Chapter 5: Case of You
They don't budge. All documents concerning Agent Vaughn are classified Omega-17. Even Dixon doesn't have clearance. He claims he'll see what he can do, but that's an empty promise. At the door, Dixon informs Dr. Barnett called this morning and encouraged Sydney to stop by; even if she's busy, she'll make the time.
Sydney mutters something and thanks Dixon. At least he remembers the meaning of compassion and friendship, the rest of her fellow agents leave something to be desired, especially Weiss, who has given her the cold shoulder since her return. He's cordial and civil, but he's not Weiss. She supposes the five years f-cked all of them pretty bad, not just Vaughn and her. Luring him into the corner, she clicks her pen and questions whom to approach to contact her mother. Weiss absconds.
Unable to handle more shrinks, she decides not to take Dr. Barnett up on her offer. Instead she makes her way out of the Joint Task Force until further notice. She's not returning without Vaughn; Dixon okayed "the mission", there's not much else he can do. Walking past Marshall's office, she observes him slaving over his new gadget. He calls her in. Her appointment with Max and Vaughn is in three hours, she really needs leave; nevertheless, she smiles and inquires what he wants.
"Syd, uh I am sorry, really; and I've been thinking, right, trying to think of a way to help you out…"
"Marshall, that's very sweet of you but…"
"I tried running my own searches, but, man Dr. Reed, right, she really is secretive, like the Second Death Star secretive."
"I really --"
Awkwardly he forces a folded sheet of paper at Sydney. Unfolding it, she reads the print out, and looks up to Marshall, questioning if he's serious.
"I just thought, I know, I mean, But, it might…."
"--Need to go." She hastens out of the office, and out of the CIA. The heavy traffic leaving the city causes her to arrive at 12:59 P.M. for her 1:00 P.M. appointment.
The short woman with glasses sits behind the desk; Vaughn signs forms while he fires instructions at her. "I'm going to need to you change Miss Collins appointment to Thursday. And get hold of Dr. Kerr."
"And tell him what?" Her voice oozes with sarcasm, which he matches.
"Historical donkeys are working animals."
Rolling her eyes, Kristen nods before declaring, "The Wicked Witch called while you were in with Mr. Robbins."
Vaughn looks up, horrified. "And?"
She shrugs, "She bitched and said she'd call back."
Vaughn suppresses a few choice words. "She calls back, I'm with a patient."
"Wicked Witch?" Sydney inquires, surprising Vaughn and "Kristen" (she reads the name tag).
Kristen laughs; Vaughn's not as amused, "Miss Bristow, right on time."
"We're going to need you to fill out some forms." Kristen begins to hand Sydney a clipboard.
Vaughn interrupts, "Actually, we'll do that after; Dr. Wilkinson wants to begin immediately."
Vaughn signals Sydney to follow him. She does so. He looks back, and reminds Kristen, "I'm with a patient."
Kristen sighs.
"So, who is she?" Sydney shatters the awkwardness, with more awkwardness.
"Whom is who?"
"The Wicked Witch? An ex-girlfriend?" Sydney asks. Or ex-fiancé? She hopes.
"You could say that." Vaughn responses offhandedly, allowing, "we were engaged" to slip.
"Oh, I'm sorry." Sydney responses, not hiding her joy well.
He picks up on it. "I thought spies were adroit liars."
Sydney blushes.
They enter a conference room where Max waits, going over some files and preparing for Sydney's appointment.
"Miss Bristow!" He jollily greets her (at least someone still has a sense of humor).
"Dr. Wilkinson, how are you doing?"
"Oh, I'm peachy. You?"
"I'm fine." Lie. Over the years, Sydney has taken a few psych evaluations: one when she joined SD6, one when she became a double agent, one when the DSR believed she was the prophetic woman on page forty-seven. All of them she's pasted. She has no intension to fail this one.
"Great, we ready to prove Mike wrong?"
Sydney nods. Vaughn starts to exit.
"Aren't you staying?" She questions in a tone wanting him to stay.
"No. Dr. Wilkinson is capable. You're in good hands."
He shuts the door.
Before Max starts the evaluation, Sydney gives him her agent identification number and tells him to call Director Marcus Dixon. Jotting down the number, he pages Kristen and asks her to verify it. A taken-aback Kristen doesn't protest.
The first half of the evaluation they perform a series of tests: ink blots, feel in the blanks, pictures identification, verbal and mathematical reasoning. All of her answers reveal nothing: every one chosen with a purpose, none of them arousing red flags. About forty-five minutes in, the test has been going well until they came to a picture what looked like the Rambaldi code. She pauses longer then she should have, allowing the memories to return; nearly permitting her voice to crack she gives a standard answer.
She never truly knew how slippery the slope is; now she knows: she trips up on more questions, and nearly openly weeps when she a picture of a little girl on her father's shoulders. She needs a minute to regain her composure, however Max piles on the questions.
Finally Sydney asks to stop. She pauses for a second; goes to the restroom; composes herself; returns to the room. Max switches tactics, now wanting to know about her life: the demographics, her hereditary, the CIA, and most of all Vaughn.
Fuck. If she lies they will know it and if she doesn't they will believe she is crazy. She tells Max vague details, and the honest truth about the CIA and Vaughn: it's classified. This intrigues Max, and they discuss back and forth why. Sydney grows exasperated, and finally snaps: "Because Vaughn is CIA!" when Max inquires why she's willing to discuss classified matters with his associate, but not him.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
They talk more, about random things, yet the conversation leads back to Vaughn.
"Why do you call him Vaughn?"
"Excuse me?"
"Mike, you call him Vaughn; why?"
"I don't know; habit, uh." Sydney inhales. "Uh… it just… habit."
Max nods, "I think that will do." Excusing himself, he exits and leaves Sydney alone to rethink her stupidity. He'll never believe her now. She failed. He'll never believer her. Fuck. Shit. Fucking A.
Half an hour later Max calls Sydney into his office. She takes a seat; Vaughn hangs behind her near the door.
"Miss Bristow, after discussing it Dr. Vaughn, I agree with an early assumption that you're suffering from disassociate disorder -- to be determined in later session -- from a traumatic event, which is causing delusions."
"I'm not delusional."
"I called the CIA," Vaughn reports, "The clearance code you gave us doesn't work."
"That's impossible, I was there earlier this morning. Did you talk to Director Dixon?"
"No," Vaughn says. "I called the number you provided us and received the office of the Assistant Deputy Director of Operations for Los Angeles, Agent Smith."
"But you didn't talk to Marcus Dixon?"
"I was unable to reach Marcus Dixon."
"Talk to Dixon! He'll confirm my story!"
"Miss Bristow, the other concern I have --" Max begins.
"I have a couple concerns of my own."
"Syd," Vaughn placates her outburst. "What Dr. Wilkinson is trying to say is: if you are truly work for Central Intelligence and experienced a traumatic episode, why aren't you seeking help through a CIA psychoanalyst or psychiatrist that would permit you to disclose classified gaps of your story."
"So, you think I'm crazy?"
"We never said you were crazy; nor do I believe that. However, you have a severe creditability gap. I suggest you listen to Dr. Wilkinson."
She complies. Sydney forces her attention back to Max, "Miss Bristow I'm suggesting you seek treatment…"
"I don't need treatment."
"It's my professional opinion, you have sessions with Dr. Vaughn at least three times a week."
"What?" Sydney turns to Vaughn, who doesn't look thrilled.
Sydney looks at Max, relishing in her triumph. She never thought of this: purposely failing to have sessions with him, sessions in which she can convince him she's not crazy. Hot damn, she couldn't have planned it better herself! Smirking, she says, "When do start?"