Between the Memory & the Moment
Author: UConnFan (Michele
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com
~*Chapter 4*~
"It's funny, when I wrote the pilot I didn't even think much about Vaughn in advance and when I got to the scene I was writing I was like 'oh my god, he's going to become her lover, her best friend, but it's going to take time'." - JJ Abrams, Truth Be Told (pilot) commentary
Mondays were always relatively non-descript days for Michael Vaughn. For the most part, he held a rather non-descript job as well. Not to say he wasn't well respected - he was a senior agent, he even had a secretary to help him out when necessary. Except his job would never be described by most in the agency as especially vital or even especially important. Truthfully he hadn't been in the field for years, he was rarely even sent out of the Los Angeles metropolitan area, but on that Monday in October, he hoped he'd taken the first steps in changing his standing in the agency.
Two quick knocks and a moment later Eric Weiss walked in, not bothering to wait for him to call him in. Vaughn looked up at his friend for a moment, the other man slouched heavily against the closed door, his eyebrows raised and his hands in his pockets - a sure sign he was waiting for something.
"What is it?"
"I heard this crazy rumor," he shrugged.
"About what?"
"About the fact that you apparently *volunteered* to take on Sydney Bristow's case, to essentially be her partner until we have a better understanding of her missing two years and until she has a better understanding of the inner workings of the CIA."
"What's so crazy about that?"
"Well, first of all, I was the one training Sydney when she initially decided to join the CIA. There's no reason for that to change now."
Vaughn's temper flared as he glared across the room. "What? Are you saying I purposely tried to take away your assignment?"
"No, what I'm saying is that I'm not entirely convinced you're ready to handle Sydney Bristow," Eric snapped. In his chair, Vaughn brought his hand up to quickly massage his temples as his friend exhaled heavily and took a moment to compose himself. When he began again a moment later, he lacked his accusation, his concern for his best friend evident. "Mike . . . I'm just worried that it's too soon. He won't say it, but I know that you're -"
"Don't bring him into this. Any concern he may have is entirely personal, and so is yours. How long I've been back with the agency has no impact on my job performance."
"No, but it's only been four months . . . No one expects this to be easy for you. These past few months have been difficult, we all understand that. Sydney Bristow," he hesitated. "She's going to be a fantastic agent - hell, she's Jack Bristow's kid, she has no choice," he chuckled. "Seriously Mike, she's going to need a lot of help. Don't get into something you can't finish, just to prove to yourself and the rest of us that you can do the field work and long hours again."
"I can do it," he answered, his voice devoid of any doubt.
"Okay," Weiss nodded, slinking into his guest chair. "What's on your mind?" he questioned as Vaughn let his hand slip briefly into his suit pocket, fingering the object that had weighed down his jacket for days.
"Do you know a good jeweler? I need to get a watch fixed."
"Yeah," he shrugged. "I must have a name of one somewhere. There was that guy who fixed that mantle clock for my mother a few months ago. Is it the one Lauren gave you?"
"No," he shook his head, his voice dipping almost unnoticeably. "It was my father's watch, the one that kept perfect time."
"No wonder you've been running late recently," Weiss quipped as Vaughn rolled his eyes.
"It's weird. Perfect time for over forty years and it just died while I was in Hong Kong."
Weiss met his friend's gaze across the desk, his expression curious, "didn't you get drunk one time and tell me that your father told you to set your heart by that watch?" he questioned. Silently Vaughn nodded. "What do you think it means that it stopped the day you met Sydney Bristow?"
"Nothing," he answered quickly, a distinct edge to his tone. "It doesn't mean anything Eric. Just get me the name of the jeweler."
"Sure," Eric agreed and pulled to his feet. "Seriously though Mike, Sydney Bristow's security clearance doesn't go into effect until Wednesday. If you change your mind before then, let me know."
"I won't," he emphatically replied.
"I hope your doing the right thing."
"I am," he assured him. As the office door clicked shut behind his friend, Vaughn's thoughts turned to the woman who had managed to shadow in his mind since he'd met her just weeks ago in Hong Kong.
For most of her life, Sydney Bristow had appreciated her own intellect, enjoyed the opportunities her god-given knowledge had awarded her. Except now she hated most of her own thoughts, despised how Michael Vaughn continually found his way into her subconscious and how her nights were now spent pondering Sloane's words. Sleep had mostly eluded her since her return from the dead. To distract herself from the painful questions of the day, she did her best to wear away at the long hours of the night. She'd lie in her bed and read books that she'd read a lifetime ago, books that every English teacher should read and know by heart. Occasionally she'd turn on the television, losing herself in cable repeat of "The West Wing" or an international tennis tournament. When all else failed, she turned to her mother's method of relieving stress and killing time - baking.
The internet was apparently a fantastic tool for locating recipes and ideas of food combinations that she never would have considered trying to master if it wasn't for the hours between dusk and dawn that she was so desperate to survive. As desperate as she was for a more fulfilling explanation, Sydney was more terrified that Sloane was right, that perhaps all her dreams would reveal was the black hole that her life had been over the past two years. So she baked, making use of the small but efficient kitchen, and sinking into the aged living room sofa, watching the dark waves lull onto the beach as the moon waned overhead while the gas oven baked her goodies and warmed the house. For years it had been Francie's routine for nights when sleep was impossible to find, and she found it made the hours go by faster, even if sleep was still elusive.
Why her father arranged for her security clearance to be valid on a Wednesday was something she never understood and never dared ask. Instead she prepared for the day, going through the steps that had been routine in her earlier life. Nothing made sense, and if Sloane was being truthful, nothing might ever make sense to her. There would always be something missing, no matter where she went with her life.
Sydney stepped into the CIA through the front door, fighting off memories of Vaughn and the days following the collapse of the Alliance. That was gone, and there was little point to dwell on it, there was already so much she had to deal with in her life. With the confidence of a Bristow, she stepped up to the front desk and recited, nearly word for word, her father's instructions from the previous night's telephone conversation. A moment later she thanked the receptionist for her directions and headed towards the elevator, prepared for whatever the day held.
"Come in," a familiar male voice called minutes later as Sydney knocked on Director Devlin's office door. Stepping inside, she was only half surprised to see her father occupying one of the director's visitor's chairs, his CIA clearance badge visible on his suit jacket.
"Sydney," Jack spoke, "This is Director Devlin. Ben, this is my daughter Sydney."
"We've met before, I'm glad to see your doing well Sydney," Devlin shook her hand before silently motioning for her to take the free seat. "How are you feeling Sydney?"
"I'm fine," she emphatically assured him.
"Good," Devlin nodded and glanced down at the folder on his desk. "After meeting with you in the hospital, Agent Weiss has recommended that you be considered for a field grade. Your father and I have discussed it, you have the qualifications and the physical you underwent at the hospital says you're more than ready for it, if it's something your interested in."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm glad to hear it. On most days you'll be reporting to the Joint Task Force headquarters - Jack will tell you where to go. The JTF is run primarily by the CIA in cooperation with the FBI, NSC and various other organizations. Sydney, you're going to be working to cut off information that may be sought after by terrorist cells, including the organization that we believe is responsible for your abduction. You'll be in the field two, maybe three times a week, most won't be for longer than an overnight."
Devlin paused for a moment as Sydney digested the basics of her new life. "When you go out in the field, you'll be using some of the most advanced and clandestine technology to obtain the information you need. You'll be working with one of our best tech guys, Marshall Flinkman. His office is at the Joint Task Force headquarters and your father will introduce you to him when tomorrow," he explained. Sydney did her best to keep back her smile, instantly relieved to hear him mention Marshall's name. He'd been terribly sweet to her from the moment they'd met, back at SD-6, and she couldn't imagine he was any different in this world. "Once in awhile you'll need to report here, but you'll either be paged or know in advance. Also, you'll be working in the office and in the field with a partner," he explained.
"Who?" she asked, glancing from her father and Devlin, watching as the two men shared a pointed look before they turned to her.
"Michael Vaughn, the man you called from Hong Kong, has offered to work with you. If the situation is too difficult for you -"
"No, dad, it's fine," she stopped Jack before he could even suggest what she knew came next. As painful as it would be, the CIA without Vaughn was something Sydney wasn't sure she wanted to know. In the field, there was no one she trusted more to watch her back, and at least she could be in his life. Not that she'd be anywhere near the importance of what his wife is to him, but she could take solace that she'd be his work partner, she wouldn't have to worry that he was out in the field with someone who wasn't keeping him safe.
"Of course it's fine Jack," Devlin stopped him. "Just don't beat up your partner again Sydney, okay? There are easier ways of getting to know a colleague," he suggested, his lips curved into an unusual smile. A moment later she smiled, going along with his joke.
"That's fine," she looked to Devlin, who nodded.
"Good, I'm sure Agent Vaughn would like to formally meet you. This is his office number," the director leaned over and handed her a piece of paper. With a quick glance, Sydney realized it was the exact same office she remembered him having in the CIA headquarters, the office where he'd taken a leap of faith and told her that he had an instinct about her. The place where, good or bad, everything they'd had in her memory had been set into motion. "They'll be expecting you tomorrow at the Joint Task Force headquarters," Devlin added as all three stood. "It's good to have you."
"Thank you," she smiled and shook his hand. Sydney glanced at her father and nodded slightly before she walked out of the room.
It would have been a half-truth to say Sydney was planning on dropping by Vaughn's office that day before Devlin sent her there. The thought had been drifting through her conscious mind for days, haunting her into her dreams. Thoughts of dropping by his office, wanting to see him and insure that he was okay, and all safely packaged under the pretense of apologizing for her behavior in Hong Kong. Now, not only did she have an even more believable reason to see him, but she was under orders from Devlin, leaving her unable to back out because of any second thoughts she might have.
Sydney instinctively navigated the tight cluster of desks and work stations that led to Vaughn's office. She only remembered being there once, but she remembered every angle and curve of the building as she approached. As ridiculous as she knew it was, Sydney still fought with the anxious butterflies and tears that pooled at the back of her eyes. There was so little to lose by this, by the standards of her new life there was nothing at risk here, except in her soul everything was put in jeopardy when she knocked on his door.
"Yeah?" he called wearily through the door.
Taking this as a semi-invitation, she stuck her head in, "Is this a bad time?"
Vaughn looked up, immediately on his feet as he waved her in. "No. I'm sorry Sydney. I didn't realize you'd be coming now."
"If this is a bad time, I can -"
"No," he briefly shut his eyes, his head shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand, a bitter reminder of what wasn't hers. "I'm sorry, please, take a seat," he gestured for her to sit in a familiar seat. Sydney did her best to look around nonchalantly, noting that the sole picture frame on his desk was facing away from her while he walked around to lean against the front of his desk. Even in her attempt to scan his office, she caught him as he tried to be subtle, his eyes looking her over before their eyes caught.
"I wanted to apologize. For Hong Kong. What I said . . . What I did," she added, her voice dropping. "I had no right. None of it had anything to do with you," Sydney admitted. The words were a truth she hated to acknowledge, in this new world, she had nothing with Michael Vaughn, except a newly assigned working relationship.
"You didn't do anything, you just caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting your call, I certainly wasn't expecting . . . " he trailed off awkwardly. Vaughn glanced down at the floor and then back at her, "It's fine."
"Thank you," she granted him a small, brief smile before she went to stand. "I just wanted -"
"Wait," he put his hand up, she paused and lowered herself back into her seat. Then he glanced over his shoulder, annoyed at how unorganized he could let his desk get at times. On the corner he spotted what he sought and grabbed it, unable to look at the woman in his office as he spoke. "You were so confused in Hong Kong, I know how hard it is, to have to adjust, to try to understand where everyone else is coming from when . . ." he halted and sighed, shaking his head. Still, his eyes remained drawn on the file in his hand, "I copied your personnel file. I thought, I don't know, I thought it might help. Answer some of your questions," he finally met her eyes and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she took it from him, forcing down the warmth that spread quickly through her. "Vaughn, thank you."
"We were supposed to work together, before they thought you died. We were going to work together but we never had an opportunity to meet."
"No one told me that," she tore her eyes away from his, slowly opening the file. As she flipped through the pages, preliminarily scanning the pages of information that told the story of her own life, she felt his eyes on her. When Sydney looked up, she was only partially surprised that her eyes immediately met his, catching him mid-gaze.
"Do you need anything? You've seen a doctor -"
"No, I don't need anything," she assured him. Then she looked away, tugged at her sleeves, feeling Vaughn's eyes on her as she tried not to cry. "Thank you for helping me."
Before he could reply, someone knocked heavily on the door. Vaughn gave Sydney a quick half-smile as he stood and approached the door as she slowly gathered her things and got to her feet.
"Michael," an unfamiliar male voice began, "Ben just told me about Agent Bristow -" he halted when Sydney Bristow came into sight.
"I already know," Vaughn answered quietly, obviously embarrassed as he looked to Sydney. She smiled at the man, studying him for a moment, struggling to remember where she'd seen him before. The man before her was easily old enough to be her father, he appeared to be the same height as Vaughn, his hair a blinding white and slowly receding, his features inexplicably familiar as he appeared tall and proud in a suit and tie.
"Michael, are you going to introduce us?" the older man questioned.
"Sydney Bristow, this is my father, Director William Vaughn."
Author: UConnFan (Michele
E-mail: loveuconnbasketball@yahoo.com
~*Chapter 4*~
"It's funny, when I wrote the pilot I didn't even think much about Vaughn in advance and when I got to the scene I was writing I was like 'oh my god, he's going to become her lover, her best friend, but it's going to take time'." - JJ Abrams, Truth Be Told (pilot) commentary
Mondays were always relatively non-descript days for Michael Vaughn. For the most part, he held a rather non-descript job as well. Not to say he wasn't well respected - he was a senior agent, he even had a secretary to help him out when necessary. Except his job would never be described by most in the agency as especially vital or even especially important. Truthfully he hadn't been in the field for years, he was rarely even sent out of the Los Angeles metropolitan area, but on that Monday in October, he hoped he'd taken the first steps in changing his standing in the agency.
Two quick knocks and a moment later Eric Weiss walked in, not bothering to wait for him to call him in. Vaughn looked up at his friend for a moment, the other man slouched heavily against the closed door, his eyebrows raised and his hands in his pockets - a sure sign he was waiting for something.
"What is it?"
"I heard this crazy rumor," he shrugged.
"About what?"
"About the fact that you apparently *volunteered* to take on Sydney Bristow's case, to essentially be her partner until we have a better understanding of her missing two years and until she has a better understanding of the inner workings of the CIA."
"What's so crazy about that?"
"Well, first of all, I was the one training Sydney when she initially decided to join the CIA. There's no reason for that to change now."
Vaughn's temper flared as he glared across the room. "What? Are you saying I purposely tried to take away your assignment?"
"No, what I'm saying is that I'm not entirely convinced you're ready to handle Sydney Bristow," Eric snapped. In his chair, Vaughn brought his hand up to quickly massage his temples as his friend exhaled heavily and took a moment to compose himself. When he began again a moment later, he lacked his accusation, his concern for his best friend evident. "Mike . . . I'm just worried that it's too soon. He won't say it, but I know that you're -"
"Don't bring him into this. Any concern he may have is entirely personal, and so is yours. How long I've been back with the agency has no impact on my job performance."
"No, but it's only been four months . . . No one expects this to be easy for you. These past few months have been difficult, we all understand that. Sydney Bristow," he hesitated. "She's going to be a fantastic agent - hell, she's Jack Bristow's kid, she has no choice," he chuckled. "Seriously Mike, she's going to need a lot of help. Don't get into something you can't finish, just to prove to yourself and the rest of us that you can do the field work and long hours again."
"I can do it," he answered, his voice devoid of any doubt.
"Okay," Weiss nodded, slinking into his guest chair. "What's on your mind?" he questioned as Vaughn let his hand slip briefly into his suit pocket, fingering the object that had weighed down his jacket for days.
"Do you know a good jeweler? I need to get a watch fixed."
"Yeah," he shrugged. "I must have a name of one somewhere. There was that guy who fixed that mantle clock for my mother a few months ago. Is it the one Lauren gave you?"
"No," he shook his head, his voice dipping almost unnoticeably. "It was my father's watch, the one that kept perfect time."
"No wonder you've been running late recently," Weiss quipped as Vaughn rolled his eyes.
"It's weird. Perfect time for over forty years and it just died while I was in Hong Kong."
Weiss met his friend's gaze across the desk, his expression curious, "didn't you get drunk one time and tell me that your father told you to set your heart by that watch?" he questioned. Silently Vaughn nodded. "What do you think it means that it stopped the day you met Sydney Bristow?"
"Nothing," he answered quickly, a distinct edge to his tone. "It doesn't mean anything Eric. Just get me the name of the jeweler."
"Sure," Eric agreed and pulled to his feet. "Seriously though Mike, Sydney Bristow's security clearance doesn't go into effect until Wednesday. If you change your mind before then, let me know."
"I won't," he emphatically replied.
"I hope your doing the right thing."
"I am," he assured him. As the office door clicked shut behind his friend, Vaughn's thoughts turned to the woman who had managed to shadow in his mind since he'd met her just weeks ago in Hong Kong.
For most of her life, Sydney Bristow had appreciated her own intellect, enjoyed the opportunities her god-given knowledge had awarded her. Except now she hated most of her own thoughts, despised how Michael Vaughn continually found his way into her subconscious and how her nights were now spent pondering Sloane's words. Sleep had mostly eluded her since her return from the dead. To distract herself from the painful questions of the day, she did her best to wear away at the long hours of the night. She'd lie in her bed and read books that she'd read a lifetime ago, books that every English teacher should read and know by heart. Occasionally she'd turn on the television, losing herself in cable repeat of "The West Wing" or an international tennis tournament. When all else failed, she turned to her mother's method of relieving stress and killing time - baking.
The internet was apparently a fantastic tool for locating recipes and ideas of food combinations that she never would have considered trying to master if it wasn't for the hours between dusk and dawn that she was so desperate to survive. As desperate as she was for a more fulfilling explanation, Sydney was more terrified that Sloane was right, that perhaps all her dreams would reveal was the black hole that her life had been over the past two years. So she baked, making use of the small but efficient kitchen, and sinking into the aged living room sofa, watching the dark waves lull onto the beach as the moon waned overhead while the gas oven baked her goodies and warmed the house. For years it had been Francie's routine for nights when sleep was impossible to find, and she found it made the hours go by faster, even if sleep was still elusive.
Why her father arranged for her security clearance to be valid on a Wednesday was something she never understood and never dared ask. Instead she prepared for the day, going through the steps that had been routine in her earlier life. Nothing made sense, and if Sloane was being truthful, nothing might ever make sense to her. There would always be something missing, no matter where she went with her life.
Sydney stepped into the CIA through the front door, fighting off memories of Vaughn and the days following the collapse of the Alliance. That was gone, and there was little point to dwell on it, there was already so much she had to deal with in her life. With the confidence of a Bristow, she stepped up to the front desk and recited, nearly word for word, her father's instructions from the previous night's telephone conversation. A moment later she thanked the receptionist for her directions and headed towards the elevator, prepared for whatever the day held.
"Come in," a familiar male voice called minutes later as Sydney knocked on Director Devlin's office door. Stepping inside, she was only half surprised to see her father occupying one of the director's visitor's chairs, his CIA clearance badge visible on his suit jacket.
"Sydney," Jack spoke, "This is Director Devlin. Ben, this is my daughter Sydney."
"We've met before, I'm glad to see your doing well Sydney," Devlin shook her hand before silently motioning for her to take the free seat. "How are you feeling Sydney?"
"I'm fine," she emphatically assured him.
"Good," Devlin nodded and glanced down at the folder on his desk. "After meeting with you in the hospital, Agent Weiss has recommended that you be considered for a field grade. Your father and I have discussed it, you have the qualifications and the physical you underwent at the hospital says you're more than ready for it, if it's something your interested in."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm glad to hear it. On most days you'll be reporting to the Joint Task Force headquarters - Jack will tell you where to go. The JTF is run primarily by the CIA in cooperation with the FBI, NSC and various other organizations. Sydney, you're going to be working to cut off information that may be sought after by terrorist cells, including the organization that we believe is responsible for your abduction. You'll be in the field two, maybe three times a week, most won't be for longer than an overnight."
Devlin paused for a moment as Sydney digested the basics of her new life. "When you go out in the field, you'll be using some of the most advanced and clandestine technology to obtain the information you need. You'll be working with one of our best tech guys, Marshall Flinkman. His office is at the Joint Task Force headquarters and your father will introduce you to him when tomorrow," he explained. Sydney did her best to keep back her smile, instantly relieved to hear him mention Marshall's name. He'd been terribly sweet to her from the moment they'd met, back at SD-6, and she couldn't imagine he was any different in this world. "Once in awhile you'll need to report here, but you'll either be paged or know in advance. Also, you'll be working in the office and in the field with a partner," he explained.
"Who?" she asked, glancing from her father and Devlin, watching as the two men shared a pointed look before they turned to her.
"Michael Vaughn, the man you called from Hong Kong, has offered to work with you. If the situation is too difficult for you -"
"No, dad, it's fine," she stopped Jack before he could even suggest what she knew came next. As painful as it would be, the CIA without Vaughn was something Sydney wasn't sure she wanted to know. In the field, there was no one she trusted more to watch her back, and at least she could be in his life. Not that she'd be anywhere near the importance of what his wife is to him, but she could take solace that she'd be his work partner, she wouldn't have to worry that he was out in the field with someone who wasn't keeping him safe.
"Of course it's fine Jack," Devlin stopped him. "Just don't beat up your partner again Sydney, okay? There are easier ways of getting to know a colleague," he suggested, his lips curved into an unusual smile. A moment later she smiled, going along with his joke.
"That's fine," she looked to Devlin, who nodded.
"Good, I'm sure Agent Vaughn would like to formally meet you. This is his office number," the director leaned over and handed her a piece of paper. With a quick glance, Sydney realized it was the exact same office she remembered him having in the CIA headquarters, the office where he'd taken a leap of faith and told her that he had an instinct about her. The place where, good or bad, everything they'd had in her memory had been set into motion. "They'll be expecting you tomorrow at the Joint Task Force headquarters," Devlin added as all three stood. "It's good to have you."
"Thank you," she smiled and shook his hand. Sydney glanced at her father and nodded slightly before she walked out of the room.
It would have been a half-truth to say Sydney was planning on dropping by Vaughn's office that day before Devlin sent her there. The thought had been drifting through her conscious mind for days, haunting her into her dreams. Thoughts of dropping by his office, wanting to see him and insure that he was okay, and all safely packaged under the pretense of apologizing for her behavior in Hong Kong. Now, not only did she have an even more believable reason to see him, but she was under orders from Devlin, leaving her unable to back out because of any second thoughts she might have.
Sydney instinctively navigated the tight cluster of desks and work stations that led to Vaughn's office. She only remembered being there once, but she remembered every angle and curve of the building as she approached. As ridiculous as she knew it was, Sydney still fought with the anxious butterflies and tears that pooled at the back of her eyes. There was so little to lose by this, by the standards of her new life there was nothing at risk here, except in her soul everything was put in jeopardy when she knocked on his door.
"Yeah?" he called wearily through the door.
Taking this as a semi-invitation, she stuck her head in, "Is this a bad time?"
Vaughn looked up, immediately on his feet as he waved her in. "No. I'm sorry Sydney. I didn't realize you'd be coming now."
"If this is a bad time, I can -"
"No," he briefly shut his eyes, his head shaking as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his left hand, a bitter reminder of what wasn't hers. "I'm sorry, please, take a seat," he gestured for her to sit in a familiar seat. Sydney did her best to look around nonchalantly, noting that the sole picture frame on his desk was facing away from her while he walked around to lean against the front of his desk. Even in her attempt to scan his office, she caught him as he tried to be subtle, his eyes looking her over before their eyes caught.
"I wanted to apologize. For Hong Kong. What I said . . . What I did," she added, her voice dropping. "I had no right. None of it had anything to do with you," Sydney admitted. The words were a truth she hated to acknowledge, in this new world, she had nothing with Michael Vaughn, except a newly assigned working relationship.
"You didn't do anything, you just caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting your call, I certainly wasn't expecting . . . " he trailed off awkwardly. Vaughn glanced down at the floor and then back at her, "It's fine."
"Thank you," she granted him a small, brief smile before she went to stand. "I just wanted -"
"Wait," he put his hand up, she paused and lowered herself back into her seat. Then he glanced over his shoulder, annoyed at how unorganized he could let his desk get at times. On the corner he spotted what he sought and grabbed it, unable to look at the woman in his office as he spoke. "You were so confused in Hong Kong, I know how hard it is, to have to adjust, to try to understand where everyone else is coming from when . . ." he halted and sighed, shaking his head. Still, his eyes remained drawn on the file in his hand, "I copied your personnel file. I thought, I don't know, I thought it might help. Answer some of your questions," he finally met her eyes and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she took it from him, forcing down the warmth that spread quickly through her. "Vaughn, thank you."
"We were supposed to work together, before they thought you died. We were going to work together but we never had an opportunity to meet."
"No one told me that," she tore her eyes away from his, slowly opening the file. As she flipped through the pages, preliminarily scanning the pages of information that told the story of her own life, she felt his eyes on her. When Sydney looked up, she was only partially surprised that her eyes immediately met his, catching him mid-gaze.
"Do you need anything? You've seen a doctor -"
"No, I don't need anything," she assured him. Then she looked away, tugged at her sleeves, feeling Vaughn's eyes on her as she tried not to cry. "Thank you for helping me."
Before he could reply, someone knocked heavily on the door. Vaughn gave Sydney a quick half-smile as he stood and approached the door as she slowly gathered her things and got to her feet.
"Michael," an unfamiliar male voice began, "Ben just told me about Agent Bristow -" he halted when Sydney Bristow came into sight.
"I already know," Vaughn answered quietly, obviously embarrassed as he looked to Sydney. She smiled at the man, studying him for a moment, struggling to remember where she'd seen him before. The man before her was easily old enough to be her father, he appeared to be the same height as Vaughn, his hair a blinding white and slowly receding, his features inexplicably familiar as he appeared tall and proud in a suit and tie.
"Michael, are you going to introduce us?" the older man questioned.
"Sydney Bristow, this is my father, Director William Vaughn."