Hey you all. Thanks for the reviews! Keep them coming. They make my day! Here is chapter five. Still kind of sad... but I promise... the more sad it is, the happier it will be later on. So don't worry, and tough it out. Next chapter will be better :) Please read and review. My email is adele1013@email.com. Enjoy!
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Chapter 5
I arrived at work early the next day, still feeling depressed. I had spent the entire weekend hoping that Vaughn would call, asking me to come to the warehouse, or to come in to CIA headquarters.
Something.
Anything.
But he hadn't called. Not a word from Joey's Pizza for the entire weekend.
I needed some kind of reassurance that he didn't feel that Friday night had been a complete mistake. Yes, it had been a mistake for him to come in the first place. But did he think it had been a mistake to stay? His short note had left me feeling like he regretted coming. That he had appreciated the hospitality, but that it had meant nothing more than that to him.
It had meant more to me. Much more than I had realized until Saturday morning, when I was left with an empty couch and a vague note.
I had spent the day locked up in my room, crying, and feeling sorry for myself. At first, I had been angry with Vaughn for leaving the note, for not waking me to say goodbye in person. Then, I had realized that it wasn't his fault. He didn't know how I felt about him. How could he know that it would hurt me so much to get the note? He hadn't been mean, or cold, or indifferent. He had just been Agent Vaughn. Who accidentally fell asleep on his asset's couch.
I had wanted to call him, and tell him everything that I felt for him, but knew that I couldn't.
Francie had come home Saturday night, and had wondered what was wrong. I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to know every detail of what had happened Friday. I wanted to tell her exactly what I felt for Vaughn.
I wanted her to reassure me—to tell me that it would be impossible for him not to feel the same way.
But I couldn't tell her. The only person I could be honest with was Vaughn. But not with this.
Instead, I had to wipe my puffy red eyes, force a smile, and tell Francie that everything was ok—that it had just been a horrible day at the bank—before locking myself in my room again.
I had managed to pull myself out of it today. I'd given myself a pep talk before work, and I had stopped feeling sorry for myself. What would it accomplish? My life would not change just because I wished it would.
The only thing that could change my life was work. So I threw myself into it again, full-force.
And yet, as I sat busily typing at my desk at the CIA, my heart still felt hollow, and I knew that only one thing could change that.
Michael Vaughn.
* * * * *
"Syd?" My head jerked away from my computer screen when I heard Vaughn's voice.
"Hey," I replied, forcing a half-hearted smile. I frowned, though, when Vaughn didn't return my smile as usual. He seemed preoccupied. "How was the rest of your weekend?" I asked casually, trying to keep the concern out of my voice.
"Awful," he replied, almost to himself. "Listen, Syd." He said quickly. "We need to talk." My heart sank at his words, at the tenseness of his features. "I'm setting up a meet at the warehouse. I need to brief you on your next mission anyways."
I nodded, not exactly sure what to say. Something was wrong, and from the concern in his eyes, I could tell that it wasn't something I would like.
He continued after a brief moment's pause. "Be there at seven tonight." He offered a brief, tight smile, which did nothing to relieve my uneasiness, before heading back to his desk across the room.
I sighed. He had probably realized how I felt about him. He didn't feel the same way. That had to be what we needed to talk about. Nothing else could make him that tense. That serious.
God.
It would ruin our friendship. Things like this always did. But I could lie. Tell him that he was wrong. We would laugh it off, and stay as close as we always have been. My heart would ache every time we were together. But our friendship—our partnership—would be safe.
I breathed deeply, my mind telling me that it was for the best. That it was the way things had to be.
But my heart was telling me something much different.
'* * * * *
So there you go. Sad, but it's ok. It'll get better. Let me know if you think it's any good, or if you think it's dragging a bit. I just write what happens to fly off my pen. It's you're job to let me know if it's good or... not so good :)
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Chapter 5
I arrived at work early the next day, still feeling depressed. I had spent the entire weekend hoping that Vaughn would call, asking me to come to the warehouse, or to come in to CIA headquarters.
Something.
Anything.
But he hadn't called. Not a word from Joey's Pizza for the entire weekend.
I needed some kind of reassurance that he didn't feel that Friday night had been a complete mistake. Yes, it had been a mistake for him to come in the first place. But did he think it had been a mistake to stay? His short note had left me feeling like he regretted coming. That he had appreciated the hospitality, but that it had meant nothing more than that to him.
It had meant more to me. Much more than I had realized until Saturday morning, when I was left with an empty couch and a vague note.
I had spent the day locked up in my room, crying, and feeling sorry for myself. At first, I had been angry with Vaughn for leaving the note, for not waking me to say goodbye in person. Then, I had realized that it wasn't his fault. He didn't know how I felt about him. How could he know that it would hurt me so much to get the note? He hadn't been mean, or cold, or indifferent. He had just been Agent Vaughn. Who accidentally fell asleep on his asset's couch.
I had wanted to call him, and tell him everything that I felt for him, but knew that I couldn't.
Francie had come home Saturday night, and had wondered what was wrong. I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to know every detail of what had happened Friday. I wanted to tell her exactly what I felt for Vaughn.
I wanted her to reassure me—to tell me that it would be impossible for him not to feel the same way.
But I couldn't tell her. The only person I could be honest with was Vaughn. But not with this.
Instead, I had to wipe my puffy red eyes, force a smile, and tell Francie that everything was ok—that it had just been a horrible day at the bank—before locking myself in my room again.
I had managed to pull myself out of it today. I'd given myself a pep talk before work, and I had stopped feeling sorry for myself. What would it accomplish? My life would not change just because I wished it would.
The only thing that could change my life was work. So I threw myself into it again, full-force.
And yet, as I sat busily typing at my desk at the CIA, my heart still felt hollow, and I knew that only one thing could change that.
Michael Vaughn.
* * * * *
"Syd?" My head jerked away from my computer screen when I heard Vaughn's voice.
"Hey," I replied, forcing a half-hearted smile. I frowned, though, when Vaughn didn't return my smile as usual. He seemed preoccupied. "How was the rest of your weekend?" I asked casually, trying to keep the concern out of my voice.
"Awful," he replied, almost to himself. "Listen, Syd." He said quickly. "We need to talk." My heart sank at his words, at the tenseness of his features. "I'm setting up a meet at the warehouse. I need to brief you on your next mission anyways."
I nodded, not exactly sure what to say. Something was wrong, and from the concern in his eyes, I could tell that it wasn't something I would like.
He continued after a brief moment's pause. "Be there at seven tonight." He offered a brief, tight smile, which did nothing to relieve my uneasiness, before heading back to his desk across the room.
I sighed. He had probably realized how I felt about him. He didn't feel the same way. That had to be what we needed to talk about. Nothing else could make him that tense. That serious.
God.
It would ruin our friendship. Things like this always did. But I could lie. Tell him that he was wrong. We would laugh it off, and stay as close as we always have been. My heart would ache every time we were together. But our friendship—our partnership—would be safe.
I breathed deeply, my mind telling me that it was for the best. That it was the way things had to be.
But my heart was telling me something much different.
'* * * * *
So there you go. Sad, but it's ok. It'll get better. Let me know if you think it's any good, or if you think it's dragging a bit. I just write what happens to fly off my pen. It's you're job to let me know if it's good or... not so good :)