Chapter Six - Morning After
The sounds of dripping coffee echoes almost continuously in the small bachelors pad owned by Vaughn in another small suburb of Los Angeles. The aroma could almost be tasted and hopefully will awake any twenty-three year old senior agent. Instead he has to enter his room, filled with hockey nostalgic and the smell of cologne, and there on the bed was a very comfortable assassin sleeping soundlessly in his hockey tee.
He smiles of course, he has a very attractive, stubborn, and dangerous woman lying on his king size bed. The shirt stopped around her mid thigh and showed her peach colored legs, almost artistically sculpted. She would be a perfect artist's model, the way her body was shaped and toned. It has to be in that line of work, he figured.
Then her brow arches as her body began furiously shake under the spell of a nightmare.
He reaches down to her shoulder and brushes it lightly before coming eye to eye with a nine millimeter two inches from his forehead. He raises his arms because it is the only thing he could do. It takes a moment for Sydney to see clearly after being shocked half to death. No matter what Sydney was feeling it couldn't compare to the two-second shock of a gun being cocked at his head.
"Syd, it's me, Vaughn." He croaks as her eyebrows land in a fury.
"Oh, damn it. I'm sorry." She turns back on the safety and rests the black cold weapon under the pillow.
"Always sleep with a gun under your pillow?" He raises a brow at hers, and then smiles.
"Well, for precaution." She figures. She yawns and then stretches. She looks around the room and spots a bathroom in the back. She almost skips to it, and sees a shaver on the right side of the sink. She glances at Vaughn who's standing in the doorway, incapable to move. She raises the shaver. "May I?"
"Go ahead." He pretends he has something to do in the bathroom. Brush his teeth; he guesses he has to do. Jumps on the counter sink and began to dispense gel shaving cream on her legs, lathering the greenish tint around her caves and lower thighs. The motions are almost seductive to Vaughn, he felt so attached to her already.
"You don't know how long I wanted to do this. Six months, can you believe it? I felt like I was a human Sasquatch it was so embarrassing." She began to flick the razor up and down her legs and then into the sink of mucky soap water. She almost feels joy in the grooming when most women are driven to madness to shave legs.
She finishes by wiping the wet cloth around her legs and jumping of the sink. He spits in the sink and rinses out with a cup of fresh water. They both retreated towards the kitchen and Sydney sat behind the island in the middle where there was a plate of hot food and a dripping cup of burning aroma coffee. Sydney of course took to her plate with a starving moan as she stuffed her face in the omelets. After all, it was a long time before she had a real breakfast.
"So, that what was ACI. Project Christmas, only lengthened." Vaughn says, as he smelled his coffee.
"In some ways. ACI stands for Academy of Central Intelligence, but to outsiders we were known as Christerman Academy." She says with a hearty mouth full of food.
"Don't you feel that your childhood was taken away from you at all? The training, the spying and you were only a child." He assumes.
"Something I learned when I grew up was I was never a child. My mother took that away from me when she died." Sydney began to drink her glass of orange juice as she finished up her pancakes. "The training was just like the training you sustained where ever you were educated to be brought in to the CIA. Just we were younger, and more gifted." She smiles selfishly at the joke. He didn't find it that more appealing. It was wrong to take children and trick them to become these spies. To take away their innocence, he just didn't know how she lives with it.
"When my father left when I was sixteen, the new supervisor, Nightingale," She knew now. "He took over. My dad created a school. The children were happy, even I was happy. Then Nightingale created a nightmare. He stole our humanity. That was when everything turned into one big problem for the CIA and they shut it down and Nightingale left without the slightest punishment. But, the academy created who I am, I guess I was never Sydney Bristow, I was always Jane Doe number 447…um…About the kiss, you know I was in a cell for six months, I was kind of…you know." She drags on.
"Um…Yeah, I know what you mean." He laughs at it, a woman driven to the point of seduction. She did it well though; nothing could take that away from her. Her appeal sexually and physically, he wanted to know though, could she be attractive mentally and emotionally. She could be the perfect girlfriend, yes, but she wasn't exactly the normal girl next door. She had ghosts, baggage, and probably a history with guns since…six, he figured.
"So my Dad really trusts you, huh?" She takes a sip of her coffee.
"My Dad knew your Dad at one time. Don't know the specifics but they seemed to have a natural chemistry in the field. So I guess that's the only reason he let me be your handler." Vaughn figures.
"Uh, yeah. That's right. You're my handler. Hope you can handle me." Sydney cracks a joke.
"Believe me, you're a handle." He replies.
"That what I hate about myself sometimes, I'm so cold to people. It must be the training, but I always think I'm going to end up like my mother. Breaking someone's heart. And when I was worrying about that I was already breaking hearts." She places her hand onto of his and it's like fire to the ice water for both of them. A rude awakening but also tender in the way her skin wraps around his fingertips. And for this brief second in time, she is so beautiful, so appealing, so gentle to the assassin she was.
She didn't know he already fell in love with her long ago.
He goes in for the catch, the simple elegance of a first, but not truly first real kiss. At first she doesn't really say anything when he leans in but realizing what he was doing, alluring her into a romantic scene she got scared. She became a hypocrite to her own fixation of words. "Really, am I that hard?" She says when he began to pull away from the surprise.
"Um…No, not really. But, you know I can always use the challenge." Vaughn sort of gave Sydney hope this moment. No one knew what it was like to be stuck in a cell for six months, to escape and found out your right at the beginning again. Hope didn't live in Sydney; it flew away like a beautiful bluebird that could also be pesky too. Sydney wasn't a girl to fall in love with, she should have told him that, the way he was looking at her all morning. She couldn't fall in love even if she wanted to. She was a person anymore, she was owned by the CIA.
That what the Academy was even if she denied it too much of her despair. They manufactured out weapons, and even if she wanted to call herself a human she knew all she was is a second-generation weapon with only one objective. Country. She grew up, took charge, and all she had to thank was her father. Her father kept her safe, and she was so thankful. She still was no matter how cynical or changed, she still thanks him to this day.
She took out an orange bottle and slide out one pill and places the cap back on.
One sip of water and a flick of her wrist, she was medicated.
"What's that?" Vaughn asks.
"My pills, keeps the bad dreams away." She smiles.
The sound of an unlocking door boom through the apartment and the sounds of a loud mouth male with an addiction to the slide of his yo-yo walked through the door and found his way into the kitchen without an approval or invitation. Sydney jolted out of her chair to realize that it was only one of Michael's very good friends, Eric Weiss.
"Hey buddy, I want to see if the mistress bitch is up." Of course he shut his mouth when he saw her wake and not very pleased with the interruption. "And she's wearing you jersey." He says automatically. His eyes jolted as the light above his head went on. "She's wearing your jersey." He points out again. He became a codfish once more; his eyes open in surprise with a full-paralyzed mouth.
Vaughn took him into the next room, while he began to grin devilishly at his good long time buddy and friend. The man who could charm his way in bed but hook line and sinker his way out was with one time most wanted felons in the United States, who by the way looked dangerously hot in his jersey but nothing more than his jersey.
"She's wearing your jersey, Man! Your Jersey!" Vaughn rolls his eyes at his screwball friend. "So…how was she?"
"Eric-"
"Was she good, oh man, she was good wasn't she?" He implies.
"We didn't-"
"Dude! She remembers! That's great!"
"Eric, listen. Sydney and I didn't do anything. She was out of clothes and found my shirt. I slept on the couch." Vaughn informs his very good friend. "And…she doesn't remember anything."
"I'm sorry pal." He seems disappointed. "Well, tell me when you are or after words…doesn't really matter." Eric began and looked over to Sydney. "You guys have to leave to Berlin now, you have an hour to get to the plane, you'll be debrief there. Nightingale is flying to Berlin at this moment."
"Shit." Vaughn walked back into the kitchen and shared the same look that Eric shared.
"Nightingale's moving in,"
A/N: I want at least five posts! FIVE!! It's not so hard just to say one word! Come on...FIVE! Pretty please?!
The sounds of dripping coffee echoes almost continuously in the small bachelors pad owned by Vaughn in another small suburb of Los Angeles. The aroma could almost be tasted and hopefully will awake any twenty-three year old senior agent. Instead he has to enter his room, filled with hockey nostalgic and the smell of cologne, and there on the bed was a very comfortable assassin sleeping soundlessly in his hockey tee.
He smiles of course, he has a very attractive, stubborn, and dangerous woman lying on his king size bed. The shirt stopped around her mid thigh and showed her peach colored legs, almost artistically sculpted. She would be a perfect artist's model, the way her body was shaped and toned. It has to be in that line of work, he figured.
Then her brow arches as her body began furiously shake under the spell of a nightmare.
He reaches down to her shoulder and brushes it lightly before coming eye to eye with a nine millimeter two inches from his forehead. He raises his arms because it is the only thing he could do. It takes a moment for Sydney to see clearly after being shocked half to death. No matter what Sydney was feeling it couldn't compare to the two-second shock of a gun being cocked at his head.
"Syd, it's me, Vaughn." He croaks as her eyebrows land in a fury.
"Oh, damn it. I'm sorry." She turns back on the safety and rests the black cold weapon under the pillow.
"Always sleep with a gun under your pillow?" He raises a brow at hers, and then smiles.
"Well, for precaution." She figures. She yawns and then stretches. She looks around the room and spots a bathroom in the back. She almost skips to it, and sees a shaver on the right side of the sink. She glances at Vaughn who's standing in the doorway, incapable to move. She raises the shaver. "May I?"
"Go ahead." He pretends he has something to do in the bathroom. Brush his teeth; he guesses he has to do. Jumps on the counter sink and began to dispense gel shaving cream on her legs, lathering the greenish tint around her caves and lower thighs. The motions are almost seductive to Vaughn, he felt so attached to her already.
"You don't know how long I wanted to do this. Six months, can you believe it? I felt like I was a human Sasquatch it was so embarrassing." She began to flick the razor up and down her legs and then into the sink of mucky soap water. She almost feels joy in the grooming when most women are driven to madness to shave legs.
She finishes by wiping the wet cloth around her legs and jumping of the sink. He spits in the sink and rinses out with a cup of fresh water. They both retreated towards the kitchen and Sydney sat behind the island in the middle where there was a plate of hot food and a dripping cup of burning aroma coffee. Sydney of course took to her plate with a starving moan as she stuffed her face in the omelets. After all, it was a long time before she had a real breakfast.
"So, that what was ACI. Project Christmas, only lengthened." Vaughn says, as he smelled his coffee.
"In some ways. ACI stands for Academy of Central Intelligence, but to outsiders we were known as Christerman Academy." She says with a hearty mouth full of food.
"Don't you feel that your childhood was taken away from you at all? The training, the spying and you were only a child." He assumes.
"Something I learned when I grew up was I was never a child. My mother took that away from me when she died." Sydney began to drink her glass of orange juice as she finished up her pancakes. "The training was just like the training you sustained where ever you were educated to be brought in to the CIA. Just we were younger, and more gifted." She smiles selfishly at the joke. He didn't find it that more appealing. It was wrong to take children and trick them to become these spies. To take away their innocence, he just didn't know how she lives with it.
"When my father left when I was sixteen, the new supervisor, Nightingale," She knew now. "He took over. My dad created a school. The children were happy, even I was happy. Then Nightingale created a nightmare. He stole our humanity. That was when everything turned into one big problem for the CIA and they shut it down and Nightingale left without the slightest punishment. But, the academy created who I am, I guess I was never Sydney Bristow, I was always Jane Doe number 447…um…About the kiss, you know I was in a cell for six months, I was kind of…you know." She drags on.
"Um…Yeah, I know what you mean." He laughs at it, a woman driven to the point of seduction. She did it well though; nothing could take that away from her. Her appeal sexually and physically, he wanted to know though, could she be attractive mentally and emotionally. She could be the perfect girlfriend, yes, but she wasn't exactly the normal girl next door. She had ghosts, baggage, and probably a history with guns since…six, he figured.
"So my Dad really trusts you, huh?" She takes a sip of her coffee.
"My Dad knew your Dad at one time. Don't know the specifics but they seemed to have a natural chemistry in the field. So I guess that's the only reason he let me be your handler." Vaughn figures.
"Uh, yeah. That's right. You're my handler. Hope you can handle me." Sydney cracks a joke.
"Believe me, you're a handle." He replies.
"That what I hate about myself sometimes, I'm so cold to people. It must be the training, but I always think I'm going to end up like my mother. Breaking someone's heart. And when I was worrying about that I was already breaking hearts." She places her hand onto of his and it's like fire to the ice water for both of them. A rude awakening but also tender in the way her skin wraps around his fingertips. And for this brief second in time, she is so beautiful, so appealing, so gentle to the assassin she was.
She didn't know he already fell in love with her long ago.
He goes in for the catch, the simple elegance of a first, but not truly first real kiss. At first she doesn't really say anything when he leans in but realizing what he was doing, alluring her into a romantic scene she got scared. She became a hypocrite to her own fixation of words. "Really, am I that hard?" She says when he began to pull away from the surprise.
"Um…No, not really. But, you know I can always use the challenge." Vaughn sort of gave Sydney hope this moment. No one knew what it was like to be stuck in a cell for six months, to escape and found out your right at the beginning again. Hope didn't live in Sydney; it flew away like a beautiful bluebird that could also be pesky too. Sydney wasn't a girl to fall in love with, she should have told him that, the way he was looking at her all morning. She couldn't fall in love even if she wanted to. She was a person anymore, she was owned by the CIA.
That what the Academy was even if she denied it too much of her despair. They manufactured out weapons, and even if she wanted to call herself a human she knew all she was is a second-generation weapon with only one objective. Country. She grew up, took charge, and all she had to thank was her father. Her father kept her safe, and she was so thankful. She still was no matter how cynical or changed, she still thanks him to this day.
She took out an orange bottle and slide out one pill and places the cap back on.
One sip of water and a flick of her wrist, she was medicated.
"What's that?" Vaughn asks.
"My pills, keeps the bad dreams away." She smiles.
The sound of an unlocking door boom through the apartment and the sounds of a loud mouth male with an addiction to the slide of his yo-yo walked through the door and found his way into the kitchen without an approval or invitation. Sydney jolted out of her chair to realize that it was only one of Michael's very good friends, Eric Weiss.
"Hey buddy, I want to see if the mistress bitch is up." Of course he shut his mouth when he saw her wake and not very pleased with the interruption. "And she's wearing you jersey." He says automatically. His eyes jolted as the light above his head went on. "She's wearing your jersey." He points out again. He became a codfish once more; his eyes open in surprise with a full-paralyzed mouth.
Vaughn took him into the next room, while he began to grin devilishly at his good long time buddy and friend. The man who could charm his way in bed but hook line and sinker his way out was with one time most wanted felons in the United States, who by the way looked dangerously hot in his jersey but nothing more than his jersey.
"She's wearing your jersey, Man! Your Jersey!" Vaughn rolls his eyes at his screwball friend. "So…how was she?"
"Eric-"
"Was she good, oh man, she was good wasn't she?" He implies.
"We didn't-"
"Dude! She remembers! That's great!"
"Eric, listen. Sydney and I didn't do anything. She was out of clothes and found my shirt. I slept on the couch." Vaughn informs his very good friend. "And…she doesn't remember anything."
"I'm sorry pal." He seems disappointed. "Well, tell me when you are or after words…doesn't really matter." Eric began and looked over to Sydney. "You guys have to leave to Berlin now, you have an hour to get to the plane, you'll be debrief there. Nightingale is flying to Berlin at this moment."
"Shit." Vaughn walked back into the kitchen and shared the same look that Eric shared.
"Nightingale's moving in,"
A/N: I want at least five posts! FIVE!! It's not so hard just to say one word! Come on...FIVE! Pretty please?!