late. He had no personal life but when Sydney showed up just a few short years ago, he was coming in later and leaving earlier. He would never hesitate to call her and would happily meet her at the warehouse or the pier whenever his cell rang and it was her. He lay there and came to sad realization; he lived for her. Alice hated it. She wanted a real boyfriend and he wanted a real life. He had gone out with her and they had become serious until he broke it off. He remembered happily and regretfully the party he had go to only about three months ago and saw her there. They got to talking and as much as he hate to admit it, he was a little on the drunk side and they ended up getting back together and getting back into their old routines. *Okay, I admit it. I was plastered, he thought and he sighed into the darkness, and trust me, it was the worst freaking hangover of my life.*
Alice was Alice. She was safe and sweet and..okay, she was a little boring. She was not stunning but her touch was comfortable with the exception of her nails. Vaughn felt his body cringe at the remembrance of Alice's long, acrylic nails tracing the outline of his tattoo on his left shoulder. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, pardon the pun. He shuddered and his mind traveled back to Sydney and all the times he ran out on Alice after a two second cell phone call. It was hard to tell who his life was hardest on; him or his girlfriend. How could he want to love Alice so much but be in love with another woman? It wasn't fair to either of them, Sydney or Alice, or even himself.
But Sydney. Breathe in and out
G-d, Sydney.
At least three or four times a month, he couldn't sleep, he wouldn't sleep until he heard his cell ring, saying that she was okay and in LA. He remembered on one than one occasion, he kept his cell phone on his chest, wanting it to ring more with every breath he inhaled. It was a horrible type of want, a type of desire that he wished more than anything he didn't have to experience every so often. There were days in which he wished he never met Sydney Jane Bristow. She made his days easier to get through but his nights that much harder. You always want what you can't have.
Breath in and breath out.
Death obviously wasn't coming as fast as he thought. As he laid in the dark, he reflected on the other, non romantic aspects of his life..his father had been murdered when he was small, so small that he could only remember bits and pieces of him. He remembered his laugh, how it filled the room. His mind drifted through memories, both happy and painful. He remembered standing with his mom in the middle of the room when an agent told them of William Vaughn's death. His mother held his baby sister, the baby of the three Vaughn children, in her arms, while he stood off by the doorway, playing with a new toy. He didn't really know what was going on. His eyes closed and remembered vividly the CIA officer at the door. He had dark hair, cut close to his scalp and wore a black three pieces suit. His voice was so soft and soothing but his words were like glass. He spoke to his mother about what had happened and that his father, away on a "business trip", had been identify. His body was being transferred from Russia, where it had been discovered. Not William Vaughn, just his body. fLaShBaCk OvEr TwEnTy YeArS
sAinTa BaRbArA, CaLiFoRnIa
His mother held his baby sister, the baby of the three Vaughn children, in her arms, while he stood off by the doorway, playing with a new toy. He didn't really know what was going on. His oldest sister, Isabelle had been playing with him. She was a beautiful nine and a half year old (eighteen months older than Vaughn) with long blonde curly hair and dark brown eyes, a gift from her father. Izzy, as she was known to Vaughn and two year old Claire and Vaughn had been playing checkers or something like that.
Izzy and Vaughn stood up and immediately, Izzy gripped Vaughn's shoulder hard in fear. After his mother had melted down to the ground, another agent came into the house and took them aside. He wore a similar suit and as he reached him, put his hands on his hips, pushing his coat jacket aside, revealing the holster attached tightly to his waist. It was the first time either child had ever seen a gun.
"Hiya, guys. You are Michael Vaughn, right? And Isabelle?"
"Yeah, I am." 8 year old Vaughn had replied.
"Yes, sir." Izzy replied, straightening up a little more. She was so mature and was a born ballet dancer, aspiring to dance in a company one day.
"Well, my name is James Calvi."
"Hello, Mr. Calvi." Respect was drilled into them almost on a daily basis by their father
"Call me Jim." The agent sat down on his knees and placed his hand on Vaughn's shoulder.
"Jim, what's going on? Why is maman crying?" Izzy jumped in and asked, receiving a shocked look from Vaughn.
"Well, you know how you're father hasn't been home for a long time?"
"Five and a half weeks." Little Vaughn recited.
"Yes."
"And?" Isabelle jumped in, not sure how to react. She kept her tone steady, knowing in her heart that she had to be strong for her brother.
Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably and his eyes bounced around the house, "Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you this but-"
"My father's dead isn't he?" Vaughn always thought quickly. "He was never in New York. He was working."
Izzy took a small step back in horror as the pieces fell into place at the same time.
"I'm so sorry." Jim responded. He leaned forward and hugged him tightly as Vaughn let the tears stream down his face. Isabelle was the next to be embraced. Things had changed so quickly. He let go of Jim and turned to Izzy. She was sobbing just as hard and seeing her cry, little Vaughn started to as well. Jim hugged him once more and walked over to Felicity. Isabelle and Little Vaughn followed suit. Their mother had collapsed to the ground and was now sobbing inconsolably
"Ah mes enfants. Je suis desolee. Votre papa, il etait un homme marvelous." She managed to choke out and reached out for her children. "Oh my children!" She started to wail in her new tongue, "I am so sorry. Your father! Your father was such a wonderful man!"
"We know maman. We know." Isabelle had responded, taking Vaughn into her arms and then collapsing into their mother's.
"We're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay." Vaughn said over and over again, feeling the tears cascade over his face.
Felicity straightened up and sniffled slightly. Her lips grazed each of her foreheads as she gave them a quick squeeze, "Come, come." She let go of her crying children and stood up, concentrating on pressing the wrinkles out of her floral skirt. Feeling satisfied with herself, she walked over to the two agents who were congregating in the corner. "So, where do we go from here?" Her accent was heavier than ever. Fleury seemed so far away at that moment but little France was in her living room. "Where do I go? What is to become of my husband? What happens now, with me and my children? Please, my children are the most important thing right now. Do you have someone my children can talk to?"
Felicity Vaughn was so beautiful. She had evergreen colored eyes, darker than his and beautiful blonde/brown hair that was always tied back away from her pale completion. His mother had a tiny waist and was always cooking something she had learned from her grandmother over in France. Her laugh could fill the room and her perfume was the sweetest scent in the world. She was the most beautiful woman in the world or so he thought until a little over a year ago, when he met Sydney. But going back to his original thought train, he, his sisters, and his mother were all okay. They survived through everything, even Vaughn entering the CIA. But he barely knew his father and Isabelle was the same way but Claire. Claire was just baby when he died. At his funeral, she was completely clueless, walking around with a microphone, singing traditional French and American songs. She was sweet. He loved both of his sisters more than anything but..there was a special place in his heart for Isabelle. She and him had a bond since his father's death..raising Claire when his mother refused to get out of bed for days at time. He was the one that both girls dreaded bringing the boys home to. He, essentially became the father figure. Isabelle was always quiet and more reserved. Claire loved life and wanted to try everything and anything. The three Vaughn children could not be more different. He was the romantic, Claire the wild one, and Isabelle the reserved. Isabelle now lived with her husband, John Saxton and their son, Joey in Hawaii, of all places. Claire lived in New York but seemed to always be in LA for some reason or another. Their mother lived in New Mexico. She claimed she couldn't stay anywhere near the LA CIA headquarters. But Claire loved to walk past the building whenever she came to visit. It was almost as if she felt that when she was there, she felt connected to father she never knew. In the present, he laid in bed thinking of how he should call his middle sister and recited the typical conversation would go.
"Hi Claire."
"Michael Brian Vaughn, why haven't you called me? Huh?"
"Been busy."
"Oh bull! You know, mom's been worried sick about you. She hates that you're CIA."
"And she hates that you aren't married!"
"Well..there is this guy."
There were was always a guy. When he called her every month, there was always a guy. The latest one, as of three weeks ago, named William.well, she referred him to as Billy.
That was an interesting conversation. "I know Dad's name was William, so don't you think it's fate?"
"You know Dad would kill him, right?" Her light laugh filled the phone and his heart.
"But you would kill him first." She answered coyly.
His eyes shifted around the dark room and repeated something his father had come up with one night over dinner and repeated when his mother talked about him quitting. "We sell ourselves out to the most unsightly of demons, a want for a different future." He closed his eyes and tried to remember his father's tall stance or the smell of his sweaters but he couldn't He sighed once more and decided that his trip down memory lane was too painful. He didn't want his last moments in life to be painful, in any way, shape or form.
Breathe in and out.
This was the most disgusting living arrangements he had ever lived it. They (being the hospital) had transferred him into the ICU but he had a that disgusting plastic sheeting surrounding him. *This is what goldfish feel like.*
He was attached to all sorts of machines. His heart was being monitored, he had three or four IV's, and he had a tube running above his lip, delivering pure oxygen through his nose. He had to admit, he didn't exactly look attractive.
"Please don't let Sydney see me like this." He closed his eyes and prayed quickly. If he knew her and he did, she would be there in a few hours, with that horrified look at her face. He saw her in his mind's eye and hated what he saw. It was the Joint Task Force medical ward. It was her sitting on the bed across from him, only two days ago. It was when the doctor had told her that she was fine...she hadn't been directly exposed but he, something was wrong with his blood-work. This horrified look came over her face as the doctor told her to go...told her to leave him.
And although he said with false confidence that he said he would be fine, he knew that he was dying. He hadn't felt 100% since Taipei. That something was wrong but he was too proud to admit. He remembered going to the restaurant where Sydney was and ordering that drink and when she questioned the waitress, she turned around and saw him standing there. The look at her face was indescribable. She looked like angel. Her honey brown eyes lit up and she smiled brightly. He had called her cell and....
He sighed again. Something needed to take his mind off of his body and of Sydney. He turned away from the wall and the window that he had curled up against. The nurses had turn on the radio, which blasted through the silence.
But there was nothing. With the exception of the familiar beeping of the machine, there was absolute silence. And part of him, wished that the machine would stop beeping. Sure, that would mean that he would die but it would be easier to die a quick, painless death rather than a horrifying death that Sydney had spoken of. Why had he asked questions about what she saw in the damn hospital?
Breathe in and out. There was a familiar foot pattern outside of the glass door and as he attempted to sit up, his body became weak and he rocked back and forth until he head hit the pillow once again. His eyes attempted to scan the room but it was too dark to see. He could only sit and pray that it wasn't the one person he was thinking of.
Syndey.
He breathed in and out. And in again and out again. Any second, he expected one of two things to happen. Either death would finally come or the doctor would come rushing in with the antidote in hand. He counted on the first one. He couldn't get his hopes up. He rolled over and his eyes lazily drifted toward the clock posted on the wall. It was 4:59..no wait, it was 5:00. Annoyed with the time, he turned back over towards the wall. In a two hours, the other agents would start to file in. Well, at least those who were so dedicated to their jobs that they lived here, like him. He used to show up to work so early and stay so late. He had no personal life but when Sydney showed up just a few short years ago, he was coming in later and leaving earlier. He would never hesitate to call her and would happily meet her at the warehouse or the pier whenever his cell rang and it was her. He lay there and came to sad realization; he lived for her. Alice hated it. She wanted a real boyfriend and he wanted a real life. He had gone out with her and they had become serious until he broke it off. He remembered happily and regretfully the party he had go to only about three months ago and saw her there. They got to talking and as much as he hate to admit it, he was a little on the drunk side and they ended up getting back together and getting back into their old routines. *Okay, I admit it. I was plastered, he thought and he sighed into the darkness, and trust me, it was the worst freaking hangover of my life.*
Alice was Alice. She was safe and sweet and..okay, she was a little boring. She was not stunning but her touch was comfortable with the exception of her nails. Vaughn felt his body cringe at the remembrance of Alice's long, acrylic nails tracing the outline of his tattoo on his left shoulder. It was worse than nails on a chalkboard, pardon the pun. He shuddered and his mind traveled back to Sydney and all the times he ran out on Alice after a two second cell phone call. It was hard to tell who his life was hardest on; him or his girlfriend. How could he want to love Alice so much but be in love with another woman? It wasn't fair to either of them, Sydney or Alice, or even himself.
But Sydney. Breathe in and out
G-d, Sydney.
At least three or four times a month, he couldn't sleep, he wouldn't sleep until he heard his cell ring, saying that she was okay and in LA. He remembered on one than one occasion, he kept his cell phone on his chest, wanting it to ring more with every breath he inhaled. It was a horrible type of want, a type of desire that he wished more than anything he didn't have to experience every so often. There were days in which he wished he never met Sydney Jane Bristow. She made his days easier to get through but his nights that much harder. You always want what you can't have.
Breath in and breath out.
Death obviously wasn't coming as fast as he thought. As he laid in the dark, he reflected on the other, non romantic aspects of his life..his father had been murdered when he was small, so small that he could only remember bits and pieces of him. He remembered his laugh, how it filled the room. His mind drifted through memories, both happy and painful. He remembered standing with his mom in the middle of the room when an agent told them of William Vaughn's death. His mother held his baby sister, the baby of the three Vaughn children, in her arms, while he stood off by the doorway, playing with a new toy. He didn't really know what was going on. His eyes closed and remembered vividly the CIA officer at the door. He had dark hair, cut close to his scalp and wore a black three pieces suit. His voice was so soft and soothing but his words were like glass. He spoke to his mother about what had happened and that his father, away on a "business trip", had been identify. His body was being transferred from Russia, where it had been discovered. Not William Vaughn, just his body. fLaShBaCk OvEr TwEnTy YeArS
sAinTa BaRbArA, CaLiFoRnIa
His mother held his baby sister, the baby of the three Vaughn children, in her arms, while he stood off by the doorway, playing with a new toy. He didn't really know what was going on. His oldest sister, Isabelle had been playing with him. She was a beautiful nine and a half year old (eighteen months older than Vaughn) with long blonde curly hair and dark brown eyes, a gift from her father. Izzy, as she was known to Vaughn and two year old Claire and Vaughn had been playing checkers or something like that.
Izzy and Vaughn stood up and immediately, Izzy gripped Vaughn's shoulder hard in fear. After his mother had melted down to the ground, another agent came into the house and took them aside. He wore a similar suit and as he reached him, put his hands on his hips, pushing his coat jacket aside, revealing the holster attached tightly to his waist. It was the first time either child had ever seen a gun.
"Hiya, guys. You are Michael Vaughn, right? And Isabelle?"
"Yeah, I am." 8 year old Vaughn had replied.
"Yes, sir." Izzy replied, straightening up a little more. She was so mature and was a born ballet dancer, aspiring to dance in a company one day.
"Well, my name is James Calvi."
"Hello, Mr. Calvi." Respect was drilled into them almost on a daily basis by their father
"Call me Jim." The agent sat down on his knees and placed his hand on Vaughn's shoulder.
"Jim, what's going on? Why is maman crying?" Izzy jumped in and asked, receiving a shocked look from Vaughn.
"Well, you know how you're father hasn't been home for a long time?"
"Five and a half weeks." Little Vaughn recited.
"Yes."
"And?" Isabelle jumped in, not sure how to react. She kept her tone steady, knowing in her heart that she had to be strong for her brother.
Jim cleared his throat uncomfortably and his eyes bounced around the house, "Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you this but-"
"My father's dead isn't he?" Vaughn always thought quickly. "He was never in New York. He was working."
Izzy took a small step back in horror as the pieces fell into place at the same time.
"I'm so sorry." Jim responded. He leaned forward and hugged him tightly as Vaughn let the tears stream down his face. Isabelle was the next to be embraced. Things had changed so quickly. He let go of Jim and turned to Izzy. She was sobbing just as hard and seeing her cry, little Vaughn started to as well. Jim hugged him once more and walked over to Felicity. Isabelle and Little Vaughn followed suit. Their mother had collapsed to the ground and was now sobbing inconsolably
"Ah mes enfants. Je suis desolee. Votre papa, il etait un homme marvelous." She managed to choke out and reached out for her children. "Oh my children!" She started to wail in her new tongue, "I am so sorry. Your father! Your father was such a wonderful man!"
"We know maman. We know." Isabelle had responded, taking Vaughn into her arms and then collapsing into their mother's.
"We're gonna be okay. We're gonna be okay." Vaughn said over and over again, feeling the tears cascade over his face.
Felicity straightened up and sniffled slightly. Her lips grazed each of her foreheads as she gave them a quick squeeze, "Come, come." She let go of her crying children and stood up, concentrating on pressing the wrinkles out of her floral skirt. Feeling satisfied with herself, she walked over to the two agents who were congregating in the corner. "So, where do we go from here?" Her accent was heavier than ever. Fleury seemed so far away at that moment but little France was in her living room. "Where do I go? What is to become of my husband? What happens now, with me and my children? Please, my children are the most important thing right now. Do you have someone my children can talk to?"
Felicity Vaughn was so beautiful. She had evergreen colored eyes, darker than his and beautiful blonde/brown hair that was always tied back away from her pale completion. His mother had a tiny waist and was always cooking something she had learned from her grandmother over in France. Her laugh could fill the room and her perfume was the sweetest scent in the world. She was the most beautiful woman in the world or so he thought until a little over a year ago, when he met Sydney. But going back to his original thought train, he, his sisters, and his mother were all okay. They survived through everything, even Vaughn entering the CIA. But he barely knew his father and Isabelle was the same way but Claire. Claire was just baby when he died. At his funeral, she was completely clueless, walking around with a microphone, singing traditional French and American songs. She was sweet. He loved both of his sisters more than anything but..there was a special place in his heart for Isabelle. She and him had a bond since his father's death..raising Claire when his mother refused to get out of bed for days at time. He was the one that both girls dreaded bringing the boys home to. He, essentially became the father figure. Isabelle was always quiet and more reserved. Claire loved life and wanted to try everything and anything. The three Vaughn children could not be more different. He was the romantic, Claire the wild one, and Isabelle the reserved. Isabelle now lived with her husband, John Saxton and their son, Joey in Hawaii, of all places. Claire lived in New York but seemed to always be in LA for some reason or another. Their mother lived in New Mexico. She claimed she couldn't stay anywhere near the LA CIA headquarters. But Claire loved to walk past the building whenever she came to visit. It was almost as if she felt that when she was there, she felt connected to father she never knew. In the present, he laid in bed thinking of how he should call his middle sister and recited the typical conversation would go.
"Hi Claire."
"Michael Brian Vaughn, why haven't you called me? Huh?"
"Been busy."
"Oh bull! You know, mom's been worried sick about you. She hates that you're CIA."
"And she hates that you aren't married!"
"Well..there is this guy."
There were was always a guy. When he called her every month, there was always a guy. The latest one, as of three weeks ago, named William.well, she referred him to as Billy.
That was an interesting conversation. "I know Dad's name was William, so don't you think it's fate?"
"You know Dad would kill him, right?" Her light laugh filled the phone and his heart.
"But you would kill him first." She answered coyly.
His eyes shifted around the dark room and repeated something his father had come up with one night over dinner and repeated when his mother talked about him quitting. "We sell ourselves out to the most unsightly of demons, a want for a different future." He closed his eyes and tried to remember his father's tall stance or the smell of his sweaters but he couldn't He sighed once more and decided that his trip down memory lane was too painful. He didn't want his last moments in life to be painful, in any way, shape or form.
Breathe in and out.
This was the most disgusting living arrangements he had ever lived it. They (being the hospital) had transferred him into the ICU but he had a that disgusting plastic sheeting surrounding him. *This is what goldfish feel like.*
He was attached to all sorts of machines. His heart was being monitored, he had three or four IV's, and he had a tube running above his lip, delivering pure oxygen through his nose. He had to admit, he didn't exactly look attractive.
"Please don't let Sydney see me like this." He closed his eyes and prayed quickly. If he knew her and he did, she would be there in a few hours, with that horrified look at her face. He saw her in his mind's eye and hated what he saw. It was the Joint Task Force medical ward. It was her sitting on the bed across from him, only two days ago. It was when the doctor had told her that she was fine...she hadn't been directly exposed but he, something was wrong with his blood-work. This horrified look came over her face as the doctor told her to go...told her to leave him.
And although he said with false confidence that he said he would be fine, he knew that he was dying. He hadn't felt 100% since Taipei. That something was wrong but he was too proud to admit. He remembered going to the restaurant where Sydney was and ordering that drink and when she questioned the waitress, she turned around and saw him standing there. The look at her face was indescribable. She looked like angel. Her honey brown eyes lit up and she smiled brightly. He had called her cell and....
He sighed again. Something needed to take his mind off of his body and of Sydney. He turned away from the wall and the window that he had curled up against. The nurses had turn on the radio, which blasted through the silence.
But there was nothing. With the exception of the familiar beeping of the machine, there was absolute silence. And part of him, wished that the machine would stop beeping. Sure, that would mean that he would die but it would be easier to die a quick, painless death rather than a horrifying death that Sydney had spoken of. Why had he asked questions about what she saw in the damn hospital?
Breathe in and out. There was a familiar foot pattern outside of the glass door and as he attempted to sit up, his body became weak and he rocked back and forth until he head hit the pillow once again. His eyes attempted to scan the room but it was too dark to see. He could only sit and pray that it wasn't the one person he was thinking of.
Syndey.
