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You know how people say, "Time flies when you are having fun?" I think those people are full of shit. I have certainly not been having fun but the time has flown right by. All my days spent in this cell have run together, aside from the first few at the beginning when life was throwing me curve balls right and left, they are pretty uniform.
For the past three weeks this has been my life: mornings and afternoons I visit with Barnett both in her office and in the regression therapy room. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I'm allowed time in the gym or out on the roof; Tuesdays and Thursdays I sit through medical testing. Will stops by at night, bringing with him movies, meals and good conversation. Sometimes Bryce tags along and laughs at our stories and shares a few anecdotes of his own. For the past week my dad has been coming by, back from a globe- hopping excursion, following my mother. He wasn't able to track her down but did uncover some clues he thinks might explain where I have been. Despite what he thinks, I doubt that my mother had anything to do with my being kept away from those I love for the past two years, I can just feel that it was Sloane.
Three days after my run-in with Melanie, she came to visit me at my cell. She wisely stayed on the other side of the glass, though I highly doubt the guard would have unlocked the door even if she had asked him to. She was there to apologize to me for her behavior, blaming it on being tired after flying in that morning from her friend's wedding and ticked off about being called in to train a new recruit when she wasn't supposed to be at work until the next day. I waited silently, willing her to go away without my having to say anything. But she just stood there, her eyes imploring me, waiting for my response. After a few moments of silence I was finally able to speak: "Okay," was all that I could get out through my gritted teeth. Apparently that was enough for her and she left without saying another word. If only there were etiquette books for this sort of thing.
Marshall, Dixon and even Weiss were regular visitors, so the only person missing from rotation was Vaughn. Since the night in my cell when we had almost kissed I hadn't spoken to him, only seen him when Bryce had taken through the main room on my way to meet with Barnett. A few times he had looked up and offered me a half-hearted smile but that was it. Two weeks ago Will informed me that Vaughn and Melanie had been sent to D.C. for a conference and after that they were going out into the field for a fact- finding mission. How sweet - a husband and wife team. If I didn't know better, I would think that Kendall had sent them away from me, I guess it wasn't too far outside of the realm of possibility since he was so pissed at Vaughn for yelling at Melanie on my behalf.
So here I sit, almost a month after waking up in the alley, staring at the glass wall in front of me. Nothing has changed for me, I've remembered nothing during my therapy sessions and I'm no closer to putting all the pieces together than I was in the safe house in Hong Kong. And really, there are no pieces to put together, it's more of a connect-the-dot type thing. Point A: I'm fighting Allison and passing out in my room; Point B: I'm waking up on cold, wet cement. How did I get between the two - I have no idea.
But things are looking up. Today I'm getting out of here. Of course leaving here opens up a whole new can of worms. Where do I live? What do I do with my time? Where are my things? Do I even have things? Where do I go from here? Those questions and many more circle around in my head, unanswered and unspoken.
I've refused my dad's offer to let me stay at his house, even when I had been little I never really felt like I lived with him and I couldn't imagine making a go of it now. So the plan was for me to stay with Will; he had a spare room and was happy to have me.
Before I leave I will be meeting with Kendall who will outline the options I have; Will is certain I will be asked to come back to active duty. I have no idea what Kendall is going to say or how I will react. Now, more than ever I want to get Sloane, to make him pay for everything he had done to me and those around me, but I don't know if I can go into battle without Vaughn at my side. Ever since I started my campaign against Sloane, Vaughn has been there. He was my first contact at the CIA and my biggest supporter, part of what kept me going was his determination to do the right thing - it perfectly balanced my resolve towards revenge.
* * *
My meeting with Kendall took all of fifteen minutes. He explained my options: I could lead a civilian life with round the clock protection and no access to information about Sloane or my mother, I could join the witness protection program or I could continue my work with the CIA. I would be given low-level security clearance and had passed the physical requirements for being a field agent with flying colors. Kendall promised that if I came back, I would be sent out on missions related to Sloane or my mother and my purpose would be to continue what I had started four years ago. In time I would be able to sit in on strategy sessions and review the information retrieved on my missions but at the beginning I would be under probation, treated like a new recruit, given only the information necessary for the completion of my mission.
I can tell that Kendall still doesn't trust me, despite my being cleared of any wrong-doing or suspicious activity. And I almost don't blame him; before I disappeared I was a great agent and if I were lying, it wasn't unfeasible to think that I would be able to fool everyone into thinking I was an unknowing pawn in Arvin Sloane's game.
My choice is simple, as tempting as a normal life was, I can't imagine living either as another person, apart from my loved ones or in my current life but without knowing what is being done to get Sloane. Like it or not, I need the CIA as much as they need me. Kendall didn't let me tell him my decision then and there but asked that I come back after the weekend and let him know what I have decided. Who was he kidding, he knows very well what I would decide, he's an ass but he not an idiot.
After leaving Kendall's office I was finally able to walk through the Joint Task Force without an escort. Everyone was going about their business, ignoring me as I walked across the room to Vaughn's office. I left the lights off as I walked inside. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, searching for the smell of him. Imagining him walking into the room and taking me into his arms, telling me he loved me.
But it was Bryce, not Vaughn, who interrupted my daydream to tell me a car was waiting to take me to Will's house. Since I had nothing in the cell that was mine, aside from my new mattress and sheets, I was ready to go. I followed Bryce out of the building and was surprised when he got in the backseat of the car with me. He was assigned to me until Monday morning - it looked like Will was getting a second roommate.
When we got to Will's, Bryce suggested I take a shower. 'To get the grime of the CIA washed off of me,' he had joked. He couldn't have been more right, there is something about sleeping in a cell and spending four weeks inside of a single building that makes you want to remove your skin or, at the very least, stand under scalding hot water until the water runs cold. And I am doing that very thing now, happy to see natural light shining in through the glass block window beside me.
After Bryce's suggestion I had headed straight for the bathroom, not straying from my path to explore Will's place. Will's hot water has proved itself as I finally sigh and step out of its spray, into the steam-filled bathroom. I wrap a towel around myself and wring the water out of my hair as I watch my cloudy reflection in the mirror. What I see is an honest expression of how I currently feel; I know it is my body in the mirror, me who is reflected, but I can't see a clear image and because of that I feel quite detached from myself.
I have gained a new perspective in the past month and with Dr. Barnett's help I have been able to come to terms with what has happened to me without compartmentalizing my feelings. Though she did recommend I keep my feels divided on some level, making it easier for me to re-enter my current reality without falling back on my old, though very familiar, emotions. I've managed to stop feeling angry with Vaughn but I can't seem to care about him any less, even in his absence. Every day that I don't see him makes me yearn even more for even a glimpse of his face, his gorgeous smile or the worry lines etched across his forehead. Barnett admitted that she can't make me not love him, that she doesn't have any advice to help me through the inevitable pain other than to remind me to be open and honest about my feelings, at the very least with myself. When it comes to Michael Vaughn, I am not to bottle up my feelings and cast them out to sea, hoping they will sink.
I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear a knock on the door.
"You okay in there? Kendall will kill me if you've drowned yourself," Bryce's voice floats through the door. "I'll leave a change of clothes for you outside the door."
"I'm okay, Bryce," I laugh. "Thanks for the clothes, I can't image putting my other things back on, I think I might have to burn them. Thanks for checking on me."
"No problem, just doing my job." I hear the floor creak as he walks away from the door.
I grab hold of the towel as I open the door, peaking out into the hallway. Stacked on the floor is a welcome combination of denim and wool. I smile when I see a pair of white satin bikini briefs and a matching bra, poor Bryce had to pick these out as well. I don't even want to think about who got them to Will's in the first place, I can't imagine my underwear needs were top on the CIA list of priorities and the image or Bryce or Will shopping for them cause a snort of laughter to escape.
I dress quickly, relishing in the warmth of the material on my skin, the workout-friendly clothes I have been wearing are comfortable but none too comforting. An hour after I have entered it, I emerge from the bathroom feeling like a new woman, or at least a free woman.
I retrace my steps back to the front door see Bryce sprawled across the couch watching ESPN. The back of the sofa faces me so I walk around in front of it so I can see Bryce's face, he doesn't even look up at me, such is his focus on the screen before him. I stand there, waiting for him to notice me.
"Did you want something, Syd," he asks, not taking his eyes off the television and I can't help but laugh.
"Bryce, you are so not my best girlfriend anymore. Is this how you are going to protect me - attracting any would-be attacker to the light of the television screen?"
Bryce finally looks up at me, grinning, "Let's face it, Syd, you can pretty much take care of yourself, so I think it is safe to say that I am just hear to cover the government's ass. Of course, if your attacker is Melanie, I may serve more of a purpose."
"Oh please, if Melanie comes here I can promise you I would kick her ass."
"I've no doubt of that, I meant that I would have to protect her from you and also keep you from putting yourself back in that cell for assaulting a federal officer."
"Uh huh, that's what I thought you meant," I roll my eyes. "So, where's my room?"
"Down that hallway, second door on the left," Bryce motions to the hallway that leads away from the living room at the right of the television. "There is another bathroom that way and I'll be staying across the hall from you. Will's room is in the back of the house where you came from, you were using his shower."
"I'm sure he won't mind. Hey, do you know when he is coming home?"
"Not until late, he has a date with Marie tonight. He called while you were in the shower and said to call him if you wanted him to come home, he would be happy to reschedule with Marie."
"Yeah right, what an empty gesture, he knows I would never ask him to break a date. Besides, I've got my brick wall to hang out with. Do you want to go out and grab some dinner in an hour or so? I can't imagine cooking a meal right now."
"Sure, I know a great place that isn't too far from here. We go there sometimes after playing basketball. It's real casual, has good food and is a great place for people watching. Last time we were there, Mike." Bryce stops mid-sentence, giving me a quick, worried look. "Sorry, Syd, I didn't mean."
I cut him off, "Don't even worry about it, he is your friend and your talking about him doesn't upset me, it would bother me more if you pretended like he didn't exist. I don't want my coming back to be any harder on either of us than it has to be and people not being able to talk about him isn't a way to make that happen. The place you were talking about sounds great. I'm going to go find my room and take a short nap or something, come get me if I don't come back by seven."
"Sure thing. Will also wanted me to let you know that the boxes in your room are your things, he picked up some stuff from storage today."
The prospect of seeing my own things is enough to get me scurrying out of the room and down the hall.
The room that I will now be calling home for the next however long is warm and welcoming. The walls are painted a pale green, a celery-ish color and two framed black and white prints adorn the walls with a handful of other things that are either black or white joining them. A queen-sized bed is tucked into the corner furthest from the door, on top of which is a deep red comforter and black and white throw pillows. This room screams female influence as Will's idea of decorating has always included team pennants and a monochromatic color scheme in either brown or gray.
On the floor in front of me are a half a dozen boxes, varying in size. I actually recognize a few of them from the myriad moves that I have made since graduating from high school; not counting having moved every year during college from dorm rooms to apartments, I have moved five times in four years. Of course, now it is five times in six years, but why split hairs. I pounce on the first box and tear the lid off, eager to see what is inside. I have no idea what I might find and am slightly disappointed to see clothes, I hope that isn't what is in all of the boxes.
By box six I am zero for five in the clothes/non-clothes department and cursing myself for getting so excited about delving into the past. But box number six holds the jackpot, not a single piece of fabric rears its ugly head when I remove the cover. I wordlessly shoot my arm up in victory.
I start pulling things out, casting knick knacks aside in search of pictures, letters or mementos. My frenzy is halted when I happen upon a framed photo of Will, Francie and I. We are making faces at the camera, dressed up in caps and gowns from our college graduation.
My eyes are already stinging as I see the next frame in the collection. It's the one Vaughn gave me his first Christmas as my handler, in the corner of the frame is the ticket stub from the time he treated Will, Francie and I to miniature golf. The photo in the frame makes me lose my breath, I had forgotten he had given this to me. Smiling out from behind the glass is an eight-year-old Vaughn, suited up in his hockey outfit, standing out on the ice ready to go. The picture had been taken on a family vacation to Colorado, where Vaughn had been able to skate outside for the first time in his life, California didn't readily lend itself to frozen stretches of water.
He had given me a copy of the photo one afternoon after we had spent the previous night talking about the guilt I still felt when I thought about the fact that my mother had killed his father. He had said that yes, he had lost his father, but it wasn't my fault and besides that, he knew that his father was always with him and this photo reminded him of that. In the picture you can see the shadow of Vaughn's dad falling across the ice as the elder Vaughn had taken the picture with the sun at his back.
The two frames in my hands and their contents were as much homage to my old life as anything could have been. Carrying them with me, I rise off the floor and cross the room to the bed. Throwing the cover back, I slip into the waiting warmth, feeling my face dampen with tears. Finally being free of the confines of my cell makes the constraints of my real life that much more apparent and for the moment I need to give myself over to the true sadness I feel at having lost two years of my life. For once, crying feels healthy and healing instead of something I have done to feel sorry for myself or out of depression.
* * *
I wake later to Bryce shaking my shoulder. "Sydney, wake up, I'm starving."
I peel one eye open at a time, instantly feeling the hard frames in my arms. Letting them fall to the mattress, I turn to face Bryce who standing beside the bed. One look at my swollen eyes and I can tell he regrets his jovial demeanor of a few seconds before.
"Hey, Bryce, don't mind me, I'm just taking a quick stroll down memory lane. Don't worry, I'm all right, no cause for alarm."
Bryce gives me a your-such-a-trooper smile and shakes his head, "You are something else, Agent Bristow. I don't know how you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Constantly try to make others feel better when you are going though a shitty stage in your life. You are really showing a resilience I think few people could muster even in better situations."
"Well, I'm a pro at it, I spent years avoiding the subject of my mother for the benefit of my father," I shrug as I get out of bed. "Seriously though, what is the alternative? Letting people feel sorry for me and hoping they will walk on eggshells in my presence? That doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun to me, or a healthy way to deal with things."
"Okay then," Bryce nods. "Let's go get some grub."
* * *
Bryce is right, the place he was talking about is definitely full of character and characters - it's a hot spot for people watching. As soon as we enter, the gray-haired hostess named Patti welcomes Bryce by name and asks after his friends, "the boys." Bryce says they would all be in on Tuesday after basketball and Patti grins knowingly in my direction, "I see, no basketball when there is better company to be had."
"Patti, this is Sydney. Sydney, this is Patti," Bryce introduces. "Sydney is definitely much better company and definitely better to look at."
To my surprise, I feel myself blushing at Bryce's off-handed compliment. It has been a while since someone other than Weiss has commented on my looks in such an unabashed way.
"Thanks, Bryce" I whisper as Patti shows us to a booth.
Bryce gives me a shrug and orders two tall Killian's from the passing waitress, looking to me for confirmation. It has been God knows how long since I had alcohol but I could certainly use a drink tonight, to hell with the consequences; I could always hold my alcohol before so I might as well build my tolerance back up.
"So what do you recommend," I ask after I have taken a minute to look over the mainly American menu.
"The burgers are great, of course, but I secretly love their loaded baked potatoes. The things are gigantic and delicious - smothered with cheese, bacon, mushrooms and sour cream."
"Good lord, I think I just felt one my arteries closing, it sounds heavenly. I always was a sucker for food."
The waitress, "Ruth" her nametag says, brings us back our drinks - two towering glasses of red-colored liquid. We order our meals and start in on the drinks in front of us, munching occasionally on the basket of chips between us.
I have drank over half my beer and am feeling the start of a happy buzz as Bryce is relating the story of Will's thirtieth birthday and how he was drunkenly telling anyone who would walk by that he was going to ask Marie out the next day in an effort to prove that after thirty you have no fear of rejection. There are tears in my eyes from laughing as Bryce explains that after twenty or so people had walked by, Will had started transposing the consonants in Marie's name and had begun calling her Ramie.
"We still call her that to get on his nerves. It drives him." Bryce stops mid-sentence, staring at the door behind me. "Oh shit."
My thoughts immediately go to escape routes, wondering if I will be able to run in a straight line for the door to the kitchen when I hear her voice.
"Hi, Bryce," Melanie calls from behind me, "Michael, look, it's Bryce."
I'm thankfully hidden by the tall back of the booth and am given a much- needed moment to compose myself before the couple is standing in front us. Bryce's eyes flash to mine before looking back to the approaching pair. I wonder if it is possible to slide under the table and out of sight without their noticing me. Too late, here they are.
"Oh, you're not alone," Melanie's voice goes flat.
"Nope. Not alone. Hey, Mike."
Vaughn's face clearly registers shock as he looks between Bryce and I. "Hey. Sydney, I didn't know you were, um, we just got back an hour ago and decided to grab a bite to eat. We haven't even been back to the JFT."
"Oh," clever, Sydney, clever. I attempt a more intelligent sentence, "How was your trip?"
"Great, useful even," Melanie answers and continues hopefully, "So you guys are."
"Staying at Will's until Monday," Bryce finishes her sentence, wanting to be clear about what is going on here. "Will's out with Marie so we decided to grab a bite to eat."
The four of us look at each other in silence, shit this is awkward. Thankfully the beer has kept my temper in check, in fact I feel sort of giddy, which is the only thing I can attribute the next words out of my mouth to. "So, would you guys like to join us?"
Vaughn and Bryce both look at my sharply as Melanie accepts my invitation. I am appalled with myself and clearly wish I could take my words back but now that they have been said and accepted I can hardly say, 'Gee, good to see you, don't let the door hit you on the way out.'
I rise and move over to the other side of the booth when it is clear that neither Vaughn nor his wife are quick to sit down next to me, either option having its pitfalls. Melanie slides into my vacated bench, with a stricken Vaughn next to her, directly across from me.
Given that we can't talk about work, our conversation is rather stilted, shifting from the weather (sunny) to traffic (non-stop) back to the weather again (still sunny). During this time I have finished my beer and Ruth has brought me another when she returns with the Vaughn and Melanie's drinks (another Killians for him and a whiskey sour for her, how appropriate, I think haughtily, sitting across the table with my superior beer).
Bryce has somehow steered the conversation to the safe and slightly interesting topic of favorite college professors. Bryce and Melanie carry the conversation as Vaughn and I take turns smiling and nodding our agreement, I might have even mentioned my British Literature professor who thought she was one of Shakespeare's descendants, or perhaps I just thought about it, I'm not really sure.
Melanie has moved on to trying to convince Bryce that he should try yoga when I feel Vaughn's knee brush against mine under the table, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my head.
"I'm sorry, I have to go to the ladies room," I interrupt at the same time hearing Vaughn say he needs to excuse himself to use the bathroom.
"Well, what a coincidence that is," Ruth laughs as she walks up to our table. "Your food will be right out so you had both better be off before it gets here."
Thank God for Ruth, otherwise I can only imagine the awkward silence that would have followed the joint outburst from Vaughn and I.
I stand and lead the way back to the bathroom, praying I'm swaying too much along the way. Standing up has made the room start to spin ever so slightly. I reach the door to the hallway leading to the bathrooms without incident, only a few more paces until I am safely inside the bathroom. I can't tell if Vaughn is close behind or not, but I don't dare glance back to see as I walk into the room at the end of hall.
On the other side of the door I lean against the counter in front of me, closing my eyes in an effort to stop the spinning. The door creaks open, hitting the back of my legs.
"Sorry," I mumble, moving away to allow the person entry.
"Don't be sorry, Syd," his voice causes my eyes to fly wide open. I turn to look at him and before I can think or speak, I am on him, lips to his, pressing him back against the door we have both just walked through. The desire I feel is ridiculous and intoxicating.
I seem to have flipped the switch in him as well; his arms circle me, pulling me firmly against him. With little effort, he has changed our positions and I am now the one trapped against the door, his tongue in my mouth, teasing mine. I can taste the beer in his kiss, or maybe it my own, I don't know. All reason and clear thought has left my head and my only focus is on the man in front of me. At this point I am willing to go as far has he wants, he will have to be the one to stop this.
As soon as the thought leaves my mind, I can feel him pulling away from me. He doesn't quite break contact, but the kiss we are sharing is calmer, less intense. He brings his hands up to frame my face and pulls his mouth from mine.
"Sydney, God, you have no idea how much I want you right now. But this isn't a good idea, not here, not now."
"I know," I take a deep breath and say the dreaded words, "You're married."
"Yes, I'm married," Vaughn almost sounds like has forgotten that all- important fact. "Fuck."
"Is that an offer?" Did I just say that out loud? Note to self, after two years of not drinking, one tall beer is my limit. "Sorry, can I plead intoxication on that one?"
Vaughn still hasn't stepped back from me or removed his hands from my face and given that my hands are still tucked under the hem of his shirt, I'd think it is safe to say we are both reluctant to break contact all together. His green eyes are searching mine, looking for what, I don't know.
"Are you coming back to the CIA?"
"Yes," I reply in a whisper. I know that we shouldn't be here like this, especially with his wife laughing one room away but I can't break the spell we are under. Slowly I move my fingers so they are resting on the top of his boxers, slipping one, then both index fingers underneath the material, tugging against it and pulling Vaughn towards me, my eyes locked with his.
His hands move from my face to the wood behind me, bracing his body has he moves closer once again, one leg stepping in between mine. My tongue darts out to lick his lower lip and that is all the encouragement he needs to come crashing against me. His left hand drops to my waist, fingers digging into my hip and sliding down to my thigh to pull my leg up and around his own. He repeats the action on the other side and steps forward, pushing my legs up and around his waist, my back pressing against the wall. My hands have left his waistband behind and holding tight to the back of his head, fingers lost in his hair.
There is a knock on the door and Vaughn practically drops me as we are quickly broken out of our reverie. Thankfully I am able to get my legs under me as Vaughn's arms drop to his sides and he backs away, eyes wide.
"Um, Syd," Bryce calls through the door, "Kendall just called, he wants us back at the op center like ten minutes ago."
"Okay," my voice practically squeaks. "I'll be right there."
"Sure thing, tell Vaughn on your way out, too. He and Melanie have gotten called in as well, she went out to get their car. I'll get our food to go."
"All right, thanks, Bryce," I look at Vaughn who looks bemused, an odd reaction for something who was seconds from committing adultery.
I hear Bryce's footsteps retreating down the hall and I let out a captive deep breath.
"Sydney."
I stop him from continuing, "Vaughn, please don't apologize for this. It is my fault anything happened."
"Sydney, I wasn't going to apologize," Vaughn starts and then stops, rubbing his ringed hand over his face. "We'd better go, we can talk about this later."
"Okay, whatever you want, Vaughn," I'm eager to please at this point, happy to avoid conflict, "But in the future I will try to control myself. It won't happen again."
At that, I turn and go out to door, pausing to check the hallway for people before motioning for Vaughn to following.
As we walk down the hall I swear I hear him muttering, "What if I want it to happen again?" Though I don't question him and chalk what I heard up to alcohol-induced delusions, I still can't help the grin that creeps onto my face.
Bryce is waiting as we re-enter the dining room and gives me a smirk as I stop in front of him. Vaughn continues past us, throwing back, "See you in a few."
"Feel better?"
"Huh?" I ask, feigning confusion.
"Sorry, that's a family habit," Bryce laughs, clearly remembering something close to his heart, "My dad always used to make comments when we came out of the bathroom after a long period of being in there. Things like, 'everything come out all right' and 'gee, we thought you fell in.' Just a little low-brow humor. I'll bet you are glad Kendall called."
"Why's that?" Bryce obviously has no idea what was going on in the bathroom, or at least he is trying not to allude to it.
"Because I can't imagine how the conversation would have gone for another five minutes, let alone a half an hour. Melanie's a nice girl but there is only so much I can talk to her about and I knew if Vaughn and I started talking about sports it would leave you and the wifey staring at each other in silence. No thank you."
I look at Bryce and crack up, pent up sexual frustration transferring itself to laughter. "I'm sure Melanie would love to hear you call her 'the wifey.' You're lucky she isn't here, I think she would have a few choice words for you."
Bryce rolls his eyes as Ruth brings four styrofoam boxes over to us, "Here you go, dear. I'll add this to your tab. Take care now."
I'm halfway to the car before Bryce catches up with me, eager to remove myself from the situation all together. Of course once we get to work I'll be back in Vaughn's presence. Great.
Bryce stays quiet on the way to the joint task force, for which I am eternally grateful. My emotions seesaw between excited, sad and curious as to why we are being call in; feelings of guilt are quickly pushed away, I cannot think about what happened between Vaughn and I, not in that way. This is what being the other woman feels like, and oddly, it doesn't feel as bad as I thought it would.
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Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed the long chapter. Once again, reviews are welcome!
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You know how people say, "Time flies when you are having fun?" I think those people are full of shit. I have certainly not been having fun but the time has flown right by. All my days spent in this cell have run together, aside from the first few at the beginning when life was throwing me curve balls right and left, they are pretty uniform.
For the past three weeks this has been my life: mornings and afternoons I visit with Barnett both in her office and in the regression therapy room. Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I'm allowed time in the gym or out on the roof; Tuesdays and Thursdays I sit through medical testing. Will stops by at night, bringing with him movies, meals and good conversation. Sometimes Bryce tags along and laughs at our stories and shares a few anecdotes of his own. For the past week my dad has been coming by, back from a globe- hopping excursion, following my mother. He wasn't able to track her down but did uncover some clues he thinks might explain where I have been. Despite what he thinks, I doubt that my mother had anything to do with my being kept away from those I love for the past two years, I can just feel that it was Sloane.
Three days after my run-in with Melanie, she came to visit me at my cell. She wisely stayed on the other side of the glass, though I highly doubt the guard would have unlocked the door even if she had asked him to. She was there to apologize to me for her behavior, blaming it on being tired after flying in that morning from her friend's wedding and ticked off about being called in to train a new recruit when she wasn't supposed to be at work until the next day. I waited silently, willing her to go away without my having to say anything. But she just stood there, her eyes imploring me, waiting for my response. After a few moments of silence I was finally able to speak: "Okay," was all that I could get out through my gritted teeth. Apparently that was enough for her and she left without saying another word. If only there were etiquette books for this sort of thing.
Marshall, Dixon and even Weiss were regular visitors, so the only person missing from rotation was Vaughn. Since the night in my cell when we had almost kissed I hadn't spoken to him, only seen him when Bryce had taken through the main room on my way to meet with Barnett. A few times he had looked up and offered me a half-hearted smile but that was it. Two weeks ago Will informed me that Vaughn and Melanie had been sent to D.C. for a conference and after that they were going out into the field for a fact- finding mission. How sweet - a husband and wife team. If I didn't know better, I would think that Kendall had sent them away from me, I guess it wasn't too far outside of the realm of possibility since he was so pissed at Vaughn for yelling at Melanie on my behalf.
So here I sit, almost a month after waking up in the alley, staring at the glass wall in front of me. Nothing has changed for me, I've remembered nothing during my therapy sessions and I'm no closer to putting all the pieces together than I was in the safe house in Hong Kong. And really, there are no pieces to put together, it's more of a connect-the-dot type thing. Point A: I'm fighting Allison and passing out in my room; Point B: I'm waking up on cold, wet cement. How did I get between the two - I have no idea.
But things are looking up. Today I'm getting out of here. Of course leaving here opens up a whole new can of worms. Where do I live? What do I do with my time? Where are my things? Do I even have things? Where do I go from here? Those questions and many more circle around in my head, unanswered and unspoken.
I've refused my dad's offer to let me stay at his house, even when I had been little I never really felt like I lived with him and I couldn't imagine making a go of it now. So the plan was for me to stay with Will; he had a spare room and was happy to have me.
Before I leave I will be meeting with Kendall who will outline the options I have; Will is certain I will be asked to come back to active duty. I have no idea what Kendall is going to say or how I will react. Now, more than ever I want to get Sloane, to make him pay for everything he had done to me and those around me, but I don't know if I can go into battle without Vaughn at my side. Ever since I started my campaign against Sloane, Vaughn has been there. He was my first contact at the CIA and my biggest supporter, part of what kept me going was his determination to do the right thing - it perfectly balanced my resolve towards revenge.
* * *
My meeting with Kendall took all of fifteen minutes. He explained my options: I could lead a civilian life with round the clock protection and no access to information about Sloane or my mother, I could join the witness protection program or I could continue my work with the CIA. I would be given low-level security clearance and had passed the physical requirements for being a field agent with flying colors. Kendall promised that if I came back, I would be sent out on missions related to Sloane or my mother and my purpose would be to continue what I had started four years ago. In time I would be able to sit in on strategy sessions and review the information retrieved on my missions but at the beginning I would be under probation, treated like a new recruit, given only the information necessary for the completion of my mission.
I can tell that Kendall still doesn't trust me, despite my being cleared of any wrong-doing or suspicious activity. And I almost don't blame him; before I disappeared I was a great agent and if I were lying, it wasn't unfeasible to think that I would be able to fool everyone into thinking I was an unknowing pawn in Arvin Sloane's game.
My choice is simple, as tempting as a normal life was, I can't imagine living either as another person, apart from my loved ones or in my current life but without knowing what is being done to get Sloane. Like it or not, I need the CIA as much as they need me. Kendall didn't let me tell him my decision then and there but asked that I come back after the weekend and let him know what I have decided. Who was he kidding, he knows very well what I would decide, he's an ass but he not an idiot.
After leaving Kendall's office I was finally able to walk through the Joint Task Force without an escort. Everyone was going about their business, ignoring me as I walked across the room to Vaughn's office. I left the lights off as I walked inside. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, searching for the smell of him. Imagining him walking into the room and taking me into his arms, telling me he loved me.
But it was Bryce, not Vaughn, who interrupted my daydream to tell me a car was waiting to take me to Will's house. Since I had nothing in the cell that was mine, aside from my new mattress and sheets, I was ready to go. I followed Bryce out of the building and was surprised when he got in the backseat of the car with me. He was assigned to me until Monday morning - it looked like Will was getting a second roommate.
When we got to Will's, Bryce suggested I take a shower. 'To get the grime of the CIA washed off of me,' he had joked. He couldn't have been more right, there is something about sleeping in a cell and spending four weeks inside of a single building that makes you want to remove your skin or, at the very least, stand under scalding hot water until the water runs cold. And I am doing that very thing now, happy to see natural light shining in through the glass block window beside me.
After Bryce's suggestion I had headed straight for the bathroom, not straying from my path to explore Will's place. Will's hot water has proved itself as I finally sigh and step out of its spray, into the steam-filled bathroom. I wrap a towel around myself and wring the water out of my hair as I watch my cloudy reflection in the mirror. What I see is an honest expression of how I currently feel; I know it is my body in the mirror, me who is reflected, but I can't see a clear image and because of that I feel quite detached from myself.
I have gained a new perspective in the past month and with Dr. Barnett's help I have been able to come to terms with what has happened to me without compartmentalizing my feelings. Though she did recommend I keep my feels divided on some level, making it easier for me to re-enter my current reality without falling back on my old, though very familiar, emotions. I've managed to stop feeling angry with Vaughn but I can't seem to care about him any less, even in his absence. Every day that I don't see him makes me yearn even more for even a glimpse of his face, his gorgeous smile or the worry lines etched across his forehead. Barnett admitted that she can't make me not love him, that she doesn't have any advice to help me through the inevitable pain other than to remind me to be open and honest about my feelings, at the very least with myself. When it comes to Michael Vaughn, I am not to bottle up my feelings and cast them out to sea, hoping they will sink.
I'm lost in my thoughts when I hear a knock on the door.
"You okay in there? Kendall will kill me if you've drowned yourself," Bryce's voice floats through the door. "I'll leave a change of clothes for you outside the door."
"I'm okay, Bryce," I laugh. "Thanks for the clothes, I can't image putting my other things back on, I think I might have to burn them. Thanks for checking on me."
"No problem, just doing my job." I hear the floor creak as he walks away from the door.
I grab hold of the towel as I open the door, peaking out into the hallway. Stacked on the floor is a welcome combination of denim and wool. I smile when I see a pair of white satin bikini briefs and a matching bra, poor Bryce had to pick these out as well. I don't even want to think about who got them to Will's in the first place, I can't imagine my underwear needs were top on the CIA list of priorities and the image or Bryce or Will shopping for them cause a snort of laughter to escape.
I dress quickly, relishing in the warmth of the material on my skin, the workout-friendly clothes I have been wearing are comfortable but none too comforting. An hour after I have entered it, I emerge from the bathroom feeling like a new woman, or at least a free woman.
I retrace my steps back to the front door see Bryce sprawled across the couch watching ESPN. The back of the sofa faces me so I walk around in front of it so I can see Bryce's face, he doesn't even look up at me, such is his focus on the screen before him. I stand there, waiting for him to notice me.
"Did you want something, Syd," he asks, not taking his eyes off the television and I can't help but laugh.
"Bryce, you are so not my best girlfriend anymore. Is this how you are going to protect me - attracting any would-be attacker to the light of the television screen?"
Bryce finally looks up at me, grinning, "Let's face it, Syd, you can pretty much take care of yourself, so I think it is safe to say that I am just hear to cover the government's ass. Of course, if your attacker is Melanie, I may serve more of a purpose."
"Oh please, if Melanie comes here I can promise you I would kick her ass."
"I've no doubt of that, I meant that I would have to protect her from you and also keep you from putting yourself back in that cell for assaulting a federal officer."
"Uh huh, that's what I thought you meant," I roll my eyes. "So, where's my room?"
"Down that hallway, second door on the left," Bryce motions to the hallway that leads away from the living room at the right of the television. "There is another bathroom that way and I'll be staying across the hall from you. Will's room is in the back of the house where you came from, you were using his shower."
"I'm sure he won't mind. Hey, do you know when he is coming home?"
"Not until late, he has a date with Marie tonight. He called while you were in the shower and said to call him if you wanted him to come home, he would be happy to reschedule with Marie."
"Yeah right, what an empty gesture, he knows I would never ask him to break a date. Besides, I've got my brick wall to hang out with. Do you want to go out and grab some dinner in an hour or so? I can't imagine cooking a meal right now."
"Sure, I know a great place that isn't too far from here. We go there sometimes after playing basketball. It's real casual, has good food and is a great place for people watching. Last time we were there, Mike." Bryce stops mid-sentence, giving me a quick, worried look. "Sorry, Syd, I didn't mean."
I cut him off, "Don't even worry about it, he is your friend and your talking about him doesn't upset me, it would bother me more if you pretended like he didn't exist. I don't want my coming back to be any harder on either of us than it has to be and people not being able to talk about him isn't a way to make that happen. The place you were talking about sounds great. I'm going to go find my room and take a short nap or something, come get me if I don't come back by seven."
"Sure thing. Will also wanted me to let you know that the boxes in your room are your things, he picked up some stuff from storage today."
The prospect of seeing my own things is enough to get me scurrying out of the room and down the hall.
The room that I will now be calling home for the next however long is warm and welcoming. The walls are painted a pale green, a celery-ish color and two framed black and white prints adorn the walls with a handful of other things that are either black or white joining them. A queen-sized bed is tucked into the corner furthest from the door, on top of which is a deep red comforter and black and white throw pillows. This room screams female influence as Will's idea of decorating has always included team pennants and a monochromatic color scheme in either brown or gray.
On the floor in front of me are a half a dozen boxes, varying in size. I actually recognize a few of them from the myriad moves that I have made since graduating from high school; not counting having moved every year during college from dorm rooms to apartments, I have moved five times in four years. Of course, now it is five times in six years, but why split hairs. I pounce on the first box and tear the lid off, eager to see what is inside. I have no idea what I might find and am slightly disappointed to see clothes, I hope that isn't what is in all of the boxes.
By box six I am zero for five in the clothes/non-clothes department and cursing myself for getting so excited about delving into the past. But box number six holds the jackpot, not a single piece of fabric rears its ugly head when I remove the cover. I wordlessly shoot my arm up in victory.
I start pulling things out, casting knick knacks aside in search of pictures, letters or mementos. My frenzy is halted when I happen upon a framed photo of Will, Francie and I. We are making faces at the camera, dressed up in caps and gowns from our college graduation.
My eyes are already stinging as I see the next frame in the collection. It's the one Vaughn gave me his first Christmas as my handler, in the corner of the frame is the ticket stub from the time he treated Will, Francie and I to miniature golf. The photo in the frame makes me lose my breath, I had forgotten he had given this to me. Smiling out from behind the glass is an eight-year-old Vaughn, suited up in his hockey outfit, standing out on the ice ready to go. The picture had been taken on a family vacation to Colorado, where Vaughn had been able to skate outside for the first time in his life, California didn't readily lend itself to frozen stretches of water.
He had given me a copy of the photo one afternoon after we had spent the previous night talking about the guilt I still felt when I thought about the fact that my mother had killed his father. He had said that yes, he had lost his father, but it wasn't my fault and besides that, he knew that his father was always with him and this photo reminded him of that. In the picture you can see the shadow of Vaughn's dad falling across the ice as the elder Vaughn had taken the picture with the sun at his back.
The two frames in my hands and their contents were as much homage to my old life as anything could have been. Carrying them with me, I rise off the floor and cross the room to the bed. Throwing the cover back, I slip into the waiting warmth, feeling my face dampen with tears. Finally being free of the confines of my cell makes the constraints of my real life that much more apparent and for the moment I need to give myself over to the true sadness I feel at having lost two years of my life. For once, crying feels healthy and healing instead of something I have done to feel sorry for myself or out of depression.
* * *
I wake later to Bryce shaking my shoulder. "Sydney, wake up, I'm starving."
I peel one eye open at a time, instantly feeling the hard frames in my arms. Letting them fall to the mattress, I turn to face Bryce who standing beside the bed. One look at my swollen eyes and I can tell he regrets his jovial demeanor of a few seconds before.
"Hey, Bryce, don't mind me, I'm just taking a quick stroll down memory lane. Don't worry, I'm all right, no cause for alarm."
Bryce gives me a your-such-a-trooper smile and shakes his head, "You are something else, Agent Bristow. I don't know how you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Constantly try to make others feel better when you are going though a shitty stage in your life. You are really showing a resilience I think few people could muster even in better situations."
"Well, I'm a pro at it, I spent years avoiding the subject of my mother for the benefit of my father," I shrug as I get out of bed. "Seriously though, what is the alternative? Letting people feel sorry for me and hoping they will walk on eggshells in my presence? That doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun to me, or a healthy way to deal with things."
"Okay then," Bryce nods. "Let's go get some grub."
* * *
Bryce is right, the place he was talking about is definitely full of character and characters - it's a hot spot for people watching. As soon as we enter, the gray-haired hostess named Patti welcomes Bryce by name and asks after his friends, "the boys." Bryce says they would all be in on Tuesday after basketball and Patti grins knowingly in my direction, "I see, no basketball when there is better company to be had."
"Patti, this is Sydney. Sydney, this is Patti," Bryce introduces. "Sydney is definitely much better company and definitely better to look at."
To my surprise, I feel myself blushing at Bryce's off-handed compliment. It has been a while since someone other than Weiss has commented on my looks in such an unabashed way.
"Thanks, Bryce" I whisper as Patti shows us to a booth.
Bryce gives me a shrug and orders two tall Killian's from the passing waitress, looking to me for confirmation. It has been God knows how long since I had alcohol but I could certainly use a drink tonight, to hell with the consequences; I could always hold my alcohol before so I might as well build my tolerance back up.
"So what do you recommend," I ask after I have taken a minute to look over the mainly American menu.
"The burgers are great, of course, but I secretly love their loaded baked potatoes. The things are gigantic and delicious - smothered with cheese, bacon, mushrooms and sour cream."
"Good lord, I think I just felt one my arteries closing, it sounds heavenly. I always was a sucker for food."
The waitress, "Ruth" her nametag says, brings us back our drinks - two towering glasses of red-colored liquid. We order our meals and start in on the drinks in front of us, munching occasionally on the basket of chips between us.
I have drank over half my beer and am feeling the start of a happy buzz as Bryce is relating the story of Will's thirtieth birthday and how he was drunkenly telling anyone who would walk by that he was going to ask Marie out the next day in an effort to prove that after thirty you have no fear of rejection. There are tears in my eyes from laughing as Bryce explains that after twenty or so people had walked by, Will had started transposing the consonants in Marie's name and had begun calling her Ramie.
"We still call her that to get on his nerves. It drives him." Bryce stops mid-sentence, staring at the door behind me. "Oh shit."
My thoughts immediately go to escape routes, wondering if I will be able to run in a straight line for the door to the kitchen when I hear her voice.
"Hi, Bryce," Melanie calls from behind me, "Michael, look, it's Bryce."
I'm thankfully hidden by the tall back of the booth and am given a much- needed moment to compose myself before the couple is standing in front us. Bryce's eyes flash to mine before looking back to the approaching pair. I wonder if it is possible to slide under the table and out of sight without their noticing me. Too late, here they are.
"Oh, you're not alone," Melanie's voice goes flat.
"Nope. Not alone. Hey, Mike."
Vaughn's face clearly registers shock as he looks between Bryce and I. "Hey. Sydney, I didn't know you were, um, we just got back an hour ago and decided to grab a bite to eat. We haven't even been back to the JFT."
"Oh," clever, Sydney, clever. I attempt a more intelligent sentence, "How was your trip?"
"Great, useful even," Melanie answers and continues hopefully, "So you guys are."
"Staying at Will's until Monday," Bryce finishes her sentence, wanting to be clear about what is going on here. "Will's out with Marie so we decided to grab a bite to eat."
The four of us look at each other in silence, shit this is awkward. Thankfully the beer has kept my temper in check, in fact I feel sort of giddy, which is the only thing I can attribute the next words out of my mouth to. "So, would you guys like to join us?"
Vaughn and Bryce both look at my sharply as Melanie accepts my invitation. I am appalled with myself and clearly wish I could take my words back but now that they have been said and accepted I can hardly say, 'Gee, good to see you, don't let the door hit you on the way out.'
I rise and move over to the other side of the booth when it is clear that neither Vaughn nor his wife are quick to sit down next to me, either option having its pitfalls. Melanie slides into my vacated bench, with a stricken Vaughn next to her, directly across from me.
Given that we can't talk about work, our conversation is rather stilted, shifting from the weather (sunny) to traffic (non-stop) back to the weather again (still sunny). During this time I have finished my beer and Ruth has brought me another when she returns with the Vaughn and Melanie's drinks (another Killians for him and a whiskey sour for her, how appropriate, I think haughtily, sitting across the table with my superior beer).
Bryce has somehow steered the conversation to the safe and slightly interesting topic of favorite college professors. Bryce and Melanie carry the conversation as Vaughn and I take turns smiling and nodding our agreement, I might have even mentioned my British Literature professor who thought she was one of Shakespeare's descendants, or perhaps I just thought about it, I'm not really sure.
Melanie has moved on to trying to convince Bryce that he should try yoga when I feel Vaughn's knee brush against mine under the table, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my head.
"I'm sorry, I have to go to the ladies room," I interrupt at the same time hearing Vaughn say he needs to excuse himself to use the bathroom.
"Well, what a coincidence that is," Ruth laughs as she walks up to our table. "Your food will be right out so you had both better be off before it gets here."
Thank God for Ruth, otherwise I can only imagine the awkward silence that would have followed the joint outburst from Vaughn and I.
I stand and lead the way back to the bathroom, praying I'm swaying too much along the way. Standing up has made the room start to spin ever so slightly. I reach the door to the hallway leading to the bathrooms without incident, only a few more paces until I am safely inside the bathroom. I can't tell if Vaughn is close behind or not, but I don't dare glance back to see as I walk into the room at the end of hall.
On the other side of the door I lean against the counter in front of me, closing my eyes in an effort to stop the spinning. The door creaks open, hitting the back of my legs.
"Sorry," I mumble, moving away to allow the person entry.
"Don't be sorry, Syd," his voice causes my eyes to fly wide open. I turn to look at him and before I can think or speak, I am on him, lips to his, pressing him back against the door we have both just walked through. The desire I feel is ridiculous and intoxicating.
I seem to have flipped the switch in him as well; his arms circle me, pulling me firmly against him. With little effort, he has changed our positions and I am now the one trapped against the door, his tongue in my mouth, teasing mine. I can taste the beer in his kiss, or maybe it my own, I don't know. All reason and clear thought has left my head and my only focus is on the man in front of me. At this point I am willing to go as far has he wants, he will have to be the one to stop this.
As soon as the thought leaves my mind, I can feel him pulling away from me. He doesn't quite break contact, but the kiss we are sharing is calmer, less intense. He brings his hands up to frame my face and pulls his mouth from mine.
"Sydney, God, you have no idea how much I want you right now. But this isn't a good idea, not here, not now."
"I know," I take a deep breath and say the dreaded words, "You're married."
"Yes, I'm married," Vaughn almost sounds like has forgotten that all- important fact. "Fuck."
"Is that an offer?" Did I just say that out loud? Note to self, after two years of not drinking, one tall beer is my limit. "Sorry, can I plead intoxication on that one?"
Vaughn still hasn't stepped back from me or removed his hands from my face and given that my hands are still tucked under the hem of his shirt, I'd think it is safe to say we are both reluctant to break contact all together. His green eyes are searching mine, looking for what, I don't know.
"Are you coming back to the CIA?"
"Yes," I reply in a whisper. I know that we shouldn't be here like this, especially with his wife laughing one room away but I can't break the spell we are under. Slowly I move my fingers so they are resting on the top of his boxers, slipping one, then both index fingers underneath the material, tugging against it and pulling Vaughn towards me, my eyes locked with his.
His hands move from my face to the wood behind me, bracing his body has he moves closer once again, one leg stepping in between mine. My tongue darts out to lick his lower lip and that is all the encouragement he needs to come crashing against me. His left hand drops to my waist, fingers digging into my hip and sliding down to my thigh to pull my leg up and around his own. He repeats the action on the other side and steps forward, pushing my legs up and around his waist, my back pressing against the wall. My hands have left his waistband behind and holding tight to the back of his head, fingers lost in his hair.
There is a knock on the door and Vaughn practically drops me as we are quickly broken out of our reverie. Thankfully I am able to get my legs under me as Vaughn's arms drop to his sides and he backs away, eyes wide.
"Um, Syd," Bryce calls through the door, "Kendall just called, he wants us back at the op center like ten minutes ago."
"Okay," my voice practically squeaks. "I'll be right there."
"Sure thing, tell Vaughn on your way out, too. He and Melanie have gotten called in as well, she went out to get their car. I'll get our food to go."
"All right, thanks, Bryce," I look at Vaughn who looks bemused, an odd reaction for something who was seconds from committing adultery.
I hear Bryce's footsteps retreating down the hall and I let out a captive deep breath.
"Sydney."
I stop him from continuing, "Vaughn, please don't apologize for this. It is my fault anything happened."
"Sydney, I wasn't going to apologize," Vaughn starts and then stops, rubbing his ringed hand over his face. "We'd better go, we can talk about this later."
"Okay, whatever you want, Vaughn," I'm eager to please at this point, happy to avoid conflict, "But in the future I will try to control myself. It won't happen again."
At that, I turn and go out to door, pausing to check the hallway for people before motioning for Vaughn to following.
As we walk down the hall I swear I hear him muttering, "What if I want it to happen again?" Though I don't question him and chalk what I heard up to alcohol-induced delusions, I still can't help the grin that creeps onto my face.
Bryce is waiting as we re-enter the dining room and gives me a smirk as I stop in front of him. Vaughn continues past us, throwing back, "See you in a few."
"Feel better?"
"Huh?" I ask, feigning confusion.
"Sorry, that's a family habit," Bryce laughs, clearly remembering something close to his heart, "My dad always used to make comments when we came out of the bathroom after a long period of being in there. Things like, 'everything come out all right' and 'gee, we thought you fell in.' Just a little low-brow humor. I'll bet you are glad Kendall called."
"Why's that?" Bryce obviously has no idea what was going on in the bathroom, or at least he is trying not to allude to it.
"Because I can't imagine how the conversation would have gone for another five minutes, let alone a half an hour. Melanie's a nice girl but there is only so much I can talk to her about and I knew if Vaughn and I started talking about sports it would leave you and the wifey staring at each other in silence. No thank you."
I look at Bryce and crack up, pent up sexual frustration transferring itself to laughter. "I'm sure Melanie would love to hear you call her 'the wifey.' You're lucky she isn't here, I think she would have a few choice words for you."
Bryce rolls his eyes as Ruth brings four styrofoam boxes over to us, "Here you go, dear. I'll add this to your tab. Take care now."
I'm halfway to the car before Bryce catches up with me, eager to remove myself from the situation all together. Of course once we get to work I'll be back in Vaughn's presence. Great.
Bryce stays quiet on the way to the joint task force, for which I am eternally grateful. My emotions seesaw between excited, sad and curious as to why we are being call in; feelings of guilt are quickly pushed away, I cannot think about what happened between Vaughn and I, not in that way. This is what being the other woman feels like, and oddly, it doesn't feel as bad as I thought it would.
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Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoyed the long chapter. Once again, reviews are welcome!