Wrestling Emotions

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Thanks AnnaSun, Raina, and Caz… Lol, CryHope. You can never love Vaughn too much… And valley-girl2, I definitely consider myself lucky. J… Thanks again everyone!... And just a warning: There is lots of boring info packed in here. Sorry. Hopefully, you'll think it gets better by the end…

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Chapter 8: The Shock of Simple Words

With a sigh, Vaughn lay back down beside her, wrapping his arms around her as they had been before. "I told him you weren't feeling well," he murmured into her shoulder, "but…"

"Who was it?" Sydney asked, rolling over in his arms, neither moving quickly to get out of bed, neither wanting to admit that they had to be up, that they had to actually go into work. And most of all, neither of them wanting to ask what they knew the other was thinking, wanted to even consider why they had to bring Ilya in with them.

"Your dad… Syd…"

The curtains were drawn, the dim near-dark of early morning not seeping much into the room. But he could still make out her haggard features, could still see that she wasn't completely well, that something wasn't right.

"I'm fine." She said it with a sigh, in a tone that would hardly convince a stranger, much less this man who knew absolutely everything about her.

Vaughn flicked on the lamp at their bedside, using its soft glow to scrutinize her even further, his smile soft, almost sad. He brushed his fingertips down her cheek, wondering how to put what he was thinking to words without having it come out wrong, deciding that it didn't matter, that she would understand him anyway.

"Now Syd, don't take this the wrong way but… you look like death."

"Death?" she repeated, twisting her tone so it became a question. But she almost smiled as she said it, knowing that he hadn't meant to offend, was probably right. The familiar wrinkles in his forehead mirroring the genuine concern that she read in his eyes, heard in the soft, careful tone of his voice.

"Gorgeous death, of course," he added quickly, and the swiftness of it really brought a smile to her lips this time. "But still death. Maybe you should…"

"I'm all right, Vaughn. Really." She sat up for emphasis, closing her eyes for a little longer than the time it should have taken to blink, willing herself to compartmentalize, for the aching and nausea to disappear.

He knew it was an act, but let her get away with it. She was stubborn as anything and if she hadn't given in by now, she wasn't going to. So instead he kissed her softly, noting, at least, that her fever was down, and enjoyed the few extra moments they took before finally getting out of bed.

They got ready quickly, opting not to shower together because although it might have saved time, given their history, it was much more likely to make them late. Ilya was dressed without conversation, his wild hair tamed as best they could. Coffee was bought at a nearby drive-thru to save time, but Sydney only took a few small sips, the rest of the cup going cold.

Walking through the doors of the CIA building was different this time, better somehow. Ilya still clung to Sydney as if his life depended on it, his thumb still caught in his mouth as it had been before. Vaughn kept his arm around Sydney as they made their way through the building, but this time a diaper bag was slung over his right shoulder, the shooting stars that adorned the dark blue fabric smiling at curious onlookers.

They ignored the gazes of those they passed, in all honesty not even noticing they were there. By this time, most everyone in the building had been briefed, either formally or through gossip, and at least knew why the two agents were in possession of this child. But no one who laid eyes on Sydney, Vaughn, and little Ilya was prepared for how natural the three of them looked together, how right it seemed for them to walk in just as they were. It was as if their nanny had called in sick for the day and the couple had been forced to bring their child into work until they could find a babysitter.

"Are you okay?" Vaughn whispered in Sydney's ear as they made their way to the briefing room. He knew that she didn't feel well, but something else seemed to be off about her, something else on her mind. And the fact that he didn't know what it could be was killing him.

"Yeah." Sydney stopped walking and turned to face him, frowning. "Why?"

He lowered his voice even further, knowing that those around were trying to listen and not wanting them to hear. "You just seem…" But he couldn't place it, couldn't find a word that would describe it exactly. "You haven't said a word all morning."

She thought she had done a better job hiding it, had been able to convince him that she was okay. Maybe she wasn't as great a spy as everyone thought… But that wasn't it… Maybe she should have known better, and realized that she could fool anyone and everyone in the world. Except Michael Vaughn.

"I… I'm just thinking."

"About what?"

Concern was pooling in his eyes. He hated that his ability to read her thoughts was so subconscious that he completely lost it when he tried to discover what she was thinking, when he wanted most desperately to know what was going on in her mind so he could change it, brush away her fear and replace it with reassurance.

A thousand thoughts were racing through her head, barely slowing enough for her to count the laps they had already made, one replacing the other with frightening speed. Most of them centering on things that should be spoken of when they were alone, enveloped in darkness, hands locked together, legs intertwined; in soft whispers where the truth couldn't help being found. Not in the bright, demanding, accusing lights of the hallway outside the briefing room. But not here; not now…

Except one.  The small child shifted in her arms, pulling away from her shoulder and gazing up at her. He was the reason they were here, after all, and in all truth, some of the thoughts dashing through her mind were about him. It would be absurd if they weren't…

"Ilya."

Vaughn nodded, sensing that she wasn't telling him everything, that the complete truth was still hidden. It wasn't the first time that day he had doubted her answer, but somehow felt she had her reasons for covering whatever it was that had snagged itself in her mind, wreaking all kinds of havoc as she tried to loosen it, only capturing itself further.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine."

"I know," she answered quietly, taking a deep breath to calm the nerves that for some reason wouldn't stop tingling. "Can we just wait out here for a second?"

Vaughn nodded. He would have granted her anything she wished for, things a thousand times more difficult than this simple request. They waited in the hall, silence enveloping the two of them in their own little world, removing them from everything else, giving her room to breathe.

He waited until she looked up at him, the anxiety that had been in her eyes just moments before replaced with her usual confidence. At that instant, he realized how much this woman truly amazed him, in so many different ways, on so many levels; and almost bent towards her to whisper it in her ear. But his fingers brushed against the door and he opened it instead, ushering her inside with soft eyes and one last, lingering touch on her shoulder.

They had walked right by dozens of ogling eyes just moments before, but they couldn't ignore the blatant stares that were shooting at them from within the briefing room. Devlin, Jack, Weiss and a few other younger agents: Martin, Mraz, and Lee; Sydney remembered after a moment, most likely pulled in to do the bulk of the background research.

The older men's gazes were icily cool and critical; the two younger men mirroring their older mentors with perfection. Only two positive, friendly responses were offered, a little wave from Weiss and the tiniest of smiles from the young Agent Lee, whom Sydney recalled meeting only a couple weeks earlier.

But these greetings were swallowed by the serious, forbidding atmosphere, largely outnumbered by their frigid counterparts. Weiss' wave slowed and tapered off; the young woman's smile dissolving almost as soon as it appeared.

A soft thud reverberated through the room as Vaughn dropped the diaper bag, suddenly realizing that he shouldn't be carrying it, how ridiculous it must have seemed. The shooting stars fell to the ground, unknowing smiles still plastered on their faces, almost, but not quite relieving the tension, definitely blocking the door.

Noiselessly, they slipped into their seats. Sydney turned Ilya in her lap, the little boy's eyes meeting those across the table. He took his thumb out of his mouth, glancing at it momentarily, before thinking better of his decision and popping it back between his lips, turning away from the table and snuggling back into Sydney's arms, hiding his face in her chest. She ran her fingers softly through his hair. All eyes were on the child now; it was no wonder they had quickly overwhelmed him, forced him to give up his cool stare.

It was during that sickeningly silent moment that Sydney realized the absurdity of the situation, the picture they would have made. She turned her glance to Ilya, just as everyone else was, noting, not that it was strange that the child was there, but that his bright clothing contrasted so extremely with the dark suits and mute walls that surrounded them. And for that one second all she could think of was how she wished she had not chosen a bright red shirt to go underneath the little boy's overalls.

Jack was the first to speak, his voice cutting almost angrily through the heavy silence. "You're late."

Sydney sighed, finally daring to take a breath. Her relationship with her father had slowly deteriorated ever since she had gotten together with Vaughn. She had hoped that they would have been past all this by now, but she knew her father was beginning to come around. This time, he had called the apartment to reach both of them; a week ago, he would have dialed both cell phones separately, refusing to acknowledge that in all likelihood, the two agents were mere inches from each other, if that far apart.

But before either Sydney or Vaughn could open their mouths in explanation or apology, Devlin spoke. "Gentlemen, ladies… Shall we begin?"

Jack nodded, standing and turning on the projector with the click of a button, a picture of the Russian compound materialized on the screen, nearly unrecognizable in its clarity, without the swirling snow, the biting wind, and pounding of her own heart.

"You're all aware that the team sent to Russia found little evidence of the massacre that was believed to take place there?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, Weiss especially vigorously. Sydney almost shouted out that there was nothing believed about it, that it had been real, painfully, horribly real. But a soft pressure on her thigh, Vaughn's hand, silenced her before her words had a chance to escape. When she turned to offer him a look of gratitude, his eyes smiled softly and understandingly into her own.

"We followed leads pointing to terrorist groups in that area, but have yet to come to any certain conclusions as to exactly who it might have been."

"You've found nothing?" Sydney asked accusingly, unable to bite the thought back, to keep her words or tone from spilling forth even with Vaughn's fingers increased their pressure, began to run in gentle circles over her skin.

"Not exactly. We had a breakthrough in intelligence no long after Agent Vaughn left yesterday, and we believe we have discovered the identities of the victims." He clicked the remote, a Russian phrase projected onto the screen. "Intel points to a group whose – "

"Family United?" Sydney questioned, translating the words and glancing at her father for confirmation.

Jack nodded, but Vaughn spoke before he could give a vocal answer. "I've never heard of them. Are they a big threat?"

"That's just the thing," Weiss answered, not waiting for Jack or Devlin to ask him to speak, determined to give his two cents after being ordered to stay late into the night to lead the younger agents in researching the group. "They're not terrorists. They're like… a kind of cult, like the anti-terrorists…"

Jack cut him off there. "Among various religious and political beliefs, they aim to prevent certain outlawed groups from obtaining important information or weapons…"

"I was just getting to that," Weiss muttered from across the table, something akin to a sneer pointed in Jack's direction.

"Agent Weiss. Do you have anything further to add?"

The moment Jack spoke and turned to face him, Weiss backed down, seeming to remember who exactly Jack Bristow was. The glare immediately washed itself from his face, features painted with his best kiss-ass smile. "No, sir."

"Very well. They're very small-scale, and not much is known about them. Nothing more than a group of young adults, and in some cases their children, who – "

"Family United," Weiss pointed out, raising his eyebrows and nodding matter-of-factly, making sure everyone understood this connection.

"Thank you." A hint of bitterness edged the civility in Jack's voice as he mumbled the two words and continued. "Who ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time." He turned his attention back to the group and nodded at the slide projector as he switched the image.

"Reports have verified that many members of this group are indeed missing, including what are believed to be its ringleaders: Akim Kavalek, Pavel Viskovatoi, and Katja Domaslavov," he continued, changing the picture with each name before switching it to an enlarged view of the documents that Sydney had retrieved.

The pictures were a paradox; the expressions filled with such determination and implied strength, but the people wearing them barely old enough to be considered adults. The first man's bristly mustache and serious eyes were almost absurd looking against his other boyish features. The next, fair-haired and with glasses almost too large for his face, the picture oddly discolored, giving his skin a blue tint. Then the woman…

"Wait. Go back."

"Sydney?" Her name was said with a sigh. As much as he cared for his daughter, Jack was growing tired of all the interruptions and wanted to finish giving his report so that Devlin could steer the meeting in its intended direction.

"Domaslavov. Go back."

There was no pressure from Vaughn's hand on her leg as there had been before. He trusted her, knew there was something to this, his eyes pasted on the screen, waiting for the picture to show so he could look for what Sydney saw.

Jack complied, the woman's image once again lighting up the screen, remembrance slamming back with it. The snow, the ice, the punishing wind, the fierce barking, the terrified screams, the sheer panic, the horror, the helplessness, the deafening silence, the blinding darkness, the painful numbness…

"That's her…" Sydney's voice was a whisper, a thought, a voice not meant to be heard by anyone, but perceived by all.

"Syd?"

Vaughn was murmuring in her ear, must have somehow been throwing his voice since he still seemed so far away, separated from her by the interminable few inches between their seats. But no one else was looking at him, no one had heard him speak. Maybe she had only imagined it…

But even if he hadn't spoken aloud, the soft and tender way she had heard him whisper her name was shimmering in his eyes, undulating through his thoughts, beating with his heart...

"When I was in Russia," Sydney began, facing Vaughn as she explained, finding it easier to speak directly to him than to everyone in the room, "and I saw the aftermath of the massacre, this woman was on the steps of the building, the only person I could clearly see because of a light on the stairs. I… I closed her eyes…"

Blurring and stirring and shifting around her, like snow in the wind, smoke in the air. The memory burned within her like paper burning in a fire, lighting instantly with a violent flash of golden flames, trickling quickly away to a glowing orange mass offset by blackened edges, writhing with the intense heat and agony, refusing to completely burn down for some time. Even afterwards, the ash would remain, dark and dirty, rotting her mind, her life, the world with its stench…

"Now, we have a positive ID on the group," Agent Mraz stated, allowing just enough time after Sydney had tapered off to not be considered completely rude. Even the relatively new, younger agents knew enough about Agent Bristow's outstanding intellect and photographic memory to understand that such a comment from her was considered genuine evidence.

Conversation shifted in that direction, everyone adding their ideas as to what could now be done, constructing a timetable, and giving estimates on who the murderers had been and where they could now be found. Everyone, that is, except Sydney and Vaughn.

Sydney shook the memory from her mind, transferring her gaze to the little boy in her lap. He took his thumb out of his mouth, bringing his moist fingers up to her face. She almost laughed at this sweet gesture, but it was not quite enough to stop the single tear that almost dropped into his hauntingly familiar eyes…

"Syd?"

This time, he truly had whispered it, had scooted his chair closer to hers so that only the armrests separated them, quietly as he could so as not to disrupt the flow of the meeting around them, or shatter the few moments they would have before anyone noticed.

Suddenly Sydney felt sick to her stomach, unsure if it was from having to see those eyes so full of the life they had been lacking, or whether she had finally succumbed completely to whatever this virus was that seemed to be holding her with a vice-grip, or…

"Syd, baby…" the soft words falling naturally from his lips, refusing to be overpowered by their foreign and intimidating environment, but still sounding almost strange, seeming to echo too loudly. "Are you okay?"

With a snap, their few moments were over, the air around them charging with the electric tension of unwanted, intruding silence; the invasive, crawling stare of eyes.

"Agent Vaughn?" The words clipped almost with frustration, Devlin's eyebrows raised expectantly.

Vaughn didn't realize until then that this was not he first time his name had been called. But he didn't move his chair away from her or take her hand off her knee, surprising everyone at the meeting, including himself, when his voice asked, "Sir, can you excuse us for a moment?"

Devlin nodded his assent, gesturing towards the door, ignoring Jack's sigh and unaware of the Attaboy! Smile Weiss was shooting in Vaughn's direction. He added something about making it quick, that they had yet to complete some business concerning the child.

But Vaughn didn't hear anything else as he murmured his thanks, helping Sydney up and leading her out the door, not giving a damn that everyone was watching and putting his hand against the small of her back. He didn't stop right outside the door as Sydney had thought he would, instead pointing her in the direction of Weiss' office, the closest of their three to the briefing room.

Flicking on the light and shutting the door behind him, he took Ilya from her arms and set him on the floor. The child did not look too pleased with this arrangement, but neither he nor Sydney raised any form of protest. Vaughn smiled at the boy in apology, not wasting another second before taking Sydney into his arms.

Normally, she would have been infuriated at having been taken out of a meeting in that way. It was clearly showing, even admitting weakness, something Sydney Bristow wasn't supposed to have. But she didn't say a word, sighing and laying her head on his shoulder. This only made him hold her closer, hug her tighter, glad that he had whisked her out of there and into his arms.

He didn't ask her if she was all right again, already knowing what the answer would be (both the one she would have given, and the truth). He knew how missions like the one she had recently been on drained her, how speaking of them in such a nonchalant manner didn't lessen the pain. Instead he held her close, the fingers on one hand rubbing circles into her side, the other running gently through her hair.

She pulled away just enough to look up at him, her words having to fight past the lump in her throat. "Thank you."

He kissed the top of her head, deciding that as sweet as that gesture was, it wasn't enough; and tilted her face up to his, savoring the thrill of her gasp in his ear, the unique flavor that was her lips on his own, better than anything else he could ever taste.

During this exchange, Ilya's thumb had found his mouth again, and he was quite content to stay where he had been placed until a soft sound lured him over to the door. Only the little boy saw the handle turn, heard the slight squeak as it opened. But they all heard the outburst of the man on the other side, Sydney and Vaughn jumping apart as the first syllable sounded.

"Jesus, Mike! My office!" Weiss' eyes widened impossibly further as he noticed Ilya. "Scarred child!" He picked up the little boy and placed him just outside the door to keep him from witnessing anything further.

"My office!! See the name on the door?" he demanded, swinging it all the way open and pointing to the plaque. "W-E-I-S-S spells Weiss, buddy. Not Vaughn, not…"

"Eric, relax."

Vaughn's low, calm voice was strange sounding after Weiss' shouts, but somehow more powerful, breaking through the outcry, if for just a moment. Sydney turned in Vaughn's arms so they were both facing in Weiss' direction, Vaughn's hands sliding around her waist automatically, as if they had been magnetized, as if that had always been their home.

"Dude! Couldn't you have found another storage closet or something? I mean, seriously, a guy's office is…"

Granted, after what he had last witnessed from the two of them, Weiss had every right to assume the worst, but there was clearly nothing going on here. Even so, they wouldn't hear the end of this one for awhile.

"Sydney doesn't feel well," Vaughn began, trying to explain what had happened in the briefing room, wondering how his friend could have missed the way she had become quiet, frozen, how she had nearly broken right in front of them all…

"So you thought you'd try a little sexual healing?" Weiss asked, voice almost back to its normal pitch but quickly changing once again. "In my office. You better not have gotten any…"

"Eric, we're both fully clothed," Vaughn said with a sigh, knowing that his friend wouldn't listen to a full explanation and trying to fool him with logic.

"Well good, because I was sent out to…"

"Sydney." Jack's voice was cool and clipped, Ilya in his arms, eyes wide with terror. "Can you step out into the hall please?"

Sydney obeyed, shooting a confused glance at Vaughn before following her father out the door. She held out her arms to take Ilya, wanting not only to relieve her father, but simply to have the child in her arms. The little boy mirrored her gestures, fighting to get out of Jack's arms; but although Jack looked desperate to put the child down, he did not hand him over.

"Dad…"

"During the few days that you…" Jack paused, shifting his eyes from hers to those she knew were right behind her. "…and Agent Vaughn were on leave, it came to our attention that you are greatly needed, and we would like to place you both back on active duty as soon as possible. It doesn't appear that the terrorists who raided the Russian compound have any personal vendetta against this boy or any of those in the group killed, but were just looking for the documents that are now in our possession. I asked you to bring the child here today so we could remove him from your custody and…"

"Wait…"

"What?"

Both words coming out so quickly that she was not even sure who had said what, which one of them sprung from her own lips and which came from Vaughn's. But she didn't let that stop her.

"Dad, you can't take Ilya away from us. Not until you've found a permanent place for him to go, have located his family."

"Sydney, we need you on active duty. The child can adjust to someplace else until…"

"No, he cannot. He's already gone through so much. You can't keep handing him from person to person whenever it's convenient for the CIA."

She spat the words out as violently as if she had discovered a moment too late that the fruit juice in her cup was actually blood; as if the words had been poison within her and needed a fierce delivery in order to remove the venom from her system completely.

"Sydney…"

"Sydney's right, Jack."

Both men said her name together, but only Vaughn finished his sentence. If Sydney could find such strength in a matter of moments, the least he could do was offer his own strength to her, stand by her side.

Even if it meant going head to head with her father. Not that Vaughn was necessarily scared of Jack Bristow, but the thought of one day having him as a father-in-law was a bit intimidating…

"I'm glad you and my daughter have so much in common, Mr. Vaughn, but…"

Vaughn never heard the end of that sentence. He couldn't see her eyes widen, but he could feel Sydney tense beneath his arms. She turned in his grasp and would have fought to get out of his grip if he hadn't let go. She murmured something quickly to him, something he didn't quite catch but understood that he wanted her to stay where he was, not to let them take Ilya away. She left, running toward the bathroom, sending Weiss scrambling back into his office to get out of her way.

Vaughn almost sprinted off after her, almost forgot everything and ran, knowing that she was the only thing that mattered, the only one that would ever matter. But then he saw the little boy in Jack's arms.

Poor Ilya had become even more distressed as Sydney disappeared from his view, just as he had the day he had been examined by the doctor. His bottom lip quivered and a whimper escaped from his tiny mouth as he began to squirm in Jack's arms.

"These are Director Devlin's direct orders," Jack continued, unfazed by his daughter's strange behavior and quick exit. He had known that she hadn't been feeling well, and as far as he was concerned, that was all there was to know.

"Come on, Jack. You know it's not fair to Ilya."

But while Jack might have at least listened to his daughter's begging, might have considered what she would have said and perhaps been convinced to change his mind, he didn't offer Vaughn the same courtesy.

"Don't make me pull rank, Mr. Vaughn," he stated, his voice crisp, face icy, but Vaughn thought he could detect a hint of regret in his eyes, that perhaps the formidable Jack Bristow thought that this course of action was wrong as well. "I'm following my orders. Now you have to follow yours."

Vaughn never got a chance to answer. One of the younger agents that had been in the briefing room appeared behind Jack. Agent Martin, Vaughn remembered, the one with the funny glasses.

"Are you ready, sir? Devlin is waiting."

Jack handed Ilya to him, the younger agent's eyes bugging out as he took the child, holding him awkwardly. Ilya's whimpers turned to tears, splashing off his eyelashes and down his cheeks. He writhed in the arms of the man who was fighting both to keep hold of him and follow Jack down the hallway.

"Jack…" Vaughn called out, taking a step forward, not sure of what he planned to do, what words he was supposed to say next.

"Don't," Jack interrupted, stopping and turning, nearly colliding with the younger agent, "make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Little Ilya was screaming now, not really sure what was going on, only knowing that to leave was to circle back into the unknown, the cold, the dark, the petrifying loneliness. Only knowing that he didn't know whose arms he was in, and he didn't want to stay there. His howls echoed against the stifling walls, everything else instantaneously hushed to an painful silence.

The building had never heard anything like this before, was unsure what to make of it. Those agents close enough to witness the conversation either busied themselves with paperwork or didn't even try to hide their open stares. Those only catching the echoing cries leapt from their desks, waiting for the warning lights to flash; each glancing around to see who would be the first to evacuate the building.

To think that one little boy could throw the entire Los Angeles branch of the CIA into such tumult. It was definitely information that could be damaging if leaked to the wrong sources.

Wishing Sydney were by his side, wondering, simultaneously, if she was okay, Vaughn's feet moved him mechanically down the hallway. One step, two, and three… His eyes found Ilya's, the little boy's face bright red and swollen with tears. He had met the child's gaze dozens of times in the past few days, but never had it been so helpless, so excruciatingly heartbreaking, so accusing. Vaughn looked away, unable to take the intensity, to stand the guilt.

But when the child's eyes rested on Vaughn, something happened. Something sparked, flashed, flared up and died away, taking the little boy's shrieks with it, letting their echo continue softly and slowly die away, replacing them with something else, his best attempt at a single syllable, the sound rolling strangely off his tiny tongue.

"Bahn!"

Vaughn's head snapped up, shock strapping itself around him, manifesting in his features, glaring out from his widened eyes and pouring out onto the floor in front of him, preventing his feet from any further movement.

Ilya fought with all the strength he had in his little body against the arms that encircled him, arching his back and kicking his feet in such a way that the already overly anxious agent had to put him down in order to prevent the boy from falling from his arms, to stop his head from hammering mercilessly into the tile floor.

Jack and Martin lunged forward, arms outstretched to grab the child as he darted away, heads so comically close to smashing together that the scene was almost amusing.

Suddenly, Ilya was hurtling into Vaughn with more force than he thought someone so small would be able to manage. The child locked his arms around Vaughn's legs, burying his tear-streaked face in the cloth at his shins for a fraction of a second.

Then two little hands were reaching frantically upward, dark eyes searching the green ones they found above them, his little voice pleading as he cried out again through the tears that continued to spill down his cheeks.

"Bahn! Bahn! Bahn!"

And while there might have been doubt and denial before, might have been uncertainty painted over the one shaky syllable… There could be absolutely no mistake this time, no denying what little Ilya's first word was… Vaughn.