READ YOUR MIND
A/N: Hi, all. I guess you liked the first chapter enough, so here's the second one. This one is a bit longer than the last one. Same disclaimers apply: This isn't exactly a West Wing fic. CJ is Vaughn's aunt, and the mission is to protect President Bartlett. I had to make up a storyline about CJ having an early marriage and her husband dying (to give her the last name "Cregg" rather than "Vaughn"), so don't hurt me for that. I know it's not true, but I needed something to explain that. Had to be logical.
Different cast members of both respective shows will make appearances, but it's more of an Alias story than a West Wing story. And yes, this is still Vaughn's POV.
So please, sit back and enjoy!
Chapter 2: Enter Aunt CJ
As soon as we stepped off of the plane into Washington Dulles International Airport, I remembered how much I hated visiting my dad's side of the family in the time span between April and October. It's utterly disgusting how humid and muggy it is. Seriously, I don't understand how people can live here year round.
"It's worse in Delaware," Weiss informs me.
Geez, do I really think that loudly?
"Yes, you do," Weiss responds.
Damn. When did I start thinking out loud?
"Sometime after Syd di..."
"Okay, I get it! I think out loud! God, Weiss."
"I'm sorry! Just informing you in case you start thinking of something that people aren't supposed to hear, like 'Dude, that lady in the muumuu is a cow'."
Apparently, it would be a bad thing to think that out loud, much less say it. Said lady in the muumuu soundly slaps the hell out of Weiss. Of course I started laughing, and for that I earned the dirtiest look known to man out of my belted buddy.
"What are you two laughing at?"
Oy. I almost forgot that Jack was traveling with us. Apparently, he and the president go way back, back to their college days. Honestly, the fact that Jack Bristow knows the president of the United States doesn't surprise me. If there's a world leader that Jonathan Donahue Bristow doesn't have connections to, I'd be shocked.
Because who hasn't crossed paths with the elder Agent Bristow?
"Um, hi, Jack. I was laughing at the fact that Weiss got slapped by the woman in the offensive-looking muumuu."
That earns a snort and a...dear God, was that a smile? No, it's Jack. Smiling is not in his physical capacity. Not even when his daughter was still alive. Couldn't possibly be a smile.
"So, how long exactly have you known President Bartlett?"
"I've known Jed since freshman year of college when we played hockey together," Jack responded.
Wait, since when does Jack like hockey?
"I grew up in Canada, Agent Vaughn. Since when have I not liked hockey?"
Dear God. I really have to stop thinking out loud.
Hell, maybe I should just stop thinking altogether.
"There's our car. Grab your bags and let's go."
So the three of us, Jack, Weiss, and myself, all pile into the cab. I have ridden in a bunch of uncomfortable cabs before, but I have never had such an uncomfortable ride anywhere. Being stuffed between your dead girlfriend's rouge-ish father and your prying best friend with a Farsi-speaking cab driver in the front seat would surely top a David Letterman Top 10 List.
After what I thought to be the longest cab ride in history, we finally arrived at the White House. The first person I saw was a man I recognized to be Toby Ziegler, the President's communications director.
"Welcome to Washington, gentlemen. Now, which one of you is which?"
Weiss started to answer him, but Jack quickly and, almost tactfully, cut him off. Yeah, that's rude to say, but let's face it: How much tact does Jack have?
"Mr. Ziegler, I'm Agent Jack Bristow, and these are my associates, Agent Michael Vaughn and Agent Eric Weiss. May I speak to the president?"
"Right this way."
In all of my years, I never pictured myself talking to the president of the United States, much less having him whip out old baby pictures of me.
That's right. Jed Bartlett, the President (who actually has us on a first name basis with him), knew not only Jack, but also my father. Apparently, Jed, Jack, and my dad, Bill, all went to college together. Dad introduced Jed to his sister (my aunt) and the present Secretary of the Press, C.J. Cregg. I always wondered about the last name difference, but apparently Aunt C.J. had gotten married early and then her husband died. Somehow it made sense.
But back to the three college comrades. They have pictures of the three of them. Pictures of the three of them with their respective wives: My mother, the first lady, and "Laura Bristow." Pictures of me with the president's daughters.
Pictures of Sydney and I in a bathtub at the tender age of 3.
Even then I was smitten.
The pictures of Sydney and I together that young just made the dam inside me burst. I had just started to take my mind and put it to good use for the first time in half a year. And now I was back to thinking about her. I didn't want to forget, Hell, I would never forget. I would make whoever was responsible pay. But me blubbering at the age of 35 over a woman I never got the chance to hold onto, with stubble on my face and lingering alcohol on my breath from the flight didn't go over too well with my aunt.
"Michael?! What the hell?!"
Enter Aunt CJ.