A Lesson in Humility
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:::Memento Style:::
3.
"I'm gonna go, man." Michael looked up and nodded at Eric as he walked by, stopping momentarily at Vaughn's desk. He placed his hands on the sides of it and leaned forward, forcing Michael to look him in the eye.
Vaughn sighed, closing his eyes. "Eric, what I'm doing is hard enough without you standing there staring at me."
"I'm just making sure that you're really going to do it."
"Of course it's something I'm going to do. It's something I'm about to do right now except for the fact that you're standing there distracting me."
Eric shrugged. "I just wanted to point out that once I leave, you'll the last man in the office. You've been sitting at that computer for about 3 hours and as far as I can see, and mind you I have 20/20 vision, you haven't written a single word. I'm just thinking that if you were really determined, it wouldn't be so hard."
He knew that his friend was right. "I never said that it was going to be easy, Eric. Don't you remember why I'm doing it in the first place? It makes sense that it's hard for me... It isn't something I want to do. It's just-"
"-something you have to do." Eric finished. "I know. I'm just thinking that if it's worked so far and we're accomplishing so much... is it important enough to sacrifice?"
Michael turned to look at him now. "Or the flip-side: is it enough of a risk to take. What if I make the wrong call because of how I feel about her? I'm not willing to risk that." He turned back to the blank screen that taunted him. "I need to work Eric."
His tone was heavy with finality.
He felt his friend leaving and closed his eyes once more when the door closed, leaving him with his own mixed thoughts.
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He bit his lip, watching his fingers type the words that he would never have believed he would type. At least not of his own free will. And yet here they were, steadily streaming out like water through his fingertips.
It should have been easy. Or at least easier than this. He had to laugh at himself for checking what he had written every few lines just to make sure that he was writing what he should be writing and also making sure that he wrote it well. Perhaps this aspect did not make much sense but he felt as if, if he were going to leave Sydney, he wanted to leave an 'au revoir' that was fitting. Though she would probably never see it.
I am writing this letter to inform you that I wish to resign as Agent Bristow's handler. Though I had been very much persistent in earlier times that there was nothing inappropriate between us, I see now that there is and I cannot let the possibility of my own emotional involvement enter into the larger scope of the actions as the CIA and perhaps endanger lives.
He read it over. And he actually liked it; this was indeed befitting; it wasn't flowery or incompetent. It was a simple declaration that implied a hundred times more that its denotative meaning. And that somehow seemed to embody everything that he and Sydney had shared over the past year.
He signed it a little wearily before folding it, something inside of him making him make sure that each corner was perfectly aligned, that each fold was creased in a straight line. He put it in the envelope.
And when he slid it under the door of Agent Kendall's office, he felt a sudden sadness that overwhelmed him almost as if he had lost a part of himself. He knew that essentially, he had; but this physically hurt and he had to lean against the wall for a moment just to regain his breath.
Walking along the corridor, he realized that he wasn't a handler anymore. That he would not see Sydney in the warehouse any longer, that he would have have the chance to inspect every wound to make sure she was safe, that he would never again have the right to hug her should she be for any reason sad. The offer still existed but he knew that she would turn away once she knew.
And he had to be the one to tell her first.
It was only right.
He picked up the phone on his desk, knowing that the dim light in the office would show that he was the only one left. Knowing that she would be home watching television or resting in her pajamas. Knowing that she would come to him anyway. Willingly. Expectantly.
Walking away hurt.
One last mission debrief. One last good bye.
"Hello?"
He restrained his ragged breathing and forced himself to stay calm.
"Joey's Pizza?"
TBC
