A/N: Here's part four. Just the epilogue is left. But don't worry - there's a sequel on the way!

Part Four

"You don't understand!" Sydney cried, her face a determined mask. Before her stood her father, his mask must stronger and older, yet with the same basic components. "You didn't see him earlier, dad. He looked - haunted."

"There is no way you can go to Mr. Vaughn's apartment," he responded in monotone.

"There is a way, if you're willing to help me out," she responded. Her father had indeed raised a master negotiator, who was turning his own lessons against him.

"Sydney, this is extremely dangerous. If Security Section found out, you would be placing Mr. Vaughn in a great amount of danger."

"Let me rephrase this, then," she countered, "I'm going with or without your help, so don't stand here and convince me otherwise." Jack Bristow looked at his daughter, at how determined she was, and knew she wasn't lying. She would go, and his help was optional. He sighed, giving in.

"Fine. You have an hour. Past that, I can't assure anything."

"Thank you," she smiled, tucking a disobeying piece of hair behind her ear.

"You have put me in a tough spot here. I hope I have earned more than a thank you," he responded, but gave her no time to respond. Instead, he pivoted on his heels and stalked out of the office, muttering something along the lines of her as he did. Sydney wasted no time, and rushed over to Weiss' office, where he was tapping on his keyboard distractedly, his mind somewhere else, she was sure.

"Weiss, I need to know how to get to Vaughn's apartment," she said hurriedly, her voice barely above a whisper. He turned to face her, surprised, before saving his document to give her his full attention.

"You can't go there," he replied, concerned.

"I already took care of it with my father. I need to get over there, I only have an hour," she said. He shook his head.

"Fine," he remarked, pulling a pad of paper from around the other side of the work space. Ripping off the top sheet filled with notes, he scrawled the short directions to Vaughn's apartment and gave her the yellow piece of paper. She took it, surprised.

"You're not coming with?" she asked.

"I've already been out of the office too much today because of him. Plus, my profile needs some down time before another assault," he replied sarcastically.

"And you call yourself his best friend?" Sydney asked.

"It not like that. He just, he shut me out, Syd. There's nothing more I can do. But good luck."

She quickly left the dim office, not wanting to waste any more time arguing with him. She could continue it later when the clock wasn't baring down on her. She rushed through the directions, not wanting to waste time at stoplights she could avoid. Twenty minutes after her father had given her a time table, she found herself underneath a moderately sized apartment building, a little smaller than her own. She parked where she could find a space, and hopped into the elevator with no idea that he had had been standing in this same elevator only an hour before.

What was she doing? Not only was it completely unprofessional to be up in his apartment, but she was putting him in a lot of danger just by being here. Was it worth all this risk and work to go up and check up on him?

"Yes, it is," she told herself in a whisper, watching the numbers count up to the forth floor. She prepared herself mentally for what she would find, what she would say. She exited the elevator as it binged, taking in the numbers of the apartments near her to figure out which way to go. Left. Go left. The numbers passed at the same beat as her own heart, the drumming matching the speed at which she walked.

She paused, her hand balled up into a fist only an inch from the door. What if he was sleeping? What kind of check up would it be if she woke him up as soon as he finally got to sleep? The hand fell back to her side, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting her. This was going to cost so much, and she wasn't even supposed to be there! Yet the back part of her consciousness longed to see him, longed to make him better and free of pain no matter what it cost. It was this part of her thought process she constantly battled with, and ever since Taipei, the thoughts had occurred more and more. There was no room for that in this life!

Distracted by other things, the apartment's occupant had once again forgotten to turn the locks after shutting the door, a daunting and almost automatic task he performed daily to the point of becoming mind numbing. But even the chain had been forgotten in his haste to shut the window, clanking against the door as Sydney slowly pushed the door open. The wood from the slanting side table's remains had already been kicked aside, but it wouldn't have mattered; she slipped in the small opening and quickly shut the door behind her.

A million thoughts ran through her head. When you first meet someone, you often wonder where they live, and what their home looks like, how they decorated, things like that. There were other things, of course, that occurred within the confines of the four walls, things not seen outside them. It was a place where a person could be themselves, where they were at their truest. It was something she always had wanted to see from him, a Vaughn detached from his CIA guidelines and crisp suites. Did he sit at home and watch TV when he had the time? Or was his apartment crisp and clean from lack of use, the dust quietly collecting over neglected furnishings to be brushed off quickly on a day off?

At the moment, it appeared like neither occurred inside. Instead, she found him collapsed in an overstuffed armchair next to a window, his feet curled up beneath him as he slumbered quietly. Her resolve softened to genuine concern as she watched him sleep, a smile springing to her lips. If it were her, she would have awoken the moment someone entered the room, alert and prepared to defend herself. Yet here he sat, asleep and content without the worry of being attacked in his home, in his sleep. That won't last long if I stay awhile, she thought to herself, scanning the room for a blanket of some kind. She found it, a plain, plaid throw humped into a corner at the end of the couch, obviously used as a pillow at some time in the past. She aired it out from the wad it was in before and carefully draped it over the sleeping form of her handler.

"Oh, Vaughn," she whispered over him, "what's going on with you?" He was always such a grounded man, centered and in control. For him to, to be acting in the way he had been in the last few hours was odd, out of character. Something had to have set him off, to cause this change and she was sure it wasn't something as simple as a simple cold. A chiming from beyond the windows prompted Sydney to look at her watch. 30 minutes before her father's protection would run out and her presence here would be discovered, until Vaughn would have to learn to be attentive even while asleep.

"A note," she told herself, her heart seemingly breaking in two. How much she wished she could stay to take care of him! Yet the practical half of her mind told her it wasn't worth the risk to him or his life. She struggled with the heavy thoughts, her steps weighed down by the reluctance held over departing. She'd find a piece of paper and write a note to him with her remaining time, telling herself she'd be satisfied with watching over her while Vaughn slept. Sydney took a deep breath as she started for the small kitchen, taking a moment to take in the coffee cup setting next to the sink, the dish setting to dry next to it. So he *was* the type who kept everything clean and tidy. Her eyes caught on something on the floor near his small table.

Her curiosity peaked, Sydney bent down to retrieve the item; flipping it over in her hands as she once again stood. The cover was leather, old and worn, weathered with age. His father's journal, she surmised, falling to sit in a nearby chair. Didn't her father mention Irina's demand for the last entry's contents during her encounter with Vaughn earlier? What was it contained within these few pages that drove those who encountered it to the edge of a narrow cliff? Sydney held the book pressed between two hands, the cover cool against heated skin. She was certain her mother - Irina - had never read the page, and from what she heard of Vaughn's response to her demand, he hadn't either. Two people who were connected to the final entry that had yet to read it. But would knowledge of the contents bring the solace they both yearned for? Or would Vaughn (for that was the only one she truly cared about) fall even father from sunlight?

She didn't have time to sit here and debate. Read it, she told herself. Read it, tell Irina what she wanted to know, and let Vaughn slumber in peace. She had her reservations, though. If she were in the same position, she was sure she would be angry if Vaughn had read something as personal as a dead parent's journal. But she knew, deep inside, that once the original anger settled, she'd see he was only trying to help, acting out of concern and not disregard. Whatever she decided, though, it had to happen in the next 20 minutes.

So she read.

. .

Vaughn woke up some time later, when the sun had finally fallen behind the edge of the world and the chills of moonlight had descended on the city. His green eyes, clouded by a cold of the head, cracked open only a little bit as his body and mind once again reacquainted themselves with the physical world. For the first time in months, he felt well-rested, rejuvenated by a dead sleep. His eyes closed momentarily, then reopened. There was a blanket draped over him, which slipped off as he pulled himself out of a constricting and uncomfortable position. It lie in a pool at the bottom of his feet as he stood tall and stretched his arms above his head.

He was feeling phenomenally better. Oh, sure, his head was swimming, but less than before, and he no longer felt the constant urge to sneeze. But he wasn't magical in the sense of an alien immune system in the least, and he still felt the cold hanging on. Just not as bad as before. This was workable, despite the fact that the workday was over. A single glance at the clock assured him of that - it was past nine o'clock at night. True, the CIA never slept, but he was mostly a desk officer, with normal arrival and departure times unless he was paged (something he was sure no one would do until tomorrow). He thought for a moment about calling up Weiss to cheer him up, but his eyes caught on the destroyed side table and decided against it.

He'd have to clean it up. Groaning, he stretched one more time and headed for his bedroom, his suit passed the time in which it was comfortable - having been slept in twice today - into something that cost less money to clean. The tie he'd put on perfectly early that morning was now more of a necklace, the knot thumping against his stomach at the same beat of his heart. Slow, ambling, pained even?

Vaughn changed quickly, the suit he'd cared for so much during his trip to the bedroom thrown haphazardly into the corner of the room, behind the door in a sweat-soaked pile of expensive cloth. His mind was on other things now, like how much a new side table would cost and when he would find the time to go purchase a new one. Detached from the sentimental value of his mother's contribution to his bachelor pad years ago when he first moved back into the city, Vaughn quickly scooped up the dark wooden slivers, tossing them loudly onto the Formica counter in his kitchen.

"Shit," he muttered as soon as they left his hands. Without his attention to aim, a few hit the floor, splintering off under the lips of the counters. He looked down. A sliver of wood had lodged itself in his hand, leaving a gash about an inch and a half long. He plucked the wood out of his hand and angrily threw it down on the ground. Just his luck, he thought, heading for the kitchen. And that was when his eyes hit the note propped up on his small kitchen table. Vaughn grabbed it with his good hand and pulled it open.

Vaughn- Stopped by for a bit to see how you were doing, but you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you. Don't worry, dad took care of everything. I hope you're feeling better. I've got to go, my time is up and I have something of my own to take care of. Sydney

What the hell did that mean, something of her own? What kind of way was that to end a get-well letter? And what was she doing here?

The journal was moved. Fuck the journal, he though, grabbing it in his other hand. Blood smeared on the pale covers as he crossed the room to the garbage can tucked inside the kitchen. A foot slipped on a loose runaway piece of wood but he quickly regained his footing and tossed the journal in with the trash. It wasn't worth it, living with it hanging over his head, controlling his life. His entire life. What he became in life was based on something he knew little about. It was his inheritance, passed to him by his idol. But now he could see he'd been fucked over, kept from a life of somewhat normality into an existence full of lies.

Lies since before he could remember. And you couldn't trust lies, couldn't build anything upon him. And now he had begun lying to himself. Or at least realized he had been all this time.

. .

"Hey, man, feeling better?" Weiss asked, well, quipped. He seemed cheerful enough upon seeing his friend. Vaughn gave a half-smile, running a hand through his hair as he neared his friend. He'd been paged just as he was putting the finishing touches on his makeshift bandage, the message reading urgent, get here now, from Weiss. Something was up, because he knew Weiss wouldn't be pulling him from home after all that had happened earlier that day, how he'd been acting. Weiss could be overprotective when he wanted, as if Vaughn was the younger brother he never had, even though he had a few. Plus, he was only a year older than his friend, something Vaughn reminded him of constantly when being taunted.

"A little better. I think I took too much cold medicine earlier," he grinned sheepishly. His hand started to itch just as Weiss took notice of the white dishtowel wrapped around it.

"What happened?" Weiss inquired, coming up next to him, walking down the dark, cold hallway toward the conference room at the other end, the temperature notably lower since the sun had gone down. Vaughn hesitated for a moment, scratching away at the top of the towel, knowing it wasn't helping.

"Huge splinter, I was cleaning up. Hey, listen, about earlier, I'm really - "

"Don't worry about it," Weiss responded immediately, interrupting him. "You looked really freaked, though, I've never seen you so scared."

"I was. I think it was just that cold medicine. Let me make it up to you," he continued, sneezing. He sniffled and took a deep breath. "You know, sometime when I'm better."

"Totally."

"Now, want to tell me what all this is about?" Vaughn asked, skidding to a stop outside the conference room's heavy doors. This time, it was Weiss who was apprehensive. Vaughn waited for a moment, then yanked open the door, interrupting someone who was talking. Sydney sat at the table with her father and Kendall, the three of them looking more casual than anything else in this highly-electrified atmosphere. Vaughn wasn't look any more professional than them himself, dressed in comfortable jeans and a tee shirt he'd pulled from a drawer quickly in the dark. Their eyes turned to him as he came in the room, Weiss ambling in behind him. Kendall rubbed the top of his head, a common movement when he was stressed. This couldn't be good.

"Agent Vaughn, I'm glad you're here. We have a few questions for you," Kendall said, attempting to look inviting. He nodded and moved farther into the room to lean against a table, arms crossed defensively across his chest.

"Ask away," he quipped, eyebrows raised.

"Agent Bristow came to us with some information a few hours ago," he started. Sydney stiffened in her seat, her gaze falling to the tabletop in front of her. She looked so proper, sitting in the seat with her legs crossed, long brown hair sweeping down her shoulders. Nervous, true, but proper none the less. Vaughn's mind went to the note left on his table, a note, he now realized, that was left next to the moved journal. And she said she had something to take care of.

"You read it," he breathed, intending it to be only heard by himself. Sydney heard him, though, in the quiet, isolated room, her eyes coming up to look at him. He felt betrayed, the stinging sensation in the back of his mind intensifying in the silence. Kendall almost rolled his eyes in unison with Jack, who sat almost behind Vaughn's tall figure.

"Agent Bristow reported of information found in William Vaughn's journal," he said, attempting to break the tension, "information that shed some light on Irina Derevko's movements 25 years ago."

"And what does that have to do with anything?" Vaughn asked, indignant. "We know what happened 25 years ago."

"It's more complicated than that, Mr. Vaughn," Jack finally spoke up. Vaughn turned to face him, curiosity mixed with anger drawn across his face. Jack didn't move, nor did he acknowledge Vaughn's icy glare as he spoke. "Apparently, Derevko was looking for the same thing as the task force, who thought she was in possession of the information."

"It was assumed, at that time, that Derevko was in possession of a disk," Kendall said, breaking in to clarify what Jack had neglected to do.

"Right, a disk," Vaughn gaffed. "Thanks, really. So?"

"Vaughn, your father found it," Sydney finally spoke up, her eyes coming in contact with Vaughn's green ones for a brief second before returning to the table in front of her. He released a harsh breath.

"You don't understand, Agent Vaughn," Jack said. This time, the younger agent did not turn, instead, he continued to face forward, defiant, attempting to keep his temper under control.

Wait, why was he wasting his time on getting angry? No one, at least at this point in the proceedings, cared about how he felt about the subject matter and its source. This wasn't grade school, and Kendall wasn't going to make him feel better. The only way to make this uneasiness disappear was to push his emotions away. They were only getting in the way of work. But this is why he was here, in the CIA! To finish his father's work, to honor his death. Nothing else mattered now, not now, so close to completing what his life had been about.

He felt surprisingly empty, his posture slouching down. It were as if part of him was - missing, plucked from him as he slept. Where was the voice of reason, the voice filled with passion and drive? He waited and nothing came. He felt - dejected almost. Off-balance would be a better word for it. But he didn't care anymore, didn't care that Sydney had read his father's journal, didn't care that he'd been called in here to bring up subjects he'd rather not. He had a job to get done, that was it.

"This information, this disk, is still being sought after," he continued, "if it falls into the wrong hands -"

"Wait. It's been lost for 25 years and *now* you're worried about it falling into the wrong hands?" Vaughn interrupted. There was something he wasn't being told here, lying just under the surface of Jack's evasive explinations and answers.

"It has come to our attention that the computer it belongs to has appeared on the black market," Kendall spoke up again. Vaughn was being tag-teamed and Sydney was staying out of it, now tracing patterns on the black tabletop with her index finger.

"The disk is the only thing that will boot the computer, and now, with all the advances in technology, hacking it has become much harder," Jack explained, noting Vaughn's inability to connect the disk with the computer.

"What's on this computer?" Ah, Weiss *was* still in the room. His question broke the team's rhythm; he'd caught onto it as well. What was going on?

"We don't know," Kendall admitted. Vaughn huffed, the bandaged hand reaching up to itch the side of his head. Jack had finally had enough of this new attitude Vaughn was sporting, and rounded the desk with a practiced speed years of espionage had taught him.

"All the people who knew what is on that computer are dead, Agent Vaughn, including your father. So I suggest you start taking all of this seriously," he growled. Normally, Vaughn would have taken a step back to defend himself against Jack's chiding. Instead, he stood his ground, not even flinching.

"I am, sir," he responded, serious. Weiss took a step forward. Vaughn *always* said that with a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice, but now, what had happened? On the other side of the room, Sydney stood, surprised as well, and Jack simply blinked. "And I would appreciate it if you would be perfectly honest with me." Whoa. Jack looked pleased with the agent for once.

"Slone has put in a bid for this computer, and will stop at nothing to find the disk, nothing," Jack told him plainly. At Vaughn's continued confusion, he realized something that was going to heed the proceedings. "You haven't read the entry, have you?"

"No, I haven't, and I doubt I ever will," he responded.

"Why is that, Agent Vaughn?" Kendall asked. Vaughn turned to face him, wishing for once he didn't have to bounce back and forth from his office to this underground operations center, each one with their own superiors. Devlin, while he did have his problems, was more agreeable that Kendall most of the time. He was forced to change his tactics depending on the location of his desk that day, a very tiring exercise in job security to be sure. He laughed, a laugh kept inside his own head, at the irony of the situation. Here he was, on the edge of some operation he was reluctant to participate in, wishing he could say some things to the men in charge here that would probably result in his loss of a job. He should start keeping a record of all his missions and hand it down to someone in a nice little box with his father's, hoping it would dissuade that person from ever joining up.

Of course, if the recipient was just like him, it wouldn't work. Vaughn had his father's entire life as well as a written record, and he was still standing here, leading this life.

"I threw it away," he responded, turning to Kendall. This was getting easier as he went along.

"Threw it away? Are you sure you're feeling better, Mike?" Weiss asked, concerned. Vaughn waved him off.

"What did it say? What is it you're not telling me?"

"Vaughn - "Sydney spoke up from across the table, moving as if she'd like to place a comforting hand on his arm, but was unable to because of the distance. "Vaughn, your father, your father, he -"

"The location and code for the disk was told to you before he left, locked away in your subconscious," Jack broke in, annoyed with Sydney and her emotional approach to the information they had discussed before Weiss brought Vaughn in. An emotional approach might have been a little softer, when applied to telling a man his head had been messed with as a child by a father he admired. Why would the location be stored in his head, instead of locked up somewhere? Reliability? And what was he thinking, subjecting his son to this danger?

Unless no one knew. That must have been what Irina was asking about, when demanding the last entry's contents. She must have known the elder Vaughn had found the disk and hidden it, but was clueless as to where he'd put it. Did she really think Vaughn would have told her that information willingly? Or was she looking for something in the entry only she would understand? Either way, Vaughn knew he would have to face the woman in order to get the answers he needed. That monster would be more forward with him than these two supposed allies were being at the moment.

"Now, I don't care if you tossed it off into the ocean; we need that journal, Agent Vaughn," Kendall ordered, rubbing the top of his head. Vaughn wondered momentarily if that motion was the evolved version of running a hand through hair when frustrated, something Kendall could no longer do. Had to be. "We'll talk more when we get it." He nodded to Jack before exiting the room, probably on his way home for the night, finally being able to relax. Jack remained in the room with the younger agents.

"I understand this may be hard for you, Mr. Vaughn," he said, his voice softer than it was before, "but don't let that distract you from how important this information is." With a daily revelation of emotion, or at least caring for another human completed, Jack followed after Kendall, glancing at his daughter before he left. He'd talk to her later. The door sealed behind him, creating a vacuum of silence in their wake.

"Vaughn, are you alright?" Sydney asked, rounding the desk. She swooped in on him with practiced grace as Weiss ambled over as quietly as he could - which wasn't all that quiet.

"Yeah, that's a lot to take in, buddy. You still wanna hit the bar tonight?" he asked. Sydney shot him a glare behind Vaughn's back, but looked away as Vaughn chuckled. His friends looked up at him, inquisitive.

"Maybe later, Weiss, there's still something I have to take care of. You can wait if you want," he answered. And his friends were once again confused as he turned and walked out of the room, just as Jack and Kendall had just before. Weiss turned to Sydney.

"He's faking it," he stated. She nodded.

"I wish it were the coldness, but I have a feeling it's not."

"Where do you think he's going?" Weiss said suddenly. Sydney looked at him sharply, and both of them knew exactly where he was headed. The pair ran out the door.

. .

"You came back." Irina was a caged animal, slinking around her glass palace with the grace of a jaguar, just waiting for him to make the wrong move so she could strike. But it wasn't a move of physical actions, rather, she was waiting for the moment she could slip something in to get under his skin. She was lonely in the cage, lonely with no one to play with. And then he came in, casual, tired, cold; the last of which she wasn't expecting. Had William really done that good of a job? It would make things so much more amusing if he did.

Vaughn came to stop directly in front of her, a thousand times more self- assured than the first time he'd come in to see her. She smirked at him, as if she were satisfied with what was in front of her, just as Jack had done, though he suspected they did so for two very different reasons. He stood straight, no more slouched posture, his eyes directed at her.

"You are not in a situation where you have room to negotiate," he opened the conversation, "which means my request for information surrounding my father's murder requires me giving you nothing in return."

"Nothing in return? You promised - "

"I wasn't in any condition to be making promises," he spat, interrupting her. She should have been expecting this. It was a marvel to see all this in action!

"Do you know," she started, leaning an arm against the cool glass, "what the date was on your father's last entry?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"The date," Irina continued as if he hadn't said a word, "is the same as today's. It's not a coincidence that you have felt," and here she paused dramatically for a second, "uneasy today." If he was effected by her words, he was doing a great job of masking any reaction (unlike the previous times he'd been to visit her). And he was effected - how had she known, how did she have any clue, as to the hell he'd gone through since before he'd even opened his eyes? There was no way she could have, except for -

"Tell me what you know," he demanded. She knew because she had been told.

"I was never intended to be the one you asked," Irina responded. "He always intended to live to return home to his family. But I had other plans for him."

Was this the road he wanted to walk down? For years he wanted to know what had happened, why, who, everything. But now that he stood here, at the edge of his world, he didn't know if he was ready to jump over the edge. What condition would he be in after the fall?

Would the bottom simply be the beach he'd seen in his dreams? The beach of death, with her standing over him as well, ready to strike. He had to accept that what she was about to tell him was what she had extracted from his father, tortured out of him. He winced inwardly at the thought.

"He laughed in my face, when I told him I would find out where he'd hidden the disk," Irina drawled in that deep and milky voice of hers. It seemed to mesmerize the agent standing before her, drawing him in. "I knew about his background, his special training. I knew he'd hidden it in the mind of someone, but I never suspected his own son.

"I found out later, of course, through channels. I knew where to look. It was eating him alive, I could tell. How do you take the child you love and use them as a tool in this world?"

"You should know," Vaughn mumbled, his eyes falling to study the metal frame underneath the waist-high panels.

"I do. And I know what that feels like, Agent Vaughn. So when I say it was eating him inside - "

"I've got it," he growled like a disobedient teenager. "I've never seen anything about special training in his file."

"I can have it found, if you'd like," Irina offered.

"I'll get it myself," he declined her offer. "You assumed the way to extract the disk's location was in that journal entry earlier."

"Was?"

"I've disposed of the journal since the last time we chatted," he answered promptly.

"That was a foolish thing to do," she told him, angry. That journal was the only source of the words needed to get the information!

"I guess that just means the information will just stay locked away," he smirked coldly, tapping his head with a finger from the bandaged hand. Blood was seeping through the cloth, scaring the white cloth with a line of dark red. Irina would have snarled if she could. "And you haven't been as useful as I thought you would be."

"Useful? What did you come in here expecting to hear?"

"What is on the computer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She started with a small giggle that grew into a full-blown laugh. He stood there, slightly unnerved by her odd response. The laughter filled the small space they found themselves in, wrapping around him.

"You are the spitting image of your father, asking about things you have no business asking about. You know what I told him when he asked me that, Mr. Vaughn?" Irina asked rhetorically. She was angry now. He wasn't supposed to figure out everything before telling her what was in the journal's entry! Now him and his colleagues were onto the disk and no doubt Slone was chasing after the computer. Plans put in motion 25 years ago were on the verge of being destroyed. She had to play this right.

"Yes," he responded.

"Nothing. He was cornered, with no way out. And he knew too much. He tried to fight the flames, break free of them. He cried for his family, for his life. I watched him die, Michael, and I felt no remorse when I kicked his charred body when the flames subsided. Is that what you wanted to hear?" she spat at him, leaning as close to him as she could from inside her glass prison. He unconsciously took steps back, the words she had said hitting him in wave after wave, his backward motion continuing until he hit the wall. His palms lay flat against the cold surface, her laughter echoing through the chamber. No! He couldn't let her have this power over him! He knew what he was getting into before he'd walked down this hall, he shouldn't have been surprised.

"He was another meaningless death to me," she said. How could she say that? Meaningless? That man was his reason for *being,* for living! Meaningless? Never.

"Vaughn!" He turned his head slowly to the source of the call, his eyes the slowest to react. Sydney and Weiss were rushing down the hall, ducking as if they were playing the limbo under the slowly rising gates. They knew this was not the place to be doing this, but it was where they were, as if it were meant to be. She rushed up to his side with no regard for her mother - Irina - as Weiss kept a kind of look out. "Vaughn, are you okay?"

"Fine," he bit out. Her hand reached out to grip his chin softly, pulling his face up so she could see into his eyes. They were ice, or as close as they could be with his green hue. Her mother continued to laugh.

"Shut up," Weiss growled as menacing as he could. This only caused her to laugh louder, at him and his attempt to quiet her.

"You never read the entry, Vaughn. I know you're confused, but," Sydney bit her bottom lip, almost unable to look at him like this, "but you have to know he did love you, and regretted having taken his - his last assignment." It was Vaughn's turn to laugh, now holding his head up by his own power.

"You don't have to make things up to make me feel better," he told her, giving her a small lopsided grin. She shoved him against the wall suddenly and violently, holding the larger man up by the cloth on his cotton tee shirt. So sudden was this movement that Irina stopped laughing, stunned into silence. Vaughn was just as shocked, staring at her wide-eyed.

"You have to grow up and accept the fact that things are not how you thought they were. If you had only stopped being so stubborn, so filled with self doubt, you would know exactly how he really felt!" she yelled at him. By now, the guards had called Kendall and Jack before they'd left, signaling for Weiss to get them out of there before their superiors arrived. "He said, he said he was sorry about, about leaving you. About not being able to take you to that game you wanted to go to on the - "

"Sydney, no!" Irina screamed, her hands plastered against the glass. What was she yelling about now? Sydney glanced over her shoulder at her, making sure to keep her solid grip on Vaughn as her back was turned to him. "Don't!"

"Why shouldn't she?" Weiss demanded. He was sick and tired of watching this woman crush his best friend every time he came out of here, of letting her mere presence depress him every day.

"When I asked William for the code, for the words, he told me they were about a hockey game on a certain date," she explained, rushed. Jack and Kendall's footfalls could be heard coming down the hallway, still beyond their view. She had to get this out before they approached! "He told me it so I would say it, it's a failsafe!"

"What am I, a fucking hard drive?" Vaughn demanded. He attempted to twist out of Sydney's hold, causing her to turn her back on Irina once again. The gates were opening now.

"Listen to me! Don't you understand? This is bigger than you, or Vaughn - it was put into motion 25 years ago and now it will conclude!"

"What are you talking about?" Sydney asked, her eyes still locked with her handler's.

"You *have* to protect the disk at all costs! Don't ever let the failsafe out, or you will set in motion a chain of events you do not want to see the end of."

"I've had enough of this!" Vaughn roared, the rage caused by confusion, helplessness, reaching a boiling point. With unseen force, he pushed Sydney from before him, ignoring her as she fell to the floor near his feet. Weiss moved to block his path, but Jack got there first, hitting Vaughn clock in the face. He stumbled back, nearly loosing his footing, blood seeping from a broken lip. His hand came up to nurse his aching jaw.

"Agent Vaughn, I hope I never see you treat my daughter like that again," he told the younger agent, eyes dark. Irina stood silent, watching the scene before her, hoping they would stay in her view if she stayed quiet.

"Or what, you'll kill me? That would put a damper on your plans now, wouldn't it."

"Oh, stop it!" Sydney cried. "What happened to you today?"

Vaughn blinked, his hand falling to his side. He didn't have an answer for her. What *had* happened to him today? He wasn't feeling well, that he knew, but what exactly had been going on? He turned to Irina, one of her comments coming back to the surface of his consciousness. His eyes softened, childlike, asking her what was going on. What had the world come to when a man had to ask his father's killer for his sanity back?

She had no answers either. She could only look down, then turn back into her cell. He hung his head.

"C'mon, buddy, let's get you home. Nothing a little sleep can't fix," Weiss suggested, putting a hand on Vaughn's shoulder. He shrugged it off, covering his face with his hands. But instead of tell his friend that he didn't need any sleep, or keeping any of it to himself, he found himself being driven home, the day's events pouring out of him faster than he could think. Sydney listened, through an earpiece Weiss had put in before leaving, her comments being conveyed through him. They were there for him, as he had been so many times before.