Chapter Three – Bleak Dwelling
She signs the slip, contracting her only to the CIA. She took one more second to finish her signature and thought about leaving the where she was going to do now that she was contracted to the Los Angeles's offices.
She finishes it though, and takes a second to breath in her new life. What will this bring now that she was a field agent, she doesn't know exactly what to do since she has always been an assassin. It was like a new skin and it was most uncomfortable.
Two directors stood in the presence of two other agents and her. She gives them the paper, uneasy, Vaughn gives her very comforting smile, Agent Weiss, Vaughn's companion, was simple staring at her with disbelief, which she didn't know why.
"What do I do now?" She looks up at the Directors.
"You need some rest now, there is nothing for you to do now." She nods and questions where she will go? She has been dead to Los Angeles for almost ten years now. She has no contacts and hasn't been in a hundred mile radius of the city. She is afraid if she takes one step on the ground, afraid that her cover will be blown as an assassin.
"Your Father set up an arrangement for you to stay in Los Angeles. It has been fully taken care of." Agent Vaughn tells her, she tries to smile but trust is hard thing for her. She stands up and shakes the directors' hands as they exit and she turns back to Agent Vaughn and Weiss. They give her a nice smile, but she can't return it as much as she wants to.
"I know this must be a tough transition," Vaughn sympathizes.
"Have you ever dealt with a AIC before?" She asks him.
"No,"
"Then you have no idea what I feel." She doesn't mean that to come out as harsh as it did. But she doesn't apologize though; she glares at her hands, brushing her tear away before they could see her swollen sinus. "So where am I staying?"
"With me," Agent Vaughn said. She didn't say anything, but she nodded, not looking at the faces that she knew were pitying her. She didn't take pity, especially from them. "Your father knew you would be sort of distraught after the paperwork, so he told me to make sure that you were safe and comfortable."
"I have to get my things, so I'll meet you outside." She turns around and leaves the room. Weiss hits him roughly with a blown expression on his face. Vaughn doesn't understand why the hell he keeps hitting him; he was just being nice to the girl.
She had been though a lot and she was very tired. Why not stay at his house; he knew that she would be safe and comfort at his home. What was the deal? The deal was he had this beautiful enchanting woman, probably in his own bead, if he slept on the couch, with only so much distance away from each other. That is what Eric saw with the problem, not like it was such a bad thing.
"What the hell! You got Bristow's girl at your house for the night?" Eric banters him.
"So?"
"So, hello, even her name screams mystery. You are always attracted to the blondes or the red heads with nothing but boring written over them. Yet you fall for them. What is going to happen with this chick?" He asks. Vaughn looks lost as he put all his things in his suitcase and clips the locks on.
"Nothing, she needs a place to stay and Jack already asked me if she could stay with me. She safe with another CIA agent, don't you think?" He asks.
He walks out with his suitcase, totally ignoring him. They had been friends even before the agency ever put them in the same office. Those teenage years were spent looking for the right girl.
The right girl for Michael actually, Eric was too busy having fun to actually settle down. He stayed up to the next girl if he could get the first girl out of bed before he went to the next course. Of course he got slapped a few times and tried to get with roommates. But, Eric, he was a fun lovable guy who, if he saw the girl of his dreams he would never betray her.
He was only a big stupid teddy bear. Michael never guessed the other way; he just never took his advice because his love life wasn't the best.
But neither was Michael's, in fact, Michael didn't have one at all. His nights were spent at the office, at the clubs (with Eric of course) trying to speak different languages with other people, or spent time with his hockey stick and puck.
There was Alice, but they lived in a world that neither of them felt comfortable with.
There was Amanda, but she was too busy herself with trying to make it big as an Actress.
But, then there was Sydney. Sydney wasn't like any of the girls; she didn't have blonde hair, blue eyes, or drove a luxury car. Instead her brown hair flustered with her deep eyes, her body wasn't as curved as other girls but had an appealing body structure, and her words that just came out of her mouth, and she was more than a match. She was perfection incarnate.
They met six months ago, working on the same case. They have seen each other around, she report to him if something went astray but nothing really did. He watched her eat her food coincidentally at the same restaurant, always ordering Garlic Bread, Salad with Italian dressing, and Pasta with ever changing sauces. But of course with a large glass of a light Merlot. He knows this because his table was always next to hers, but she didn't notice him, she never did.
There were this one time when he actually did speak to her, but then he realized she wasn't worth the trouble.
He walks out to her standing figure, watching the light rainstorm turn into heavy showers. She smiles and gives a small nod to Eric, talking away to his friend while Michael stands tall in front of Sydney.
"Are you comfortable staying with me? Would you like to stay with a female agent? Your father agreed instead of a monitored cell it would be a CIA agent." He explains.
"No, really, it's fine." He nods, walking off into the parking lot to get the car so she doesn't have to get soaked in the horrible rain. Eric instead confronts her, he knows her well during the phasing of her entry as a 'bowered' assassin. He wasn't too exactly fond of her, and neither was Sydney.
"You like rain?" Eric tries to smile.
"My mother was killed in rain." She tells him. He purges his lips together and nods.
"Don't you hate when that happens?" Sydney tends to look up from her shoes to Eric's face with a hard distant glance. "Of course you do." Eric tries to laugh but instead coughed it out.
When the dark suburban came around, she climbed in the passenger side and closed it shut, sighing to get away from the stress. The music was smooth on the ride, he place the Classical channel on, not knowing that she liked all forms of music. He didn't have much of CDs, mostly what any boy would have. She didn't know that channels so she left it alone, but she didn't want to have the impression that all she enjoys was classical.
She steps into the apartment with a wide smile. It was a nice apartment, with dim lights and pictures along the walls. It was tastefully light and decorated and it suited them both in a nice manner.
"Sydney?"
"Yes?" Sydney replied.
"You don't remember much, do you?"
"I remember the mission,"
"You said you remember me, do you?"
"I remember you taking my files on Rambaldi…not much," He sort of frowned because of that.
She walked along the walls enjoying the artist he picked out, all cubists, almost all Cézanne. She nodded and pointed on of the Impressionistic pictures from the odd shaped and drawn canvases. This one stood out from the others, it was odd of him to have many abstract and cubist on one wall and then placed in the middle was a full landscape by Monet.
"What is with this one?" She asks. He comes from the coat hanger and pears up at the Monet false canvas.
"I thought it was unique." He tells her.
"But it is the only impressionistic painter up there, you are mixing with your eras."
"You know about art?" He asks.
"Oh, my father took me to the museum when I would get these spells. I became very sick from the heat during the summer, and the only place where it was cool was the museum. He pointed out many of his favorite artworks and even told me of others he absolutely hated. He taught me many things about art, Agent Vaughn."
She remembered the cool air conditioning and the many metal detectors. He held on to her by the hand, sometimes pulling her to his waist, and pointed out many ways that painters used to paint. She thought it was just a way to kill time then, but he loved to tell her ways people painted, and how it could change people's lives. "Though he never like cubism, I still don't know why." She murmured as she looked to the other paintings.
"Because they only hold mental abyss. I rather liked how people saw life."
She hasn't heard that voice in almost two years.
EgyptianKat- Thanks a lot, just for that I'm feeling pretty good and throwing in another chapter!
Sarabeth1- Hey my name is Sarabeth too! No kidding!
Zara- Update!