Chronic Vertigo
Chapter Six: Circe [Part B]
Author: Kira [kira at sd-1 dot com]
Genre: Romance/Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We all know the drill. I don't own Alias, so please don't sue me. I'm already in debt. And even if you did sue me, it would come off my credit card and I'd still be in debt. So, right. You're better off leaving me be.
Author's Note: Feedback = updates. I swear, that's a real math equation.
Chronic Vertigo
CHAPTER SIX\\ Circe [b]
circe
n : (Greek mythology) a sorceress who detained Odysseus on her island and turned his men into swine but later led them on the way home.
Weiss rubbed his hands together, his face that of a starving man – Yogi bear hiding in the bushes just outside the picnic area, awaiting that oh so pinnacle moment when the picnicing family would, for some unknown reason, leave the basket unguarded. At that moment, he'd sneak in and steal it. The basket currently sat in Hong Kong, China, and Vaughn was the vacationing family.
"C'mon!" Weiss almost whined, leaning forward in his stiff backed airplane chair, elbows resting on his knees.
"I'm trying to sleep," Vaughn replied, annoyed. He sat across from Weiss in the bright plane, the window next to him shaded to give him a small degree of solace from the blaring sunlight of a new day without her, without silence he so desperately needed to sleep.
The last for sure, what with Weiss whining about his need for 'authentic Chinese food' as soon as they landed.
"What is this? Sleep when Weiss is around?" the latter asked of him.
Vaughn simply popped open a tired green eye and glared.
"Fine, fine, I surrender," he retorted to the one-eyed glare, his arms raised in mock surrender. "Sorry for caring."
Vaughn sighed and opened both his eyes, lazily propping his head up on a fist, leaning against the armrest. He lay relaxed, as if he threatened to flow straight from the chair if not secured in with a seatbelt. He gazed at his friend of years, remembering all the times skewed by alcohol and over-run emotions. Of humor masking concern. He could see it now, creeping up the edges of his posture, his eyes and face.
"You can't sleep at home, can you?"
It came through more as a statement than a question, the answer known to both parties as soon as the query broke free of Weiss' mouth. His degree of introspection was surprising to Vaughn, who felt he was the only one caught in this chaos, the outside world blurred in his eyes. But Weiss was clear now, as he always had been (although it must be said that it usually was Weiss who caused his vision to sway after a night away at a bar he wouldn't remember in the morning).
"I know you don't want to talk about it – when do you? – so I want you to listen to me. You can do that, right?"
"Yeah, I can listen," Vaughn replied through a yawn. "But if I fall asleep…" He trailed off, a smirk on his face.
"Shut it," Weiss warned.
"I'm just saying," Vaughn shrugged oddly as he switched support arms.
"I think you can't sleep when you're alone. I don't know why, but I do know you've been going to Syd's instead of your place. And you were sleeping on that ugly pink couch – how anyone could sleep on something as loud as that is beyond me. You've got a lot on your plate right now and you're not letting the Weiss-man be there for ya – "
"Weiss-man?" Vaughn raised an eyebrow.
"Don't knock it."
"Using it on that IT girl, are you?" he asked, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. Weiss' face lit up and his posture straightened, the air of seriousness vacant, replaced by its normal clown nature.
"Awe, Mikey, you remembered!"
"What is it, pathetic nickname time? This is what you interrupted my sleep for?"
"There's no need for that pessimistic attitude," Weiss frowned. "You know, I had – "
"A near death experience," they said in unison, Vaughn laughing at Weiss' bemused expression as they finished at the exact same time.
"So? How's that going? Gonna tell me her name yet, or is she to remain anonymous."
"To keep her from you, yes!"
"Didn't you notice? I have a girlfriend."
"When don't you?" Weiss muttered, "Monica, her name's Monica. She's so into me."
"She didn't..." Vaughn smirked. Weiss nodded, the implications of the simple statement enough for both to know what the other was talking about. Years of a close friendship had caused them to create their own vocal shorthand, giving others the impression of some degree of insanity on their part (which was not completely unfounded). But at that moment, Weiss knew he had succeeded with what he'd wished to do, a smile across Vaughn's usually haunted features exactly what he needed to see.
It was only fair, as Vaughn had done the same for him countless times.
"Now, I hope we get back from this mission alive, because I've got a date."
Kowloon, China
With Great Britain's control over Hong Kong, easily one of the largest and most influential cities in East Asia, America had an easy relationship with the local government and those in power. Information was traded freely over several routes of communication between the two world superpowers, allowing the CIA to have eyes and ears inside the city known equally for both its wealth and corruption.
In the early 1980's, the CIA invested in a small piece of property on the wealthy side of the island port, a modest home in an embellished neighborhood that continuously overlooked those who were lesser than themselves. Virtual invisibility. This station, aptly nicknamed Invisible Point, or simply, The Point, was a key instrument in the regulation of crime throughout the region, responsible for over 100 arrests since its inaugural run in 1982. Seen as an irreplaceable tool for accurate intel collection in East Asia, The Point was kept open past the expiration date on Great Britain's lease.
Because of the invisibility of this station, the Chinese government continues to be unaware of its existence, believing it to be the home of one Charles McVey and his wife Katherine, transplants from British India who sought a stable market for their wildly successful import/export business. Because of this carefully crafted cover, the Chinese government took no action against the property when it finally reclaimed power back from the British, and while the flow of information had certainly thinned, it was in no way completely exhausted.
Kowloon, however, was another matter.
Despite the common misconception that Kowloon was simply a district of Hong Kong, the city settled on the banks of Mainland China a ferry ride away from the British colony was still in the hands of China. The conditions never changed, even during the hand over, but it was during those pinnacle years of the cold war that truly shaped the peninsula. Left in the hands of a communist government, it seemed practically unreachable to western powers of democracy, giving those who conducted business there a false sense of security.
Deals went down nightly in the smoke-filled halls settled on narrow back streets and alleys set far from the tourists' eyes. Assassination orders, black market sales, embezzlement schemes. All just beyond the shining streets lines with shops and holy temples on guarded sanctuaries. Believed to be clear of the eyes they knew were watching over Hong Kong, these shady deals were made completely in the open.
But China, just as the CIA, had a vested interest in these deals.
In the summer of his third year with the CIA, Michael Vaughn was sent to Kowloon to work undercover as an arms dealer looking for a new region in which to set up camp. It was a huge operation to be put on the shoulders of such a young agent, but with his previous successes as proof, he was believed to be capable to handle a mission of such magnitude.
With as so much as a week's notice, he was sent off to the crumbling city, a reputation created by the Agency as the only security that he would not be killed upon arrival. And he was good at his job, bringing down deals left and right with no clear association to himself.
That was, until he met Apple.
Apple Cho was a dancer in the club Vaughn frequented as part of his cover, and she was a very good dancer at that. Three months after his insertion into this world of corruption and death, she caught his eye and never let go. This infatuation was only compounded when it was learned she was privy to certain discussions taking place in the private rooms, information that was necessary to the completion of this mission and the downfall of one of the largest assassins in the Asian realm. His assignment? Get close to Apple Cho. As close as possible.
The memories of past missions and the implications of falling in love on the job haunted him the entire time. It was quite an act he was putting up, and just when he thought he had gotten through scott free, the unimaginable happened.
He fell for Apple Cho.
It was unfortunate, then, that the next day, as the team was going in to apprehend their target after 4 months, they found the Chinese government there as well. On the team?
A one Apple Shu Cho.
She was an excellent agent, so much so that not even the team settled in Kowloon with Vaughn had known her true intentions. The CIA ended up getting their man as well as being kicked out of Kowloon. A gold mark went on his record, and a promotion soon followed.
It was the wall of heat that hit him as he exited the plane at Hong Kong International Airport that brought back these memories. But it was also the sight of a slightly older Apple Cho standing just under the shade created by the terminal that threw him back into the past. She sauntered over to the pair as they shouldered their duffle bags, her long black hair flying in the wind of arriving and departing planes.
"Well, look who it is," she commented in perfect English, her brown eyes hidden by stylish shades from Paris. "If it isn't Mike and his sidekick Eric."
"Hey there, Apple. How'd you find us?" Weiss asked, smiling at her.
"The agency thought it best to let us know about your mission, believing that the assistance of the Chinese government might protect their asset rather than have you two screw up and piss off the higher ups when we stumbled onto your op," she replied, flipping her hair. Flipped her God-damned hair. Vaughn sighed and shook his head, distracting himself from her less than professional yet hauntingly familliar movements by digging through his duffel's outer pockets for his sunglasses.
"So, what? Are you coming with, or just helpin' us out here, because lemme tell you, it's really hot out here," Weiss commented, squinting against the sunlight with unshaded eyes.
"Well then, let's go inside." Just like that. They were supposed to just follow the leader?
"Weiss," Vaughn growled as the pair followed behind her at what Vaughn considered being a safe distance. "When you commented about seeing Apple again, did you have any idea, I don't know, that we would actually see her again?"
"You're asking me?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"I knew there was a possibility we'd see her when we landed."
Vaughn simple gave him a sharp, pointed look instead of muttering a retort.
//
"Dad – "
"Is everything alright?"
"I'm on the plane," Sydney replied, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The plane was relatively empty, the lights dimmed as a black night sky scrolled by beyond thick plastic windows. The hum of air steadily flowing into the cabin preventing it from being completely silent in the aluminum shell protecting them from the pressurized air outside. Beside her, Dixon slept lightly, his head resting gently against the headrest, the complementary pillow nestled underneath his neck. Sydney gave a tired sigh and shifted farther from him in her seat, wishing the cord on the airplane's phone was just a bit longer.
"I trust the mission was successful," Jack stated after hearing her sigh, the tone of his voice rising just a small degree as if he were unsure if he should ask it as a question or simply state it reassuringly.
"Mom was there," she said, her voice as downcast as her mood. "She – she got away. Again."
She could see her father sitting there, behind his desk, brown eyes sharp yet unfocused as his emotions and logistical side struggled for a response. "Sydney..." he started.
"Not only did she get away, but she got some files from Zuravlev. There, there was this group of people, they got between us. I wasn't looking," she finished, rubbing her forehead. How stupid was she? Why hadn't she pulled her gun on her mother the moment she entered that vestibule? It certainly would have assisted her in obtaining the files needed and not the incoherent of a beat Sark.
The same ramble of words that had been gnawing away at her consciousness like tiny ladybugs consuming a leaf. Slowly, bit by bit, the words repeated and morphed as if in a game of telephone, becoming more mutated until the end where the meaning had completely changed. You're over-analyzing, she told herself.
So why was she on the phone with her father, now, late at night while flying over the Atlantic?
"Was the mission a complete failure?" Jack asked, self-control keeping his voice even.
"I had a run in with Sark," she said slowly. Jack leaned back in his chair. Something in her voice was telling him all he needed to know, spoke volumes more than mere words could. It was said by old women and the superstitious that things occur in threes - or twos, depending on the saying. Jack, with the events and occurrences of his life, was inclined to such beliefs. And when his only child spoke with that tone, the tone he had used so many times in his life, his unconscious belief in such doomsday sayings frightened him.
Chapter Six: Circe [Part B]
Author: Kira [kira at sd-1 dot com]
Genre: Romance/Action/Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We all know the drill. I don't own Alias, so please don't sue me. I'm already in debt. And even if you did sue me, it would come off my credit card and I'd still be in debt. So, right. You're better off leaving me be.
Author's Note: Feedback = updates. I swear, that's a real math equation.
Chronic Vertigo
CHAPTER SIX\\ Circe [b]
circe
n : (Greek mythology) a sorceress who detained Odysseus on her island and turned his men into swine but later led them on the way home.
Weiss rubbed his hands together, his face that of a starving man – Yogi bear hiding in the bushes just outside the picnic area, awaiting that oh so pinnacle moment when the picnicing family would, for some unknown reason, leave the basket unguarded. At that moment, he'd sneak in and steal it. The basket currently sat in Hong Kong, China, and Vaughn was the vacationing family.
"C'mon!" Weiss almost whined, leaning forward in his stiff backed airplane chair, elbows resting on his knees.
"I'm trying to sleep," Vaughn replied, annoyed. He sat across from Weiss in the bright plane, the window next to him shaded to give him a small degree of solace from the blaring sunlight of a new day without her, without silence he so desperately needed to sleep.
The last for sure, what with Weiss whining about his need for 'authentic Chinese food' as soon as they landed.
"What is this? Sleep when Weiss is around?" the latter asked of him.
Vaughn simply popped open a tired green eye and glared.
"Fine, fine, I surrender," he retorted to the one-eyed glare, his arms raised in mock surrender. "Sorry for caring."
Vaughn sighed and opened both his eyes, lazily propping his head up on a fist, leaning against the armrest. He lay relaxed, as if he threatened to flow straight from the chair if not secured in with a seatbelt. He gazed at his friend of years, remembering all the times skewed by alcohol and over-run emotions. Of humor masking concern. He could see it now, creeping up the edges of his posture, his eyes and face.
"You can't sleep at home, can you?"
It came through more as a statement than a question, the answer known to both parties as soon as the query broke free of Weiss' mouth. His degree of introspection was surprising to Vaughn, who felt he was the only one caught in this chaos, the outside world blurred in his eyes. But Weiss was clear now, as he always had been (although it must be said that it usually was Weiss who caused his vision to sway after a night away at a bar he wouldn't remember in the morning).
"I know you don't want to talk about it – when do you? – so I want you to listen to me. You can do that, right?"
"Yeah, I can listen," Vaughn replied through a yawn. "But if I fall asleep…" He trailed off, a smirk on his face.
"Shut it," Weiss warned.
"I'm just saying," Vaughn shrugged oddly as he switched support arms.
"I think you can't sleep when you're alone. I don't know why, but I do know you've been going to Syd's instead of your place. And you were sleeping on that ugly pink couch – how anyone could sleep on something as loud as that is beyond me. You've got a lot on your plate right now and you're not letting the Weiss-man be there for ya – "
"Weiss-man?" Vaughn raised an eyebrow.
"Don't knock it."
"Using it on that IT girl, are you?" he asked, sitting up and stretching his arms above his head. Weiss' face lit up and his posture straightened, the air of seriousness vacant, replaced by its normal clown nature.
"Awe, Mikey, you remembered!"
"What is it, pathetic nickname time? This is what you interrupted my sleep for?"
"There's no need for that pessimistic attitude," Weiss frowned. "You know, I had – "
"A near death experience," they said in unison, Vaughn laughing at Weiss' bemused expression as they finished at the exact same time.
"So? How's that going? Gonna tell me her name yet, or is she to remain anonymous."
"To keep her from you, yes!"
"Didn't you notice? I have a girlfriend."
"When don't you?" Weiss muttered, "Monica, her name's Monica. She's so into me."
"She didn't..." Vaughn smirked. Weiss nodded, the implications of the simple statement enough for both to know what the other was talking about. Years of a close friendship had caused them to create their own vocal shorthand, giving others the impression of some degree of insanity on their part (which was not completely unfounded). But at that moment, Weiss knew he had succeeded with what he'd wished to do, a smile across Vaughn's usually haunted features exactly what he needed to see.
It was only fair, as Vaughn had done the same for him countless times.
"Now, I hope we get back from this mission alive, because I've got a date."
Kowloon, China
With Great Britain's control over Hong Kong, easily one of the largest and most influential cities in East Asia, America had an easy relationship with the local government and those in power. Information was traded freely over several routes of communication between the two world superpowers, allowing the CIA to have eyes and ears inside the city known equally for both its wealth and corruption.
In the early 1980's, the CIA invested in a small piece of property on the wealthy side of the island port, a modest home in an embellished neighborhood that continuously overlooked those who were lesser than themselves. Virtual invisibility. This station, aptly nicknamed Invisible Point, or simply, The Point, was a key instrument in the regulation of crime throughout the region, responsible for over 100 arrests since its inaugural run in 1982. Seen as an irreplaceable tool for accurate intel collection in East Asia, The Point was kept open past the expiration date on Great Britain's lease.
Because of the invisibility of this station, the Chinese government continues to be unaware of its existence, believing it to be the home of one Charles McVey and his wife Katherine, transplants from British India who sought a stable market for their wildly successful import/export business. Because of this carefully crafted cover, the Chinese government took no action against the property when it finally reclaimed power back from the British, and while the flow of information had certainly thinned, it was in no way completely exhausted.
Kowloon, however, was another matter.
Despite the common misconception that Kowloon was simply a district of Hong Kong, the city settled on the banks of Mainland China a ferry ride away from the British colony was still in the hands of China. The conditions never changed, even during the hand over, but it was during those pinnacle years of the cold war that truly shaped the peninsula. Left in the hands of a communist government, it seemed practically unreachable to western powers of democracy, giving those who conducted business there a false sense of security.
Deals went down nightly in the smoke-filled halls settled on narrow back streets and alleys set far from the tourists' eyes. Assassination orders, black market sales, embezzlement schemes. All just beyond the shining streets lines with shops and holy temples on guarded sanctuaries. Believed to be clear of the eyes they knew were watching over Hong Kong, these shady deals were made completely in the open.
But China, just as the CIA, had a vested interest in these deals.
In the summer of his third year with the CIA, Michael Vaughn was sent to Kowloon to work undercover as an arms dealer looking for a new region in which to set up camp. It was a huge operation to be put on the shoulders of such a young agent, but with his previous successes as proof, he was believed to be capable to handle a mission of such magnitude.
With as so much as a week's notice, he was sent off to the crumbling city, a reputation created by the Agency as the only security that he would not be killed upon arrival. And he was good at his job, bringing down deals left and right with no clear association to himself.
That was, until he met Apple.
Apple Cho was a dancer in the club Vaughn frequented as part of his cover, and she was a very good dancer at that. Three months after his insertion into this world of corruption and death, she caught his eye and never let go. This infatuation was only compounded when it was learned she was privy to certain discussions taking place in the private rooms, information that was necessary to the completion of this mission and the downfall of one of the largest assassins in the Asian realm. His assignment? Get close to Apple Cho. As close as possible.
The memories of past missions and the implications of falling in love on the job haunted him the entire time. It was quite an act he was putting up, and just when he thought he had gotten through scott free, the unimaginable happened.
He fell for Apple Cho.
It was unfortunate, then, that the next day, as the team was going in to apprehend their target after 4 months, they found the Chinese government there as well. On the team?
A one Apple Shu Cho.
She was an excellent agent, so much so that not even the team settled in Kowloon with Vaughn had known her true intentions. The CIA ended up getting their man as well as being kicked out of Kowloon. A gold mark went on his record, and a promotion soon followed.
It was the wall of heat that hit him as he exited the plane at Hong Kong International Airport that brought back these memories. But it was also the sight of a slightly older Apple Cho standing just under the shade created by the terminal that threw him back into the past. She sauntered over to the pair as they shouldered their duffle bags, her long black hair flying in the wind of arriving and departing planes.
"Well, look who it is," she commented in perfect English, her brown eyes hidden by stylish shades from Paris. "If it isn't Mike and his sidekick Eric."
"Hey there, Apple. How'd you find us?" Weiss asked, smiling at her.
"The agency thought it best to let us know about your mission, believing that the assistance of the Chinese government might protect their asset rather than have you two screw up and piss off the higher ups when we stumbled onto your op," she replied, flipping her hair. Flipped her God-damned hair. Vaughn sighed and shook his head, distracting himself from her less than professional yet hauntingly familliar movements by digging through his duffel's outer pockets for his sunglasses.
"So, what? Are you coming with, or just helpin' us out here, because lemme tell you, it's really hot out here," Weiss commented, squinting against the sunlight with unshaded eyes.
"Well then, let's go inside." Just like that. They were supposed to just follow the leader?
"Weiss," Vaughn growled as the pair followed behind her at what Vaughn considered being a safe distance. "When you commented about seeing Apple again, did you have any idea, I don't know, that we would actually see her again?"
"You're asking me?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"I knew there was a possibility we'd see her when we landed."
Vaughn simple gave him a sharp, pointed look instead of muttering a retort.
//
"Dad – "
"Is everything alright?"
"I'm on the plane," Sydney replied, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. The plane was relatively empty, the lights dimmed as a black night sky scrolled by beyond thick plastic windows. The hum of air steadily flowing into the cabin preventing it from being completely silent in the aluminum shell protecting them from the pressurized air outside. Beside her, Dixon slept lightly, his head resting gently against the headrest, the complementary pillow nestled underneath his neck. Sydney gave a tired sigh and shifted farther from him in her seat, wishing the cord on the airplane's phone was just a bit longer.
"I trust the mission was successful," Jack stated after hearing her sigh, the tone of his voice rising just a small degree as if he were unsure if he should ask it as a question or simply state it reassuringly.
"Mom was there," she said, her voice as downcast as her mood. "She – she got away. Again."
She could see her father sitting there, behind his desk, brown eyes sharp yet unfocused as his emotions and logistical side struggled for a response. "Sydney..." he started.
"Not only did she get away, but she got some files from Zuravlev. There, there was this group of people, they got between us. I wasn't looking," she finished, rubbing her forehead. How stupid was she? Why hadn't she pulled her gun on her mother the moment she entered that vestibule? It certainly would have assisted her in obtaining the files needed and not the incoherent of a beat Sark.
The same ramble of words that had been gnawing away at her consciousness like tiny ladybugs consuming a leaf. Slowly, bit by bit, the words repeated and morphed as if in a game of telephone, becoming more mutated until the end where the meaning had completely changed. You're over-analyzing, she told herself.
So why was she on the phone with her father, now, late at night while flying over the Atlantic?
"Was the mission a complete failure?" Jack asked, self-control keeping his voice even.
"I had a run in with Sark," she said slowly. Jack leaned back in his chair. Something in her voice was telling him all he needed to know, spoke volumes more than mere words could. It was said by old women and the superstitious that things occur in threes - or twos, depending on the saying. Jack, with the events and occurrences of his life, was inclined to such beliefs. And when his only child spoke with that tone, the tone he had used so many times in his life, his unconscious belief in such doomsday sayings frightened him.
