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[3]
A slow smile spread across her face, and she secretly hoped that Seth Goodwin did mess with Michael Vaughn so he could get a taste of his own medicine.
"So what do you do in English Lit?" he asked anxiously, "Because if it is half as fun as your film class, I'll enjoy it."
She smiled, a whimsical look coming over her face, "Basically we take two pieces of literature and compare them -- finding their similarities and differences. I love it -- it's one of my favorite classes."
"Is Seth Goodwin in it?" he joked.
"No," she replied with a laugh, "Fortunately."
"But no, seriously, what do you want to do with your life?" he questioned, "After you're out of college of course."
"I want to be an English Lit professor," she smiled goofily, but her _expression changed quickly, and tears clouded her eyes, "Just like my mother was."
"Your mother was an English Lit professor?" he inquired, and she nodded, a single tear streaming down her cheek, "I take it by 'was' that she isn't anymore?"
Sydney shook her head, "My mother died in a car accident when I was five years old, she's the only role model I've ever had, my dad was never around when I was little, he's never around now, he's always in Washington D.C. except for like a week or two a year, and even then he's preoccupied with work, I fly to Washington D.C. every year for Christmas, but he spends a few hours at the most with me, because even then he's working."
Michael had been eerily quiet throughout her speech, and she noticed that, calling him on it, "What's wrong? Why are you so quiet?"
He shrugged, and making sure there was no traffic that he might hit, he turned his head to connect their eyes quickly, "My father died when I was 8. He worked for the CIA, and he was killed in the line of duty. I can still remember the day the men in the black suits came to tell my mother he was dead, it was the worst day of my life. From that day on, I wanted to work at the CIA, follow in my father's footsteps; avenge his death."
"What happened?" Sydney asked quietly, they had more in common than they had originally thought, "Why aren't you working for the CIA now?"
"They wanted me," he answered, "The CIA -- they did. But I told my mother, and she had a breakdown, she was afraid she would lose me like she did my father. I explained this to the director, and he offered me this job -- working for the secret service, I immediately took it, it still deals with protecting people, just not the country like a job with the CIA would."
"You work for the secret service?" she questioned.
He nodded and blushed a little, which she didn't miss, "What? Why are you blushing?"
"I shouldn't have told you that," he explained, "It's all classified -- I'm not supposed to tell anyone."
"I won't tell another person," she promised, "I swear."
"Thank you," he smiled, "I could get in serious trouble if they found out I told you."
'Well, well, well,' she thought, as silence overtook them once again, 'The mysterious Michael Vaughn has opened up to me.'
Soon enough, they pulled into the parking lot of the cafe they were meeting Francie at, Francie sitting on the hood of her car, waiting for them.
"It's about time!" she called as soon as they stepped out of the car, "What, did you have to stop for a make-out session, or what? Couldn't keep your hands off each other for half an hour?"
Sydney blushed, embarrassed at her friend's outburst, but Michael stood there, with his hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly amused.
"Since you know I'm starving over here, and you two take your own sweet time getting here," she threw over her shoulder as she led them inside.
"Blame him," Sydney cocked a thumb at Michael, "He's the one that drives like my grandmother."
Vaughn held his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm sorry. I'll remember that next time so we can go 90mph and get in a car accident and die."
She smiled brightly, "Sounds like a deal to me."
"Stop flirting you two!" Francie exclaimed, "You're making me sick and I want to be able to eat my food."
Sydney and Michael laughed as the three of them sat down, waiting for a waiter to come over and given them menus. Once they had the menus sitting in front of them, they studied them to see what they wanted.
"I've been hungry for a cheeseburger, french fries and coke all day," Sydney announced.
"That sounds pretty good too," Michael announced, "I think that's what I may get too."
Francie looked for a little while longer, "I think the BLT sandwich, french fries and coke sounds pretty good to me today."
They were pretty predictable, seeing as that is what they ordered every time they came here, and when the waiter approached their table, he asked, "The normal?"
Sydney and Francie nodded, and the waiter turned his attention to Vaughn, "I'd like the same as her."
The waiter excused himself, saying he would be back in a few minutes with their food, and just as he left, Michael's cell phone rang. "I've got to take this," he replied as he walked outside, leaving Francie and Sydney alone.
"So who is he?" Francie inquired the minute Michael was out of earshot, and Sydney had to laugh, she had expected it.
"My dad's been receiving threats lately," Sydney explained, "Someone's been threatening me -- he is my bodyguard."
Francie's eyes almost bulged out of her head, "He's your bodyguard?" And Sydney nodded, "His job is to protect you? To put his life over yours?" Another nod, "Damn! You're one lucky girl."
And she laughed.
Meanwhile, outside, Michael answered his phone, "Hello?"
"Mike! Buddy!" Weiss cheerfully called, "How's it going with Princess Bristow?"
"Surprisingly not that bad," Michael replied, "She's got awesome classes which makes it easier to sit through them, and her friends seem nice, she almost seems human."
Weiss laughed, "Girls like that aren't human Mike. Just wait until she drags you shopping with her."
Vaughn groaned, "Shut up Weiss! Just shut up!"
"Just you wait," was Weiss' reply.
"I've got to go Weiss, I'll talk to you later."
And he was back to the job of protecting the one girl he had never thought he would protect, and the one who seemed to least like the idea of being protected by someone.
This certainly would be fun.
[3]
A slow smile spread across her face, and she secretly hoped that Seth Goodwin did mess with Michael Vaughn so he could get a taste of his own medicine.
"So what do you do in English Lit?" he asked anxiously, "Because if it is half as fun as your film class, I'll enjoy it."
She smiled, a whimsical look coming over her face, "Basically we take two pieces of literature and compare them -- finding their similarities and differences. I love it -- it's one of my favorite classes."
"Is Seth Goodwin in it?" he joked.
"No," she replied with a laugh, "Fortunately."
"But no, seriously, what do you want to do with your life?" he questioned, "After you're out of college of course."
"I want to be an English Lit professor," she smiled goofily, but her _expression changed quickly, and tears clouded her eyes, "Just like my mother was."
"Your mother was an English Lit professor?" he inquired, and she nodded, a single tear streaming down her cheek, "I take it by 'was' that she isn't anymore?"
Sydney shook her head, "My mother died in a car accident when I was five years old, she's the only role model I've ever had, my dad was never around when I was little, he's never around now, he's always in Washington D.C. except for like a week or two a year, and even then he's preoccupied with work, I fly to Washington D.C. every year for Christmas, but he spends a few hours at the most with me, because even then he's working."
Michael had been eerily quiet throughout her speech, and she noticed that, calling him on it, "What's wrong? Why are you so quiet?"
He shrugged, and making sure there was no traffic that he might hit, he turned his head to connect their eyes quickly, "My father died when I was 8. He worked for the CIA, and he was killed in the line of duty. I can still remember the day the men in the black suits came to tell my mother he was dead, it was the worst day of my life. From that day on, I wanted to work at the CIA, follow in my father's footsteps; avenge his death."
"What happened?" Sydney asked quietly, they had more in common than they had originally thought, "Why aren't you working for the CIA now?"
"They wanted me," he answered, "The CIA -- they did. But I told my mother, and she had a breakdown, she was afraid she would lose me like she did my father. I explained this to the director, and he offered me this job -- working for the secret service, I immediately took it, it still deals with protecting people, just not the country like a job with the CIA would."
"You work for the secret service?" she questioned.
He nodded and blushed a little, which she didn't miss, "What? Why are you blushing?"
"I shouldn't have told you that," he explained, "It's all classified -- I'm not supposed to tell anyone."
"I won't tell another person," she promised, "I swear."
"Thank you," he smiled, "I could get in serious trouble if they found out I told you."
'Well, well, well,' she thought, as silence overtook them once again, 'The mysterious Michael Vaughn has opened up to me.'
Soon enough, they pulled into the parking lot of the cafe they were meeting Francie at, Francie sitting on the hood of her car, waiting for them.
"It's about time!" she called as soon as they stepped out of the car, "What, did you have to stop for a make-out session, or what? Couldn't keep your hands off each other for half an hour?"
Sydney blushed, embarrassed at her friend's outburst, but Michael stood there, with his hands in his pockets, looking thoroughly amused.
"Since you know I'm starving over here, and you two take your own sweet time getting here," she threw over her shoulder as she led them inside.
"Blame him," Sydney cocked a thumb at Michael, "He's the one that drives like my grandmother."
Vaughn held his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm sorry. I'll remember that next time so we can go 90mph and get in a car accident and die."
She smiled brightly, "Sounds like a deal to me."
"Stop flirting you two!" Francie exclaimed, "You're making me sick and I want to be able to eat my food."
Sydney and Michael laughed as the three of them sat down, waiting for a waiter to come over and given them menus. Once they had the menus sitting in front of them, they studied them to see what they wanted.
"I've been hungry for a cheeseburger, french fries and coke all day," Sydney announced.
"That sounds pretty good too," Michael announced, "I think that's what I may get too."
Francie looked for a little while longer, "I think the BLT sandwich, french fries and coke sounds pretty good to me today."
They were pretty predictable, seeing as that is what they ordered every time they came here, and when the waiter approached their table, he asked, "The normal?"
Sydney and Francie nodded, and the waiter turned his attention to Vaughn, "I'd like the same as her."
The waiter excused himself, saying he would be back in a few minutes with their food, and just as he left, Michael's cell phone rang. "I've got to take this," he replied as he walked outside, leaving Francie and Sydney alone.
"So who is he?" Francie inquired the minute Michael was out of earshot, and Sydney had to laugh, she had expected it.
"My dad's been receiving threats lately," Sydney explained, "Someone's been threatening me -- he is my bodyguard."
Francie's eyes almost bulged out of her head, "He's your bodyguard?" And Sydney nodded, "His job is to protect you? To put his life over yours?" Another nod, "Damn! You're one lucky girl."
And she laughed.
Meanwhile, outside, Michael answered his phone, "Hello?"
"Mike! Buddy!" Weiss cheerfully called, "How's it going with Princess Bristow?"
"Surprisingly not that bad," Michael replied, "She's got awesome classes which makes it easier to sit through them, and her friends seem nice, she almost seems human."
Weiss laughed, "Girls like that aren't human Mike. Just wait until she drags you shopping with her."
Vaughn groaned, "Shut up Weiss! Just shut up!"
"Just you wait," was Weiss' reply.
"I've got to go Weiss, I'll talk to you later."
And he was back to the job of protecting the one girl he had never thought he would protect, and the one who seemed to least like the idea of being protected by someone.
This certainly would be fun.