The CIA's action was forceful and swift. In a matter of hours SWAT teams around the globe had mounted simultaneous attacks on all the Alliance cells, capturing or killing almost all of the leaders. Sydney, Vaughn and Jack insisted on being part of the team to take SD-6. Amid the screams of terrified office workers, bursts of gunfire, and barked commands, they stormed Arvin Sloane's office only to find it empty. Lowering her gun, Sydney gazed around her, unable to take it all in.
The scene was strangely reminiscent of the action the CIA had taken to wrest control of SD-6 from McKenas Cole. But this time she had come, not to aid her co-workers, but to bring them to justice. Dixon met her gaze from across the room, where he was talking to an agent in SWAT gear, with a bittersweet smile.
Sydney gave him a weary half-smile in return, but she turned away, tears in her eyes. Without Arvin Sloane in custody could it really be termed a victory? What about "Il Dire" and the second prophecy?
She thought of her mother's sacrifice. Irina had wanted them to bring down the Alliance together. Syd knew her own reasons for doing so--to avenge Danny's death, to annihilate Arvin Sloane, to safeguard a future for herself and Vaughn. She had never learned her mother's reasons.
Kicking through the debris in what had been her father's office, she was hailed by the unmistakable voice of Marshall J. Flinkman.
"Syd? Syd, is that you?"
"Marshall!" she cried, whirling around.
The hands of SD-6's master tech specialist were shackled and wrenched behind him as he was being roughly led away by a SWAT team officer.
"S-Syd, what's going on?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Marshall, everything's going to be alright," she assured him. "It's okay," she said quickly, turning to the agent in SWAT gear. "I can vouch for this man."
"Things weren't what they seemed," Sydney rushed to explain. "SD-6 was working with the Alliance, not against it. My father, Dixon, and I have been working undercover to bring Sloane to justice. The CIA will debrief you, and I promise I'll do everything I can to see that they hire you. You've got admirers in the CIA already."
"Really?" Marshall said delightedly.
"Yeah, I've even heard some of the tech guys formed a fan club," Sydney teased. "They'll all be really excited to meet you."
"A fan club?" he echoed, but then his face fell. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? Finding out the organization you've been working for is evil makes a person, you know, not want to believe everything they hear."
Tears sprang to Sydney's eyes, and she shook her head. "It's the truth."
"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you then," he replied hopefully, and raised one of his shackled hands to wave good-bye as the agent in SWAT gear lead him away.
Sydney nodded, watching him go. Her eyes traveled around the now deserted work room and lighted at once upon Vaughn, who had just entered from the opposite end. The stunned look of confusion and disbelief on his face mirrored her own. Their eyes met, and she was buoyed up and suffused with a warm, soft glow.
Slowly they started to move toward each other through the debris, almost as if pulled together, and then she was in his arms.
Vaughn reached up to caress her cheek and kissed her tenderly, threading his hand through her hair. When they broke apart, each breathing heavily, he brushed his lips against her forehead, shut his eyes, and rested his forehead against hers.
When she opened her eyes, Vaughn was looking at her with a wide, incandescent grin on his face. She couldn't help but grin back.
"What?"
"We've done everything backwards. A ring and an engagement, but no first date."
Sydney laughed. "So what you're saying is--"
"How about those Kings?"
"I'd like that," Sydney said softly. "I'd like that a lot."
It was not a complete victory, but it was more than they had dared to hope for even a few days previously. There would be time enough to capture Sloane, delve into the existence of a second prophecy, and deal with "Il Dire." For the moment they would bask, for as long as fate would allow, in the realization that one phase of their life was now over and that a second, so full of possibility, was about to begin.
After an excruciatingly long debriefing, attended by all the agents who participated in the raid on SD-6, Vaughn offered to drive Sydney home. They had driven no more than a few blocks when her cell phone went off.
"Syd? Oh, my God, Syd? Finally!" Francie exclaimed. Her voice was muffled as if she'd been crying.
"Fran? What's wrong!"
"It's Will. They instituted a mandatory drug test for all employees at the paper recently. The drug test was today--and he failed it! Then they found heroin in his desk drawer and claimed he was shooting up at work! They called the police, and he was lead away in front of his co-workers."
"Oh, Francie! That's horrible! Where is he now?"
"He's down at police headquarters. I was just on my way down there, but they won't release him without bail--and I have absolutely no money to get him out! It's all tied up in the restaurant, and today I got this notice that they're shutting it down before it even opens!" she wailed.
"What?"
"The city says that the neighborhood is no longer zoned for small businesses and that the restaurant failed its building code inspection. I won't even be able to recoup my investment!"
"What about the private investor who contacted you?" Sydney asked with trepidation.
"I can't contact him. His cell phone number's been disconnected, his email's been terminated, and the address he gave me for Edward Sorenson & Sons is actually a sushi place! It's like he was never there to begin with! Syd, I've been so incredibly stupid and naïve."
"That's so not true," Sydney replied soothingly. She knew whose fault it was, and it wasn't Francie's.
Jack Bristow had taken extreme measures to make sure all ties her roommate had to Sark were severed, and once her father's plans were set in motion, the consequences multiplied inexorably like cascading dominos.
"So, you'll come help me get Will out of jail?" Francie pleaded.
"Of course, give me the address of the precinct where he's being held," she glanced at Vaughn. "I'll meet you there."
Francie was sitting on a worn wooden bench against the wall, when she spotted Sydney wending her way through the crowded precinct.
"Syd! I am SO glad you are here!" she said jumping up and hugging her. It was only then that she noticed the tall, good-looking man with green eyes who stood behind her roommate.
"Fran, I want you to meet a friend of mine. He was driving me home from work when you called. He's offered to help us get Will out of jail."
"Hi," Vaughn said, smiling, more nervous than he had anticipated now that he was finally being introduced to Sydney's roommate and best friend. "I'm Michael Vaughn. I work with Sydney. You must be Francie," he said extending his hand.
"It's nice to meet you. Syd's mentioned you, but she's never told us your name," Francie said with a hint of her usual mischievous smile, and Vaughn shot Sydney an amused look. "Do you work in the legal department at the bank? Can you defend Will against the drug charges?"
"No," Vaughn answered truthfully, "but I'll see what I can do about taking care of his bail."
"Thank you," Sydney said simply, and Vaughn smiled, holding her gaze for a moment before turning towards the information desk.
Sydney sat down beside Francie and put an arm around her. Francie shut her eyes and slumped against her, and Sydney watched as Vaughn drew the sergeant aside and discreetly showed him his CIA identification. The sergeant looked at the identification and then at Vaughn, and motioned for him to follow.
"He's the one, isn't he?" Francie asked, opening her eyes and sitting up a few moments later. "He's the picture frame guy. I can tell. It's in his smile and the way he looks at you."
Sydney nodded and felt herself blush under her friend's scrutiny.
"Something happened between you two on your business trip, didn't it?" Francie exclaimed. "I knew it! I knew just by the way you talked about him that something was bound to happen between you two, never mind that stupid rule about not dating co-workers. But what are they going to say about it at work? Are you two going to get into trouble?"
"I don't know. Actually, as of today, I don't work for Credit Dauphine anymore--"Sydney stated, and for the first time she realized that this was true. No more pretense. No more fabricated business trips or excuses about working late. She was free. She had done what she has set out to do, she had brought down SD-6.
"Oh, my God! Syd! You finally quit your job! No, wait! Don't tell me--they fired both of you because you broke the rules?"Francie surmised. "That figures. That just figures."
"No, no," Sydney protested. "I am not supposed to tell anyone this," she said launching into the alibi the CIA had devised, "but Credit Dauphine is under investigation for fraudulent accounting practices--Enron, Tyco, you know. Everyone not indicted was let go, and they shut the doors this afternoon. It will be all over the news tomorrow."
"Great!" Francie replied sarcastically. "So Will's a heroin addict, I'm bankrupt, and you're unemployed. At least one of us is getting laid!"
Sydney didn't even crack a smile. Instead she looked stricken by her friend's words. "Francie, I am so sorry! I can't tell you how bad I feel about Will and the restaurant---"
Francie stared at her. "Syd, how can you apologize? If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you," she said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "Michael seems really amazing, I've seen you together for all of--what? 5 minutes?--and I can tell you were made for each other. So, don't let any of this other stuff drag you down and get in the way of your happiness. It's not like you could have done anything to prevent it, right? None of us could. It's just life. But, it's strange, you know? Everything was going along so great with the restaurant and Will winning his award--and you just wouldn't think it could come crashing down like this," she said wistfully. "I mean, Will an addict? Who would have believed that?"
Sydney nodded and hugged her with all her might. Francie deserved to know the truth about the danger she was in, simply as a result of their friendship, and she knew this meant that her roommate would soon have to make her own choice about whether to go into witness protection or live within the shadow of the CIA. Either way, she would see that Francie received restitution, and if the CIA had to go into the restaurant business to do it, then it wouldn't be the strangest investment they had ever made to preserve a cover.
Francie let her go, and she blew her nose and brushed away her tears. When she looked up, Will was being led out into the lobby by the sergeant, with Vaughn following a few steps behind.
A few minutes earlier the sergeant had led Vaughn to the cell block. Will was seated on the bunk attached to the wall and rose when he saw Vaughn approach. The two men gazed at each other through the bars, as the sergeant unlocked the cell.
"Looks like you've got friends in high places," the sergeant observed dryly. "Too bad he didn't get here earlier."
"Yeah," Will said, fingering his jaw, a nervous habit he had acquired over the last few weeks, but he didn't smile.
Vaughn noticed that the puffiness and discoloration around Will's jaw had disappeared, but he very much doubted the psychological trauma from his encounter with "Suit and Glasses" had faded as fast.
Will was wearing his usual tweed blazer and corduroy pants, but they hung on him, and he looked ill and haggard--every inch the strung-out heroin addict the CIA had set him up to be. Knowing Jack Bristow's thoroughness, he would bet that Will's withdrawal symptoms would not be simulated.
Vaughn glanced at the sergeant. "Could you give us a minute?"
The sergeant acquiesced and left the two men alone. Vaughn turned to Will and swallowed uncomfortably. "Listen, I am sorry you had to go through this. If we had thought there was any other way--"
Will shrugged. "I know. Jack's already explained, and I told Syd I'd do anything, just as long as they didn't send me into witness protection." Then he looked at Vaughn more sharply. "So--you and Syd--you're together now?"
Vaughn paused, not sure what Will meant by this question. Was he simply asking if Sydney had accompanied him to the police station, or did he somehow sense that their relationship had deepened considerably since Taipei?
"Yes," Vaughn said deliberately, answering both questions. "Syd's waiting with Francie out in the lobby. They're both worried about you."
"Well, at least Syd knows the truth," Will replied bitterly. "but what do I tell Francie? Or my family?"
He turned to follow the sergeant down the hall, but Vaughn put a hand on his arm.
"Wait, Will, I want you to know you're not alone in this. You have the CIA's backing, and I'll help you anyway I can. I've already started working on getting you a job as an analyst. I can't promise anything, but I think you'll like the work, and I have a feeling you'll be good at it. I know it's not much compensation for what you've been through, but it's something."
"That's really nice,"Will shot back, "but tell me: are you doing this because you're a nice guy or because you want to impress Syd?"
Vaughn drew himself up and glared at Will, his lips compressed. "Hey, if you have a problem with me, I understand that," he said, his eyes flashing, "but let's at least be civil around Syd."
Will nodded warily, struck by how much Vaughn resembled a young Jack Bristow, though neither his features nor his usual demeanor would normally hint at such a similarity.
Both men turned to go, walking down the corridor side by side. The sergeant led them through the precinct and out into the lobby. Sydney spotted them first and with a cry, launched herself into Will's arms.
Will wrapped his arms around Sydney, breathing in the almond vanilla scent of her skin and the faint scent of freesia still noticeable in her hair, holding her just a few seconds longer than he held Francie, who quickly supplanted her in his arms.
Vaughn watched the scene with more than a little pique. It reminded him of Sydney's reunion with the battered and bloodied reporter in Taipei, and he remembered how taken aback he had been when Will offered him his hand shortly after and thanked him for the role he had played in his rescue. He suspected that those few moments had been a better indication of Will's true character than the exchange they had just had in the cell block, and with this realization, his resentment towards Will slowly dissipated and then disappeared. It might take a while, but he could envision a time when they might become friends and not simply rivals for Sydney's love. However, that would not necessarily make the next few weeks easier on either of them, as they both negotiated their new roles in Sydney's life
All four returned to Sydney's apartment. Will was tired and clearly experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Francie grabbed towels from the hall closet and followed him into the bathroom despite his feeble protests. She emerged some time later, her expressive eyes filled with worry, and noticed Sydney and Vaughn sitting awkwardly on the couch, not touching, and looking miserable.
"How is he?" Vaughn asked, standing up.
"He'll be alright," she assured. "I'll stay with him, but there's not much else you guys can do, and I can't imagine you'd get any sleep if you stayed here tonight. Maybe you two can stay somewhere else for the night?" she suggested, hoping she wasn't assuming too much about their relationship.
But they both simply nodded. Sydney packed a few things, moving about her room like a somnambulist, and returned to the living room. Vaughn took the duffle bag from her hands and said good-bye to Francie. Sydney gave her roommate one last hug, telling her to reach her on her cell if Will needed anything, and then followed Vaughn out to the car.
He was resting both hands on top of the steering wheel and his head was against his chest when she got in.
"Do you want me to drive?" Sydney asked gently.
Vaughn shook his head, as much to shake off his fatigue as to answer her question. He rubbed his eyes and turned to her, looking abashed.
"I hate to ask this of you, but I've got to check in on Weiss. Do you mind if we swing by the hospital first?"
Eric! Of course! In the aftermath of the day's events, Sydney had forgotten that he, too, had almost been a casualty of this crusade. Sark had shot Weiss in cold blood, and his life had literally hung by a thread--the Kevlar thread of the jackets the CIA had specifically manufactured for their agents, based on a stolen plan for a vest Marshall had been designing for SD-6. He'd called it chain-lamé. What was it her mother had said? "We are the heroines of our own romances; the heroes of our own quests." How many more people they loved would suffer before this quest was over and they could rest, simply rest, in each other's arms?
She glanced at Vaughn. They were both so exhausted. How many ways are there to express tiredness? She felt exhaustion deep in her bones; her body felt deadened, her motions heavy and sluggish; and her mind seemed tethered tenuously to her body like a balloon attached by the merest bit of string.
"Syd?" Vaughn asked, his brows furrowed. "Did you hear what I said? You looked like you were a thousand miles away. Why don't we just go to my apartment, and I'll go to the hospital later."
"No," she protested. "I want to go with you. We can stop on the way." She reached over and touched his hand. "Francie appreciated all your help with Will, and he was grateful, even if he didn't say it."
"Yeah, well that's a whole new learning curve, isn't it?" Vaughn said, shaking his head. He squeezed her hand, a gentle smile in his eyes. "Francie and Will got game. She'll take good care of him. You don't always have to be the strong one, you know," he added quietly.
Sydney smiled and interlaced her fingers with his. "Neither do you."
They grew quiet and drove to the hospital in silence, each drawing strength simply from the other's presence.
Weiss was allowed only one visitor at a time, and Vaughn went in first, shocked by what he saw.
Weiss was lying in the hospital bed, unrecognizably pale and drawn, surrounded by tubes and wires attached to various machines monitoring vital functions. Vaughn approached the bed, not wishing to disturb him if he were asleep, but Weiss slowly opened his eyes and smiled.
"Hey, how was your little tryst? I swear if you tell me you were gone all that time and didn't bang each other like bunny rabbits, I'll get out of this bed--"
"Take it easy," Vaughn said, smiling. "Waste your energy on me, and you won't have any energy left to take on Syd. She's right outside the door, waiting to see you."
"We have to stop meeting like this. Last time I saw you, you were the one in the hospital bed," Weiss wheezed.
"Yeah, this is the last time I'll ask you to housesit for me," Vaughn said, doing his best to keep up his side of the banter. "How damn hard can it be?"
They both fell silent not knowing what else to say.
Weiss cleared his throat, His voice was growing hoarse from the effort it took to communicate. "If Syd's with you, that means--"
"The takedown was successful. It's gone. All of it."
"Sloane?"
"Still at large. Sark, too," he added, knowing this would be Weiss's next question and wishing like hell he had a different answer.
"Fucking bastard. Irina?"
"Dead."
"Mike--about Denpassar and Haladki--you know I never meant--"
"I know."
"I wanted to make sure you knew."
"Eric, I know." Vaughn repeated firmly. It still stung him that Weiss had reported him to Haladki, when he discovered he was concealing Jack and Sydney's plans to rescue Will from the CIA, but he had to admit Weiss had been right. He'd put both his and Sydney's life at risk by breaking protocol in Taipei. It could all have ended much differently.
He glanced down at the floor and then at Weiss, struggling to contain his emotions. "I never thanked you for sending Dixon to Taipei. He freed Sydney before Jack or I could reach her and probably saved all our lives."
Weiss gave a low chuckle. "I knew if I sent Dixon to Taipei, he'd haul your asses back here. We should have brought him in a long time ago. Just 'cause you got the girl, doesn't mean you know everything."
Vaughn smiled, and Weiss closed his eyes, too weary to continue the conversation.
Vaughn turned to go, and as he opened the door, he heard Weiss call after him hoarsely.
"Kiss that gorgeous girlfriend of yours for me."
A few moments later Sydney peeked her head in and then ventured inside. She stood by Weiss's bedside and took his hand.
"How are you?" she asked softly.
"Alive. Next time you see Marshall, pass on my regards."
"Weiss, I'm SO sorry," she said squeezing his hand, tears springing to her eyes.
"Don't be," he whispered. "You and Vaughn--I love ya both, you guys know that, right?" he added huskily. "I'd do just about anything not to see you guys hurt."
Sydney's blinked away her tears and reached out to stroke his hair. "You're not getting mushy on us, are you, Weiss?" she asked, straining to keep her quivering voice light. "It must be all those painkillers talking."
"Damn straight. Had to get Mikey out of here before we both started blubbering."
They both chuckled.
Sydney smiled through her tears. "Get some rest."
"You, too." Weiss whispered and closed his eyes as Sydney left the room.
About twenty minutes later, Vaughn and Sydney pulled up in front of his building, in the exact spot Jack had used to stake out the apartment only days earlier. Vaughn grabbed Sydney's bag, and they headed into the building and up the stairs to his apartment. Jack had ordered the locks changed, and the shiny metallic key balked at first and would not go in the lock. Finally with a good deal of jiggling, the key caught and the lock turned, allowing their entrance.
Vaughn gazed around the room. Something seemed odd and slightly out of place. Was the carpet a shade darker, or was it simply exhaustion playing tricks on his eyes? He crossed the room, for the moment forgetting everything else, and scanned the book shelf. There it was, extending slightly over the edge of the bookcase, as if someone had been interrupted while putting it back. The Lais of Marie de France. Jack's reference to Gawain's lament had not been accidental. Vaughn smiled wryly and pushed it back into place. He turned to look at Sydney, who was gazing around the room, her eyes dazed with fatigue.
At any other time, she would have been ecstatic at this glimpse into Vaughn's personal space, but she was simply too exhausted to take it all in. With dull eyes she noted the dark Mission furniture and the walls lined with books, to be thumbed through later, no doubt, over coffee and bagels bought at the corner bakery, but at the moment her attention was caught by the three framed photographs above the sofa, and the sight sent a cold shiver down her back. One was of the Champs Élysée, another was of the Los Angeles skyline at night, and the third was the cottage on Île Mariette they had been forced to flee after having had the most idyllic weekend of their lives. The home they had made love in. The house her mother had been murdered in.
"Don't," Vaughn said, coming up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Come to bed."
Too exhausted to sleep, they made love desperately, trying to push past the numbness and the sorrow and the anger and the pain, their cries and sighs and whispers enveloped in the darkness. Vaughn pounded into her as if he was storming a fortress, and Sydney raked her nails against his back, flipping them over in one deft move and continuing the assault from another direction, whatever it might take to gain them both cathartic release. When they finally collapsed, Sydney's body was racked with sobs, and Vaughn held her.
He knew she was crying for Will and for Weiss, for Francie and Marshall and Emily Sloane, for Jean-Luc Brochet, Michel Delorme and Marie Arnault, for his own father and hers, for Irina, and for the pall spread over their own uncertain future.
He swept away the tangle of hair from her tear-stained cheeks, whispering soothing sounds, not quite English and not quite French, when the words of the prayer Sydney had said on their way home from Melen Loar, that deep, starry night when the cloister bells tolled in the distance and the universe seemed so close around them, came unbeckoned to his lips.
"Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night," he whispered softly, "and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous, all for your love's sake. Amen."
They fell asleep amid the tangle of sheets, bodies spooned together, as the morning light dawned through the window.
Jack had made it a point to check on Sydney early in the day, only to discover from Francie that she was with Vaughn. Having heard the knock at the door, Will had come out of the back bedroom, bleary eyed from his torturous night and had squinted at Jack. Jack nodded gravely at him in return, turned to Francie, and apologized for disturbing them.
It was now 3 o'clock in the afternoon. He sat in the Town Car in front of Vaughn's apartment watching. He was not alone. The little white bull dog sat companionably next to his leg.
"So, Donovan, are you ready for this homecoming?" he reached down and stroked the dog behind the ears. "I'm not sure I am either. Mrs. Zhang has grown...used to you. But, it's time, isn't it?"
He was coming up the stairs, Donovan bounding ahead just as Vaughn opened the door. He was in his pajama bottoms, his hair disheveled and his face unshaven, stooping down to get the newspaper. Donovan immediately ran to his master, barking ecstatically, licking his face with a joyous abandon.
Vaughn's chest was bare, except for the bandages that still circled his ribs, and when he wrapped his arms around the dog, chuckling, Jack clearly saw the avenging angel, flaming sword in hand, inked on his arm. Glancing through the doorway and into the apartment, from his position on the stairs, he saw Sydney poised over a stack of novels on the kitchen table, reading while simultaneously spreading a bagel with strawberry jam and singing along with Ella Fitzgerald, whose cheery voiced wafted out from the stereo speakers. She was wearing a striped pajama top and her bare legs were wound around the legs of the kitchen chair, appearing completely at home.
This glimpse of his daughter combined with the sight of the emblem emblazoned on Vaughn's arm quelled his worst apprehensions.
He cleared his throat, as he ascended the steps and Vaughn straightened up.
The two men gazed at each other uncomfortably, as Donovan stood looking back and forth between them, wagging his tail.
"Would you like to come in?" Vaughn ventured, at a loss for how to accommodate Jack Bristow in such a situation. "I can get Sydney, if you need to talk with her."
"No, that won't be necessary. Just tell her I--stopped by," Jack replied and turned to go.
"Jack?" Vaughn called after him, and the older man looked back over his shoulder.
"Thanks," Vaughn said quietly.
But instead of giving him the curt nod he expected in acknowledgement, Jack Bristow turned around.
"You're welcome--Vaughn."
He turned to leave, but before he did, Vaughn thought he saw the older man smile. The light in the hallway was too dim to be sure, but there had definitely been a warmth in his voice, an almost--fatherly--tone. Vaughn grinned, called Donovan inside, and shut the door.
The scene was strangely reminiscent of the action the CIA had taken to wrest control of SD-6 from McKenas Cole. But this time she had come, not to aid her co-workers, but to bring them to justice. Dixon met her gaze from across the room, where he was talking to an agent in SWAT gear, with a bittersweet smile.
Sydney gave him a weary half-smile in return, but she turned away, tears in her eyes. Without Arvin Sloane in custody could it really be termed a victory? What about "Il Dire" and the second prophecy?
She thought of her mother's sacrifice. Irina had wanted them to bring down the Alliance together. Syd knew her own reasons for doing so--to avenge Danny's death, to annihilate Arvin Sloane, to safeguard a future for herself and Vaughn. She had never learned her mother's reasons.
Kicking through the debris in what had been her father's office, she was hailed by the unmistakable voice of Marshall J. Flinkman.
"Syd? Syd, is that you?"
"Marshall!" she cried, whirling around.
The hands of SD-6's master tech specialist were shackled and wrenched behind him as he was being roughly led away by a SWAT team officer.
"S-Syd, what's going on?" he asked, his voice trembling.
"Marshall, everything's going to be alright," she assured him. "It's okay," she said quickly, turning to the agent in SWAT gear. "I can vouch for this man."
"Things weren't what they seemed," Sydney rushed to explain. "SD-6 was working with the Alliance, not against it. My father, Dixon, and I have been working undercover to bring Sloane to justice. The CIA will debrief you, and I promise I'll do everything I can to see that they hire you. You've got admirers in the CIA already."
"Really?" Marshall said delightedly.
"Yeah, I've even heard some of the tech guys formed a fan club," Sydney teased. "They'll all be really excited to meet you."
"A fan club?" he echoed, but then his face fell. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? Finding out the organization you've been working for is evil makes a person, you know, not want to believe everything they hear."
Tears sprang to Sydney's eyes, and she shook her head. "It's the truth."
"Well, I guess I'll be seeing you then," he replied hopefully, and raised one of his shackled hands to wave good-bye as the agent in SWAT gear lead him away.
Sydney nodded, watching him go. Her eyes traveled around the now deserted work room and lighted at once upon Vaughn, who had just entered from the opposite end. The stunned look of confusion and disbelief on his face mirrored her own. Their eyes met, and she was buoyed up and suffused with a warm, soft glow.
Slowly they started to move toward each other through the debris, almost as if pulled together, and then she was in his arms.
Vaughn reached up to caress her cheek and kissed her tenderly, threading his hand through her hair. When they broke apart, each breathing heavily, he brushed his lips against her forehead, shut his eyes, and rested his forehead against hers.
When she opened her eyes, Vaughn was looking at her with a wide, incandescent grin on his face. She couldn't help but grin back.
"What?"
"We've done everything backwards. A ring and an engagement, but no first date."
Sydney laughed. "So what you're saying is--"
"How about those Kings?"
"I'd like that," Sydney said softly. "I'd like that a lot."
It was not a complete victory, but it was more than they had dared to hope for even a few days previously. There would be time enough to capture Sloane, delve into the existence of a second prophecy, and deal with "Il Dire." For the moment they would bask, for as long as fate would allow, in the realization that one phase of their life was now over and that a second, so full of possibility, was about to begin.
After an excruciatingly long debriefing, attended by all the agents who participated in the raid on SD-6, Vaughn offered to drive Sydney home. They had driven no more than a few blocks when her cell phone went off.
"Syd? Oh, my God, Syd? Finally!" Francie exclaimed. Her voice was muffled as if she'd been crying.
"Fran? What's wrong!"
"It's Will. They instituted a mandatory drug test for all employees at the paper recently. The drug test was today--and he failed it! Then they found heroin in his desk drawer and claimed he was shooting up at work! They called the police, and he was lead away in front of his co-workers."
"Oh, Francie! That's horrible! Where is he now?"
"He's down at police headquarters. I was just on my way down there, but they won't release him without bail--and I have absolutely no money to get him out! It's all tied up in the restaurant, and today I got this notice that they're shutting it down before it even opens!" she wailed.
"What?"
"The city says that the neighborhood is no longer zoned for small businesses and that the restaurant failed its building code inspection. I won't even be able to recoup my investment!"
"What about the private investor who contacted you?" Sydney asked with trepidation.
"I can't contact him. His cell phone number's been disconnected, his email's been terminated, and the address he gave me for Edward Sorenson & Sons is actually a sushi place! It's like he was never there to begin with! Syd, I've been so incredibly stupid and naïve."
"That's so not true," Sydney replied soothingly. She knew whose fault it was, and it wasn't Francie's.
Jack Bristow had taken extreme measures to make sure all ties her roommate had to Sark were severed, and once her father's plans were set in motion, the consequences multiplied inexorably like cascading dominos.
"So, you'll come help me get Will out of jail?" Francie pleaded.
"Of course, give me the address of the precinct where he's being held," she glanced at Vaughn. "I'll meet you there."
Francie was sitting on a worn wooden bench against the wall, when she spotted Sydney wending her way through the crowded precinct.
"Syd! I am SO glad you are here!" she said jumping up and hugging her. It was only then that she noticed the tall, good-looking man with green eyes who stood behind her roommate.
"Fran, I want you to meet a friend of mine. He was driving me home from work when you called. He's offered to help us get Will out of jail."
"Hi," Vaughn said, smiling, more nervous than he had anticipated now that he was finally being introduced to Sydney's roommate and best friend. "I'm Michael Vaughn. I work with Sydney. You must be Francie," he said extending his hand.
"It's nice to meet you. Syd's mentioned you, but she's never told us your name," Francie said with a hint of her usual mischievous smile, and Vaughn shot Sydney an amused look. "Do you work in the legal department at the bank? Can you defend Will against the drug charges?"
"No," Vaughn answered truthfully, "but I'll see what I can do about taking care of his bail."
"Thank you," Sydney said simply, and Vaughn smiled, holding her gaze for a moment before turning towards the information desk.
Sydney sat down beside Francie and put an arm around her. Francie shut her eyes and slumped against her, and Sydney watched as Vaughn drew the sergeant aside and discreetly showed him his CIA identification. The sergeant looked at the identification and then at Vaughn, and motioned for him to follow.
"He's the one, isn't he?" Francie asked, opening her eyes and sitting up a few moments later. "He's the picture frame guy. I can tell. It's in his smile and the way he looks at you."
Sydney nodded and felt herself blush under her friend's scrutiny.
"Something happened between you two on your business trip, didn't it?" Francie exclaimed. "I knew it! I knew just by the way you talked about him that something was bound to happen between you two, never mind that stupid rule about not dating co-workers. But what are they going to say about it at work? Are you two going to get into trouble?"
"I don't know. Actually, as of today, I don't work for Credit Dauphine anymore--"Sydney stated, and for the first time she realized that this was true. No more pretense. No more fabricated business trips or excuses about working late. She was free. She had done what she has set out to do, she had brought down SD-6.
"Oh, my God! Syd! You finally quit your job! No, wait! Don't tell me--they fired both of you because you broke the rules?"Francie surmised. "That figures. That just figures."
"No, no," Sydney protested. "I am not supposed to tell anyone this," she said launching into the alibi the CIA had devised, "but Credit Dauphine is under investigation for fraudulent accounting practices--Enron, Tyco, you know. Everyone not indicted was let go, and they shut the doors this afternoon. It will be all over the news tomorrow."
"Great!" Francie replied sarcastically. "So Will's a heroin addict, I'm bankrupt, and you're unemployed. At least one of us is getting laid!"
Sydney didn't even crack a smile. Instead she looked stricken by her friend's words. "Francie, I am so sorry! I can't tell you how bad I feel about Will and the restaurant---"
Francie stared at her. "Syd, how can you apologize? If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you," she said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. "Michael seems really amazing, I've seen you together for all of--what? 5 minutes?--and I can tell you were made for each other. So, don't let any of this other stuff drag you down and get in the way of your happiness. It's not like you could have done anything to prevent it, right? None of us could. It's just life. But, it's strange, you know? Everything was going along so great with the restaurant and Will winning his award--and you just wouldn't think it could come crashing down like this," she said wistfully. "I mean, Will an addict? Who would have believed that?"
Sydney nodded and hugged her with all her might. Francie deserved to know the truth about the danger she was in, simply as a result of their friendship, and she knew this meant that her roommate would soon have to make her own choice about whether to go into witness protection or live within the shadow of the CIA. Either way, she would see that Francie received restitution, and if the CIA had to go into the restaurant business to do it, then it wouldn't be the strangest investment they had ever made to preserve a cover.
Francie let her go, and she blew her nose and brushed away her tears. When she looked up, Will was being led out into the lobby by the sergeant, with Vaughn following a few steps behind.
A few minutes earlier the sergeant had led Vaughn to the cell block. Will was seated on the bunk attached to the wall and rose when he saw Vaughn approach. The two men gazed at each other through the bars, as the sergeant unlocked the cell.
"Looks like you've got friends in high places," the sergeant observed dryly. "Too bad he didn't get here earlier."
"Yeah," Will said, fingering his jaw, a nervous habit he had acquired over the last few weeks, but he didn't smile.
Vaughn noticed that the puffiness and discoloration around Will's jaw had disappeared, but he very much doubted the psychological trauma from his encounter with "Suit and Glasses" had faded as fast.
Will was wearing his usual tweed blazer and corduroy pants, but they hung on him, and he looked ill and haggard--every inch the strung-out heroin addict the CIA had set him up to be. Knowing Jack Bristow's thoroughness, he would bet that Will's withdrawal symptoms would not be simulated.
Vaughn glanced at the sergeant. "Could you give us a minute?"
The sergeant acquiesced and left the two men alone. Vaughn turned to Will and swallowed uncomfortably. "Listen, I am sorry you had to go through this. If we had thought there was any other way--"
Will shrugged. "I know. Jack's already explained, and I told Syd I'd do anything, just as long as they didn't send me into witness protection." Then he looked at Vaughn more sharply. "So--you and Syd--you're together now?"
Vaughn paused, not sure what Will meant by this question. Was he simply asking if Sydney had accompanied him to the police station, or did he somehow sense that their relationship had deepened considerably since Taipei?
"Yes," Vaughn said deliberately, answering both questions. "Syd's waiting with Francie out in the lobby. They're both worried about you."
"Well, at least Syd knows the truth," Will replied bitterly. "but what do I tell Francie? Or my family?"
He turned to follow the sergeant down the hall, but Vaughn put a hand on his arm.
"Wait, Will, I want you to know you're not alone in this. You have the CIA's backing, and I'll help you anyway I can. I've already started working on getting you a job as an analyst. I can't promise anything, but I think you'll like the work, and I have a feeling you'll be good at it. I know it's not much compensation for what you've been through, but it's something."
"That's really nice,"Will shot back, "but tell me: are you doing this because you're a nice guy or because you want to impress Syd?"
Vaughn drew himself up and glared at Will, his lips compressed. "Hey, if you have a problem with me, I understand that," he said, his eyes flashing, "but let's at least be civil around Syd."
Will nodded warily, struck by how much Vaughn resembled a young Jack Bristow, though neither his features nor his usual demeanor would normally hint at such a similarity.
Both men turned to go, walking down the corridor side by side. The sergeant led them through the precinct and out into the lobby. Sydney spotted them first and with a cry, launched herself into Will's arms.
Will wrapped his arms around Sydney, breathing in the almond vanilla scent of her skin and the faint scent of freesia still noticeable in her hair, holding her just a few seconds longer than he held Francie, who quickly supplanted her in his arms.
Vaughn watched the scene with more than a little pique. It reminded him of Sydney's reunion with the battered and bloodied reporter in Taipei, and he remembered how taken aback he had been when Will offered him his hand shortly after and thanked him for the role he had played in his rescue. He suspected that those few moments had been a better indication of Will's true character than the exchange they had just had in the cell block, and with this realization, his resentment towards Will slowly dissipated and then disappeared. It might take a while, but he could envision a time when they might become friends and not simply rivals for Sydney's love. However, that would not necessarily make the next few weeks easier on either of them, as they both negotiated their new roles in Sydney's life
All four returned to Sydney's apartment. Will was tired and clearly experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Francie grabbed towels from the hall closet and followed him into the bathroom despite his feeble protests. She emerged some time later, her expressive eyes filled with worry, and noticed Sydney and Vaughn sitting awkwardly on the couch, not touching, and looking miserable.
"How is he?" Vaughn asked, standing up.
"He'll be alright," she assured. "I'll stay with him, but there's not much else you guys can do, and I can't imagine you'd get any sleep if you stayed here tonight. Maybe you two can stay somewhere else for the night?" she suggested, hoping she wasn't assuming too much about their relationship.
But they both simply nodded. Sydney packed a few things, moving about her room like a somnambulist, and returned to the living room. Vaughn took the duffle bag from her hands and said good-bye to Francie. Sydney gave her roommate one last hug, telling her to reach her on her cell if Will needed anything, and then followed Vaughn out to the car.
He was resting both hands on top of the steering wheel and his head was against his chest when she got in.
"Do you want me to drive?" Sydney asked gently.
Vaughn shook his head, as much to shake off his fatigue as to answer her question. He rubbed his eyes and turned to her, looking abashed.
"I hate to ask this of you, but I've got to check in on Weiss. Do you mind if we swing by the hospital first?"
Eric! Of course! In the aftermath of the day's events, Sydney had forgotten that he, too, had almost been a casualty of this crusade. Sark had shot Weiss in cold blood, and his life had literally hung by a thread--the Kevlar thread of the jackets the CIA had specifically manufactured for their agents, based on a stolen plan for a vest Marshall had been designing for SD-6. He'd called it chain-lamé. What was it her mother had said? "We are the heroines of our own romances; the heroes of our own quests." How many more people they loved would suffer before this quest was over and they could rest, simply rest, in each other's arms?
She glanced at Vaughn. They were both so exhausted. How many ways are there to express tiredness? She felt exhaustion deep in her bones; her body felt deadened, her motions heavy and sluggish; and her mind seemed tethered tenuously to her body like a balloon attached by the merest bit of string.
"Syd?" Vaughn asked, his brows furrowed. "Did you hear what I said? You looked like you were a thousand miles away. Why don't we just go to my apartment, and I'll go to the hospital later."
"No," she protested. "I want to go with you. We can stop on the way." She reached over and touched his hand. "Francie appreciated all your help with Will, and he was grateful, even if he didn't say it."
"Yeah, well that's a whole new learning curve, isn't it?" Vaughn said, shaking his head. He squeezed her hand, a gentle smile in his eyes. "Francie and Will got game. She'll take good care of him. You don't always have to be the strong one, you know," he added quietly.
Sydney smiled and interlaced her fingers with his. "Neither do you."
They grew quiet and drove to the hospital in silence, each drawing strength simply from the other's presence.
Weiss was allowed only one visitor at a time, and Vaughn went in first, shocked by what he saw.
Weiss was lying in the hospital bed, unrecognizably pale and drawn, surrounded by tubes and wires attached to various machines monitoring vital functions. Vaughn approached the bed, not wishing to disturb him if he were asleep, but Weiss slowly opened his eyes and smiled.
"Hey, how was your little tryst? I swear if you tell me you were gone all that time and didn't bang each other like bunny rabbits, I'll get out of this bed--"
"Take it easy," Vaughn said, smiling. "Waste your energy on me, and you won't have any energy left to take on Syd. She's right outside the door, waiting to see you."
"We have to stop meeting like this. Last time I saw you, you were the one in the hospital bed," Weiss wheezed.
"Yeah, this is the last time I'll ask you to housesit for me," Vaughn said, doing his best to keep up his side of the banter. "How damn hard can it be?"
They both fell silent not knowing what else to say.
Weiss cleared his throat, His voice was growing hoarse from the effort it took to communicate. "If Syd's with you, that means--"
"The takedown was successful. It's gone. All of it."
"Sloane?"
"Still at large. Sark, too," he added, knowing this would be Weiss's next question and wishing like hell he had a different answer.
"Fucking bastard. Irina?"
"Dead."
"Mike--about Denpassar and Haladki--you know I never meant--"
"I know."
"I wanted to make sure you knew."
"Eric, I know." Vaughn repeated firmly. It still stung him that Weiss had reported him to Haladki, when he discovered he was concealing Jack and Sydney's plans to rescue Will from the CIA, but he had to admit Weiss had been right. He'd put both his and Sydney's life at risk by breaking protocol in Taipei. It could all have ended much differently.
He glanced down at the floor and then at Weiss, struggling to contain his emotions. "I never thanked you for sending Dixon to Taipei. He freed Sydney before Jack or I could reach her and probably saved all our lives."
Weiss gave a low chuckle. "I knew if I sent Dixon to Taipei, he'd haul your asses back here. We should have brought him in a long time ago. Just 'cause you got the girl, doesn't mean you know everything."
Vaughn smiled, and Weiss closed his eyes, too weary to continue the conversation.
Vaughn turned to go, and as he opened the door, he heard Weiss call after him hoarsely.
"Kiss that gorgeous girlfriend of yours for me."
A few moments later Sydney peeked her head in and then ventured inside. She stood by Weiss's bedside and took his hand.
"How are you?" she asked softly.
"Alive. Next time you see Marshall, pass on my regards."
"Weiss, I'm SO sorry," she said squeezing his hand, tears springing to her eyes.
"Don't be," he whispered. "You and Vaughn--I love ya both, you guys know that, right?" he added huskily. "I'd do just about anything not to see you guys hurt."
Sydney's blinked away her tears and reached out to stroke his hair. "You're not getting mushy on us, are you, Weiss?" she asked, straining to keep her quivering voice light. "It must be all those painkillers talking."
"Damn straight. Had to get Mikey out of here before we both started blubbering."
They both chuckled.
Sydney smiled through her tears. "Get some rest."
"You, too." Weiss whispered and closed his eyes as Sydney left the room.
About twenty minutes later, Vaughn and Sydney pulled up in front of his building, in the exact spot Jack had used to stake out the apartment only days earlier. Vaughn grabbed Sydney's bag, and they headed into the building and up the stairs to his apartment. Jack had ordered the locks changed, and the shiny metallic key balked at first and would not go in the lock. Finally with a good deal of jiggling, the key caught and the lock turned, allowing their entrance.
Vaughn gazed around the room. Something seemed odd and slightly out of place. Was the carpet a shade darker, or was it simply exhaustion playing tricks on his eyes? He crossed the room, for the moment forgetting everything else, and scanned the book shelf. There it was, extending slightly over the edge of the bookcase, as if someone had been interrupted while putting it back. The Lais of Marie de France. Jack's reference to Gawain's lament had not been accidental. Vaughn smiled wryly and pushed it back into place. He turned to look at Sydney, who was gazing around the room, her eyes dazed with fatigue.
At any other time, she would have been ecstatic at this glimpse into Vaughn's personal space, but she was simply too exhausted to take it all in. With dull eyes she noted the dark Mission furniture and the walls lined with books, to be thumbed through later, no doubt, over coffee and bagels bought at the corner bakery, but at the moment her attention was caught by the three framed photographs above the sofa, and the sight sent a cold shiver down her back. One was of the Champs Élysée, another was of the Los Angeles skyline at night, and the third was the cottage on Île Mariette they had been forced to flee after having had the most idyllic weekend of their lives. The home they had made love in. The house her mother had been murdered in.
"Don't," Vaughn said, coming up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Come to bed."
Too exhausted to sleep, they made love desperately, trying to push past the numbness and the sorrow and the anger and the pain, their cries and sighs and whispers enveloped in the darkness. Vaughn pounded into her as if he was storming a fortress, and Sydney raked her nails against his back, flipping them over in one deft move and continuing the assault from another direction, whatever it might take to gain them both cathartic release. When they finally collapsed, Sydney's body was racked with sobs, and Vaughn held her.
He knew she was crying for Will and for Weiss, for Francie and Marshall and Emily Sloane, for Jean-Luc Brochet, Michel Delorme and Marie Arnault, for his own father and hers, for Irina, and for the pall spread over their own uncertain future.
He swept away the tangle of hair from her tear-stained cheeks, whispering soothing sounds, not quite English and not quite French, when the words of the prayer Sydney had said on their way home from Melen Loar, that deep, starry night when the cloister bells tolled in the distance and the universe seemed so close around them, came unbeckoned to his lips.
"Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night," he whispered softly, "and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous, all for your love's sake. Amen."
They fell asleep amid the tangle of sheets, bodies spooned together, as the morning light dawned through the window.
Jack had made it a point to check on Sydney early in the day, only to discover from Francie that she was with Vaughn. Having heard the knock at the door, Will had come out of the back bedroom, bleary eyed from his torturous night and had squinted at Jack. Jack nodded gravely at him in return, turned to Francie, and apologized for disturbing them.
It was now 3 o'clock in the afternoon. He sat in the Town Car in front of Vaughn's apartment watching. He was not alone. The little white bull dog sat companionably next to his leg.
"So, Donovan, are you ready for this homecoming?" he reached down and stroked the dog behind the ears. "I'm not sure I am either. Mrs. Zhang has grown...used to you. But, it's time, isn't it?"
He was coming up the stairs, Donovan bounding ahead just as Vaughn opened the door. He was in his pajama bottoms, his hair disheveled and his face unshaven, stooping down to get the newspaper. Donovan immediately ran to his master, barking ecstatically, licking his face with a joyous abandon.
Vaughn's chest was bare, except for the bandages that still circled his ribs, and when he wrapped his arms around the dog, chuckling, Jack clearly saw the avenging angel, flaming sword in hand, inked on his arm. Glancing through the doorway and into the apartment, from his position on the stairs, he saw Sydney poised over a stack of novels on the kitchen table, reading while simultaneously spreading a bagel with strawberry jam and singing along with Ella Fitzgerald, whose cheery voiced wafted out from the stereo speakers. She was wearing a striped pajama top and her bare legs were wound around the legs of the kitchen chair, appearing completely at home.
This glimpse of his daughter combined with the sight of the emblem emblazoned on Vaughn's arm quelled his worst apprehensions.
He cleared his throat, as he ascended the steps and Vaughn straightened up.
The two men gazed at each other uncomfortably, as Donovan stood looking back and forth between them, wagging his tail.
"Would you like to come in?" Vaughn ventured, at a loss for how to accommodate Jack Bristow in such a situation. "I can get Sydney, if you need to talk with her."
"No, that won't be necessary. Just tell her I--stopped by," Jack replied and turned to go.
"Jack?" Vaughn called after him, and the older man looked back over his shoulder.
"Thanks," Vaughn said quietly.
But instead of giving him the curt nod he expected in acknowledgement, Jack Bristow turned around.
"You're welcome--Vaughn."
He turned to leave, but before he did, Vaughn thought he saw the older man smile. The light in the hallway was too dim to be sure, but there had definitely been a warmth in his voice, an almost--fatherly--tone. Vaughn grinned, called Donovan inside, and shut the door.