Well guys, here's the next chapter. Hope you like it. Chapter 18 will be up in the next few days, probably. Let me know what you think!!
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Chapter 17
I leapt into the dark hallway, hoping to take my attacker off guard. Instead, I found myself face to face with the barrel of a gun. Whoever was out there had been waiting for me to come out.
I froze, squinting as my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the hallway.
"Drop it," the intruder muttered, his voice slurred. I slowly bent down, my hands raised, and dropped my gun on the floor with a thud.
By then, my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. I frowned at the man standing in front of me. He was leaning unsteadily against the wall, his face obscured by the brim of a dark baseball cap. His
aim, though, was as steady as ever, and I knew that I was in no position to mess with him.
He reached out unsteadily with one foot, kicking my gun out of reach. Only then did he relax his aim slightly.
"Who are you?" He asked. Again his voice was slurred, and I found myself wondering momentarily if he was drunk. He was still leaning heavily against the wall. I squinted again, confused. There was something
familiar about the man.
"I said, who are you?" He repeated, his voice rising in agitation. And then it clicked. His voice was different, and I hadn't recognized it right away. But I heard something familiar in the intonation of his words, and
wondered how I could have missed it before.
"Vaughn?" I asked, stepping forward hesitantly. His head jerked up at the name, and I caught a glimpse of his brilliant green eyes. An enormous wave of relief washed over me. He was okay.
"How do you know my name?" He asked, stepping away from me, swaying slightly. "What have you done with her?"
I looked at him, confused. "Who?"
"Sydney," he muttered. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."
"Vaughn," I said, my voice growing soft. "It's me. I'm right here. I'm okay."
He stared at me, his brow wrinkled.
"No…" he trailed off. "Your hair…" he swayed again. Something was obviously wrong with him, and he was getting worse. I could barely see him in the darkness, but there were vague outlines of bruises on his face
and arms.
I reached up to touch my hair, confused by his comment, and realized that I was still wearing the black wig I had used as a makeshift disguise earlier that day. No wonder he hadn't recognized me. I pulled the wig
loose.
"It's a wig, Vaughn." I said, moving toward him, and placing a steadying hand on his aim. "It's me."
"Syd?" He asked, reaching up and placing his palm on my cheek, as if to reassure himself that it was really me. I felt his body waver, and before I could even try to break his fall, he had collapsed.
"Vaughn?" I questioned, falling to my kneeling beside him. He looked up at me, his green eyes clouded as he struggled to stay conscious. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Where are you hurt?"
"Head…" he muttered, the words barely a whisper before his eyes fluttered shut.
"Vaughn?" I asked, shaking his shoulder slightly. No response.
For a moment I deliberated my options. Vaughn obviously needed medical attention, but we also needed to find another safehouse. The longer we stayed here, the more danger we were in.
After several seconds, I grabbed Vaughn, dragging him back into the apartment. We wouldn't get far with him unconscious, and whatever injuries he had could be life-threatening.
With a bit of effort, I had pulled Vaughn's inert form to the bedroom, bolting the door behind me.
In the brighter light of the bedroom, I finally saw how badly Vaughn was injured. He had obviously been beaten. His bottom lip was swollen and bleeding, and a large, ugly bruise was forming around his left eye.
I ran my hand along the length of his limbs, feeling for the unusual bumps of broken bones, relieved when I didn't find any. Lifting his head gently, I felt along the base of his skull, not surprised to find a large bump.
The bump was probably the source of Vaughn's slurred speech, and the reason he had passed out. He most likely had a concussion. I pulled my hand away, my fingers thinly coated with his blood.
I frowned in concern. He wasn't in good shape, but it was nothing that I couldn't take care of on my own. I needed to get the swelling down and the bleeding stopped.
I sighed. That was one of the very few benefits of being a spy—I had learned how to treat all kinds of injuries.
Quietly, without disturbing Vaughn, I rose from the bed, retrieving a damp cloth from the bathroom. I returned, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Vaughn, wiping away the caked blood on his arms, legs, face,
and the back of his head, all the while cursing the people who had done this to him.
After several minutes, I had bandaged his more serious cuts, and had rested the back of his head on a Ziploc bag filled with ice. The swelling around his lip and eye had decreased a bit, leaving purple and dark blue
bruises.
He was a sight to be seen, and if circumstances were different, we probably would have laughed about it.
But circumstances weren't different. The truth was, if the blow to Vaughn's head had been even an inch lower, his spinal chord would have been damaged. He would have been lucky to have the use of his legs.
More likely—he would have been dead. The thought sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine.
I had almost lost him, and the thought was sobering. I watched him as he slept, unwilling to leave his side. I knew that I should have been calling the CIA, telling them what happened. I should have been finding
another safehouse. I should have been worrying about the danger we were in.
But at that moment, nothing mattered more to me than Vaughn.
I brushed his face with my fingers, and his eyes fluttered open, scanning the room before landing back on me.
"Hey," I said, smiling down at him.
He cleared his throat. "Hey." His voice was weak, but clear. I felt relief sweep over me. If his voice was back to normal, then his condition was definitely improving.
"You feeling better?" I asked. He nodded, but winced at the movement. "Head still hurt?" I smiled sympathetically.
He frowned, avoiding the nod this time. "That obvious?" He asked.
I returned his smile. "Yeah."
"Are you okay?" He asked, his brow furrowing. I laughed at the question.
"Vaughn, I'm the last thing you should be worrying about. You look like you got hit by a truck."
He chuckled. "Thanks." He paused. "Sorry I almost shot you." I chuckled at his statement.
"It's okay. It was an honest mistake. Plus, you were delusional." He chuckled, then looked up at me again, his face suddenly serious.
"I thought that someone had come for you...you looked so different..." He said, reaching up to touch my hair.
I nodded. "Sorry about that. I was so exhausted after looking for you that I completely forgot about the wig."
"Honest mistake," he said, smiling as he repeated my earlier statement. He paused again. "We need to get out of here. By now they know I escaped, and they probably figured out where I was headed."
I nodded. "Soon. But you need to rest a little longer." He knew I was right, and didn't even bother to argue. "Get some sleep." I said. "I'll wake you up in an hour, and we'll get out of here if you're up to it. Okay?"
He nodded, again wincing at the movement. "Stay with me?" He asked, already struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Of course." I smiled, stroking his forehead as I watched him fall asleep.
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So, what did you think? It's all downhill from now, so don't you worry! Fluff, fluff, fluff to come. Reviews are, as always, much appreciated :)
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Chapter 17
I leapt into the dark hallway, hoping to take my attacker off guard. Instead, I found myself face to face with the barrel of a gun. Whoever was out there had been waiting for me to come out.
I froze, squinting as my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of the hallway.
"Drop it," the intruder muttered, his voice slurred. I slowly bent down, my hands raised, and dropped my gun on the floor with a thud.
By then, my eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. I frowned at the man standing in front of me. He was leaning unsteadily against the wall, his face obscured by the brim of a dark baseball cap. His
aim, though, was as steady as ever, and I knew that I was in no position to mess with him.
He reached out unsteadily with one foot, kicking my gun out of reach. Only then did he relax his aim slightly.
"Who are you?" He asked. Again his voice was slurred, and I found myself wondering momentarily if he was drunk. He was still leaning heavily against the wall. I squinted again, confused. There was something
familiar about the man.
"I said, who are you?" He repeated, his voice rising in agitation. And then it clicked. His voice was different, and I hadn't recognized it right away. But I heard something familiar in the intonation of his words, and
wondered how I could have missed it before.
"Vaughn?" I asked, stepping forward hesitantly. His head jerked up at the name, and I caught a glimpse of his brilliant green eyes. An enormous wave of relief washed over me. He was okay.
"How do you know my name?" He asked, stepping away from me, swaying slightly. "What have you done with her?"
I looked at him, confused. "Who?"
"Sydney," he muttered. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you."
"Vaughn," I said, my voice growing soft. "It's me. I'm right here. I'm okay."
He stared at me, his brow wrinkled.
"No…" he trailed off. "Your hair…" he swayed again. Something was obviously wrong with him, and he was getting worse. I could barely see him in the darkness, but there were vague outlines of bruises on his face
and arms.
I reached up to touch my hair, confused by his comment, and realized that I was still wearing the black wig I had used as a makeshift disguise earlier that day. No wonder he hadn't recognized me. I pulled the wig
loose.
"It's a wig, Vaughn." I said, moving toward him, and placing a steadying hand on his aim. "It's me."
"Syd?" He asked, reaching up and placing his palm on my cheek, as if to reassure himself that it was really me. I felt his body waver, and before I could even try to break his fall, he had collapsed.
"Vaughn?" I questioned, falling to my kneeling beside him. He looked up at me, his green eyes clouded as he struggled to stay conscious. "Can you tell me what's wrong? Where are you hurt?"
"Head…" he muttered, the words barely a whisper before his eyes fluttered shut.
"Vaughn?" I asked, shaking his shoulder slightly. No response.
For a moment I deliberated my options. Vaughn obviously needed medical attention, but we also needed to find another safehouse. The longer we stayed here, the more danger we were in.
After several seconds, I grabbed Vaughn, dragging him back into the apartment. We wouldn't get far with him unconscious, and whatever injuries he had could be life-threatening.
With a bit of effort, I had pulled Vaughn's inert form to the bedroom, bolting the door behind me.
In the brighter light of the bedroom, I finally saw how badly Vaughn was injured. He had obviously been beaten. His bottom lip was swollen and bleeding, and a large, ugly bruise was forming around his left eye.
I ran my hand along the length of his limbs, feeling for the unusual bumps of broken bones, relieved when I didn't find any. Lifting his head gently, I felt along the base of his skull, not surprised to find a large bump.
The bump was probably the source of Vaughn's slurred speech, and the reason he had passed out. He most likely had a concussion. I pulled my hand away, my fingers thinly coated with his blood.
I frowned in concern. He wasn't in good shape, but it was nothing that I couldn't take care of on my own. I needed to get the swelling down and the bleeding stopped.
I sighed. That was one of the very few benefits of being a spy—I had learned how to treat all kinds of injuries.
Quietly, without disturbing Vaughn, I rose from the bed, retrieving a damp cloth from the bathroom. I returned, sitting cross-legged on the bed next to Vaughn, wiping away the caked blood on his arms, legs, face,
and the back of his head, all the while cursing the people who had done this to him.
After several minutes, I had bandaged his more serious cuts, and had rested the back of his head on a Ziploc bag filled with ice. The swelling around his lip and eye had decreased a bit, leaving purple and dark blue
bruises.
He was a sight to be seen, and if circumstances were different, we probably would have laughed about it.
But circumstances weren't different. The truth was, if the blow to Vaughn's head had been even an inch lower, his spinal chord would have been damaged. He would have been lucky to have the use of his legs.
More likely—he would have been dead. The thought sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine.
I had almost lost him, and the thought was sobering. I watched him as he slept, unwilling to leave his side. I knew that I should have been calling the CIA, telling them what happened. I should have been finding
another safehouse. I should have been worrying about the danger we were in.
But at that moment, nothing mattered more to me than Vaughn.
I brushed his face with my fingers, and his eyes fluttered open, scanning the room before landing back on me.
"Hey," I said, smiling down at him.
He cleared his throat. "Hey." His voice was weak, but clear. I felt relief sweep over me. If his voice was back to normal, then his condition was definitely improving.
"You feeling better?" I asked. He nodded, but winced at the movement. "Head still hurt?" I smiled sympathetically.
He frowned, avoiding the nod this time. "That obvious?" He asked.
I returned his smile. "Yeah."
"Are you okay?" He asked, his brow furrowing. I laughed at the question.
"Vaughn, I'm the last thing you should be worrying about. You look like you got hit by a truck."
He chuckled. "Thanks." He paused. "Sorry I almost shot you." I chuckled at his statement.
"It's okay. It was an honest mistake. Plus, you were delusional." He chuckled, then looked up at me again, his face suddenly serious.
"I thought that someone had come for you...you looked so different..." He said, reaching up to touch my hair.
I nodded. "Sorry about that. I was so exhausted after looking for you that I completely forgot about the wig."
"Honest mistake," he said, smiling as he repeated my earlier statement. He paused again. "We need to get out of here. By now they know I escaped, and they probably figured out where I was headed."
I nodded. "Soon. But you need to rest a little longer." He knew I was right, and didn't even bother to argue. "Get some sleep." I said. "I'll wake you up in an hour, and we'll get out of here if you're up to it. Okay?"
He nodded, again wincing at the movement. "Stay with me?" He asked, already struggling to keep his eyes open.
"Of course." I smiled, stroking his forehead as I watched him fall asleep.
* * * * *
So, what did you think? It's all downhill from now, so don't you worry! Fluff, fluff, fluff to come. Reviews are, as always, much appreciated :)