Chapter 4: Every Breath You Take
The roadster suits him well. Every morning at 8:22AM (PST) he exits his front door, piling into his Honda for the seventeen-minute commute to his office. There he parks between the Lexus RX330 and Ford Focus SVT; getting out of his car he walks up the pathway, holds open the door for the short woman with glasses, and disappears into the office building. Monday and Thursday he dines out to lunch at the local Thai restaurant with the same man -- tall (an inch or so more than Vaughn), dark black hair, scrawny looking man with a large nose and glasses: Dr. Max Wilkinson, psychologist, associate, and friend. From a distance, Max seems jolly and entertaining for Vaughn and he constantly banter.
Tuesday and Wednesday he exclusively spends at the office. Wednesday he orders a pizza. Tuesday he has dinner at a formal restaurant with a short, curvy woman with blonde locks. Her dress flatters her well, however, he doesn't take the bait. The dinner runs smoothly, a few laughs, and he takes her home (no goodnight kiss).
Friday he replenishes his cabinets at the local farmer's market. He eats healthier than she remembers, more vegetables and fish (obviously he's not doing Atkins).
She's not stalking him. She's researching his life in order to formulate a perfect second introduction. On Friday morning he leaves his house at 8:22AM (PST) and Sydney waits across the street. She watches the roadster stop at the sign, and turn right towards the highway. Waiting, she prepares to get out of her car and actually do this.
She crosses the street as if she's heading towards the beach, and then on his property skulks around to his back door. It's locked, but she picks the lock and enters. The alarm starts to go off, saying she has a minute before it will automatically place a call to the operator.
She snaps out of her daydream. Sitting in her car, she watches him drive away. She bangs her hands against the steering wheel, cursing (Cameron would be proud). Sydney drops her head and sighs. This is ridiculous. She can't keep stalking her boyfriend (technically they didn't break up) who doesn't know she exists; moreover she can't utter that sentence out loud because people will believe she's loco. Staring at his house, she desires to break in, look around, find some token to give her hope.
She curses and turns the car on, deciding to aimlessly drive for a few hours. Uninspiring thoughts clutter her mind; she takes a right and drives, then takes a left and drives more; she fiddles with the radio station, not recognizing half of the music. Great, just another reminder of what she lost. At the red light, she takes out the business card Vaughn give her, reading it over for the millionth time
She should march right down to his office and beat the sh-t out of him. She should knock out a tooth for erasing her, and break a bone for turning her into some pining loser, and crack his skull just because. Granted, going in there violent and screaming would only make the situation worse (even if it would feel damn good).
She eyes the clock, it's nearly four and he would be at the market soon. Today she's going to do it. She's going to get out of car. She walks into the market with her sunglasses on and picks up a basket. Idly, she checks her watch and hunts for him.
In the herbal tea section she spots him. When did he give up coffee? Actually the better question is: how did he give up coffee? She used to believe she wasn't a morning person, but she was damn Mary Sunshine compared to him if he didn't get his coffee. He pivots and looks her way; she freezes. He stops, however doesn't acknowledge her and disappears into another aisle.
In a sense this is petty and childish. She's a giggling teenager again tailing the cute guy in the mall. When he gets his memories back, she's kicking his ass; that's final. First round is for erasing her and second round is for degrading her to this -- in the fifth, his ass goes down. Yet, she represses all her anger, because he doesn't remember her. There's no point at being angry with someone who doesn't remember why you're angry with him. It's unproductive. She needs to get him to trust her; not hospitalize her for a mental disorder. Memory first, anger second.
Oh God, oh God; he walks towards her. Sydney immediately turns and finds the lettuce fascinating. His presence alerts her senses…
"Excuse me," He reaches over her to Romaine and grabs a head. Damn him; he smiles, "Thanks."
She ogles, at a lost for words. Vaughn chortles and walks away. He disappears before Sydney turns around. Heading off in the other direction, she doesn't notice a note in her basket until she's in Breads. Vaughn's chicken scratch appears on the paper. She reads and stops dead in her tracks.
And she's supposed to be super spy.
Not until Max and his baseball game does she see him again. From a distance she watches him play catcher; he's quite good, getting in the double play to finish the bottom of the fifth inning. The light mood of the game entertains Sydney; the tensest moment is Vaughn and Max screaming at each other in the third for reasons unknown to her. Max storms into the dugout and Vaughn ignores him. The incident blows over by the sixth when Max has to leave and he and Vaughn part on amicable terms. After the game a young boy of eight or nine walks back to the parking lot with Vaughn; the kid keeps Vaughn laughing. Sydney loses sight of them when they peter out into the parking lot.
The diner claims to have the best short stack of chocolate chip pancakes East of the Mississippi. That's a bold statement. Sydney orders a short stack with a side order of whipped cream and home fries. The clock on the wall reads 8:55AM (PST).
Showtime: two voices -- one familiar and one not -- echo behind her.
"I'm serious, Man. That is the last time I cover for Kerr."
His voice tiredly responses, "You're not preaching to death ears. I agree; and if we are I want a raise. I was on the phone with for two hours last week with Sid Harrison."
Max Wilkinson guffaws, "That's rough; I thought she hated you? Yet you didn't have to leave your son at a baseball game. Alone. With you."
Ah. Ha. That's who the kid was.
"She does hate me, she cursed me half of the time, and all I wanted to do is scream 'it's just a snake!'. As for Leo, I'd be more concerned he has a father who choose to leave him alone with me instead of taking him to the office with him."
"Man, you have got to get over your prejudice towards phobics."
"I don't have a prejudice towards phobics." Vaughn snaps before Max can retort about Leo.
"Yes, yes do. I mean, these people have a brain imbalance and…"
"Max, stop being a smart ass. I suppose I just don't fear anything; the only thing to fear is fear itself, right."
"You fucking hypocrite, no wonder you don't work with phobics." Max remarks, "Let me remind you: you hate spiders."
Vaughn shudders, "Nasty fuckers. Tiny and eight legged. Blah. Still, I am not afraid of them. I just kill it and go on with my day."
"Great advice for Mrs. Harrison."
"I was tempted to tell her to go buy a riding lawn mower."
Max burst out laughing. "Right."
"It works wonders, my mother use to do it all the time. Find the snake and let the mover do all the work."
"That's sadistic. We're about ready to eat."
The pile of food Sydney orders arrives. She listens to Max and Vaughn order: Vaughn orders eggs, sausage, and hash browns; and Max orders the deluxe breakfast without the ham steak. Vaughn's meal surprises Sydney considering her experience Friday at the market.
Max speaks first after the waitress leaves. "Oh, and how dare you accuse me of being a bad father?"
"Don't twist my words, I simply said I wouldn't leave my kid. You wouldn't want him to develop a psychological disorder at twenty, because you abandoned him in the park."
"I didn't abandon him; Jesus, you Freudians are always putting a negative spin the situation. Additionally, you don't have a kid, so you don't know: sometimes you have to leave them for an hour. I always come back though."
Anxiously, Sydney waits for Vaughn's response. He doesn't give it immediately. Max shudders, "I'm sorry… I didn't mean…"
"Fuck you."
"I didn't mean…" Max's voice trails off. A few minutes pass and they don't speak to each other. Sydney picks at her home fries and thinks they need ketchup.
Max finally speaks, "That's disgusting."
"Why?" Vaughn retorts, slightly pissy. "You put ketchup on French fries, which are made up of potatoes -- if you make your own. There's not a lot of actual potato in that shit they serve at McDonald's. Hash browns are also potatoes, just cooked differently."
"I'm talking about the eggs."
"Obliviously you're never been to Pennsylvania."
"Obliviously I don't want to."
Vaughn laughs. Sydney smiles.
"So…" Max changes the topic. "Have you talked to the Wicked Witch of the West?"
"Yes, and she wants her Clash EP before she becomes the Wicked Witch of the East."
"When that?"
"Not soon enough."
Max laughs; he curtly informs. "Abby's home."
Vaughn doesn't response. "Oh." "'Oh'?"
"Well, what do you expect me to say?" Vaughn snaps. Sydney wonders who Abby is, and the Wicked Witch…
"I don't know, but when that girl left for the DNC --"
"Ethiopia --"
"-- You were heartbroken."
Sydney doesn't like Abby.
"Hey, she did what she had to do. I wasn't going to stop her."
"Liar."
"Look, Max, she choose the job --"
Sydney's stomach flips, nausea overwhelming her, and she believes it has nothing to do with the pound of food she just ate.
"-- She wanted to save the world from AIDS. She did. She went to the place where the streets have no name, and I respect her for that. All right. It's over."
"Whatever. I just surmised you'd want to know. She's single again."
"And it's been two fucking years. We're different people!"
Sydney's heart sinks and she chokes on juice. That's not true. His comments are bullsh-t. Total bullshit.
There's silence form Vaughn's booth; it remains quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time until Max exclaims, "The brunette in the red tank top?"
"Oh, for fucksakes!" Vaughn hisses, dropping his voice to a barely audible whisper Sydney strains to hear. "Okay, do you remember that woman I told you about? Sydney Bristow?"
"The raving lunatic?"
She is NOT a raving lunatic… There's more silence before Max exclaims, "You never mentioned how incredibility gorgeous she is."
Sydney smiles despite the situation.
"Sorry, her behavior preoccupied me."
Sydney's smile fades.
"What did you say she was again? Delusional, fantasy-prone personality with some form of disassociate disorder: amnesia or DID?"
"Fugue, possible PTSD, maybe DID."
"And she claimed to know you?'
"She claimed we met at the CIA."
"Ha! You working for the CIA."
"What is that suppose to mean?" Vaughn seems offended (as he should be) by the slur.
"I could never see it -- you're way too anal-retentive, way too rational. Mike, now we'll need you to spy the leader of this country. You would be like, why? Is there a clear purpose for this? Is this ethical? Does this have something to do with my subconscious? My childhood?"
"Actually it's called Recon."
"And you have an attitude problem."
"Shut up, she's right over there. She's been stalking me for the past week."
"What?"
"Well, at least I think she has. I keep seeing the same car tailing me, always a woman driving: different hair, cute wigs and stuff, but still the same body shape and all. Plus, she was in the market Friday."
How does he know that? She is one of the most skilled CIA agents ever; she nearly single handedly took down the Alliance. However, she can't tail Michael Vaughn. Oh, wait… it's Michael Vaughn.
"Are you serious?"
"Dead."
"Let's call her over."
What to do? If she runs, he'll know she listened in and will know she's "stalking" him. Trapped…
"Right, to familiarizes her more with my life." Max doesn't listen; instead he turns to Sydney and waves. Sydney doesn't pay attention, and Max continues, "Sydney!" He motions for her to come over. Vaughn groans.
Sydney looks over to the booth. Max waves, Vaughn tries to get the waitress's attention. "Are you out of your f-cking mind?" Vaughn inquires out of the corner of this mouth…
Walking over to the booth, Sydney nervously smiles, "Hello?"
Max extends his hand and shakes hers. "I'm Max Wilkinson."
"Sydney Bristow" she replies.
"Agent Sydney Bristow." Vaughn corrects, sarcastically.
Sydney glares at him, retorting in the same tone. "Dr. Michael Vaughn."
Max snickers, unable to resist: "So you're CIA?"
Sydney wipes out her badge and hands it to Max who looks and it over; Vaughn snatches it and examines it knowing exactly what to look for, without actually knowing. It's legit. He hands it back to Sydney.
"Well, if you are CIA why are you flashing your badge around?" He inquires.
Sydney frowns. Vaughn continues, "Moreover, you're not a peculiarly good agent, you've been tailing me all week: the blonde in the market; the redhead at the deli; the beatnik who reminded me too much of Dylan for my liking."
"Vaughn," Sydney starts.
"Why are you following me?"
"Are you dangerous?" Max quips.
"I'm not dangerous." Sydney retorts without removing her glare from Vaughn. "Vaughn -- please -- I'm not lying, I'm not crazy. If you just come with me I can prove to you…"
"I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Vaughn!"
Max says under his breath. "You never said she was unstable."
Vaughn replies, "You're not quick on the subtext today?"
"I AM NOT UNSTABLE!"
"Okay" Vaughn nods.
"Please!" Sydney barely holds it together. "I need you to believe me." She repeats, "I'm not crazy."
Compassion overtakes Vaughn. "Do you really believe that Syd?"
She could sing; he called her Syd. "Yes."
"Okay, I'll strike you a deal. If you want me to go with you to the CIA, you have to prove to me you're not crazy by taking a psych evaluation."
"And if I pass?"
"We'll take it from there."
Sydney agrees, "I want you to do the evaluation."
"No, Dr. Wilkinson will do it."
"No, you." She retorts firmly.
"Syd, frankly, I think you're crazy. If you want to be deemed sane, you have a better chance with Max."
Max smiles. "I don't bite."
Sydney pauses. "Fine."
"Good." Vaughn says, "We'll start tomorrow."