Info:
- Title: Presages (Part II)
- Author: A. Jinnie McManus
- Rating: PG-13 (strong)
- Spoilers/Timeline: Begins directly at the end of "A Free Agent." All episodes aired afterwards do not apply to this AU story, though some elements have been incorporated. Conversely, all elements prior to AFA, both on and off camera, fully apply to my plot. Spoilers for at least the episodes prior to AFA, and probably most after it.
- Summary: Love both condemns and conquers. AU from "A Free Agent" on. Prominent S/V, but otherwise ensemble fic.
- Disclaimer: Not mine. Some quotes are directly from various episodes. No infringement is intended.
- 'Ship: S/V, J/I, some others.
- Archiving: Ask first.
During his time at The Farm and CST, Michael Vaughn had trained extensively for many dangerous situations. Naturally more observant and instinctual than most, he had typically excelled in almost any circumstance his teachers could confront him with. His missions with Sydney had proven his abilities to the point where he had been reclassified as a field agent and acknowledged as one of the Agency's most successful young operatives.
He'd never had reason to regret his skills before.
The cargo plane had landed surreptitiously in Madrid and Vaughn had immediately headed straight for the American embassy to reclaim the stolen black car. He had then driven as close to the warehouse as he dared before abandoning the car and hiking towards the building.
Because of Sark's phone call, he had been certain the guards would be extra diligent. He had spent the majority of the car ride determining exactly how much he would resist (go all out, he decided, it would look suspicious not to do so), and had stepped out of the Chevy half expecting to be apprehended right then and there.
But he had been wrong. Two hours later, short of knocking on the warehouse door or stomping up behind a guard, he was running out of ideas to get himself caught.
"Let's talk about that tracking device, Mrs. Caplan."
Still blinking away tears, Elsa forced herself to focus. Out of necessity, she had placed her husband's safety second in priority to the well-being of the two people that had saved her and her son. But her role in that was over now. It was time to focus on making her family whole again.
Hang on, Neil. I love you. You'll be home soon.
Vaughn sighed, frustrated. He was almost up to front door of the warehouse, and had yet to come across any guards. And to think that these people almost killed me last time!
He wondered what that said about his own competence.
Ah, well. Enough was enough, and he wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Cocking the automatic gun he had taken from the Spanish guard - Ricardo - that he had killed, he aimed the gun straight up. And fired.
Five minutes later, his plan had commenced… courtesy of a tranquilizer dart to the shoulder.
She stared at the phone. Funny, sometimes, how even the most unthreatening object in the world could frighten her.
The choice was up to her, she knew. Marcus had not denied that. He had lied to her more times than he had told the truth, had willingly engaged in conduct that was all but guaranteed to ensure that their little family lost him…
Had almost died, with her still believing those lies.
Her head hurt. Still eyeing the menacing phone, Diane Dixon reached up a hand to rub her forehead. As she did so, the glint from her wedding ring caught the sunlight. The fractured light gleamed brightly, illuminating the room with sparkles.
Dazzled, she turned her hand, watching as the beautiful light caught all the dark corners of the room. A soft smile appeared on her face for the first time in days. Suddenly, her decision seemed clear.
Sucking in her breath, she leaned over and picked up the phone. Was it always this heavy?
"Marcus?" she said nervously when he answered. "Can we talk?"
He regained consciousness slowly and in stages, aware of only two things: he was sitting upright in a chair, and his shoulder ached fiercely from the tranquilizer dart. He shook his head, fighting the last effects of the drug and coaxing his vision to clear. He tried to bring his hands up to rub his eyes and hurry along the process, but he couldn't seem to move them.
But finally, his vision returned to normal. Vaughn looked around, intending to survey his surroundings, but froze. An all-too-familiar guard stood in front of him, the leather binding straps from last time held loosely in his hand. All other manacles and chains had been affixed to him as he slept. Ricardo? Didn't I…
His bewilderment must have shown on his face, because the man smiled maliciously. "No soy quién usted piensa.," he smirked. ("I am not who you think.")
Vaughn took a deep breath. "Mirada - " ("Look - ")
But even as he spoke, Ricardo moved swiftly. Still disoriented, Vaughn tried to follow his movements, but failed miserably.
His other senses made up for his lapse. One minute the man was in front of him, the next…
Vaughn gasped, sheer agony invading every pore of his body as the man slammed one of the leather straps hard across his shoulders and upper back. He dropped his head, stunned at the amount of pain lancing up and down his spine. Had he not been bound to the chair, the force of the blow would have thrown him to the floor.
From behind him, his tormentor laughed. Vaughn braced himself as yet another lash came down, the burn from the makeshift whip so intense it felt as though someone had positioned a blowtorch right against his back. Blood and sweat poured off of him. He had been through far too much these past few months. Had he been in full health, he would have at least managed to last longer with no reaction, but his strength was already depleted.
It was only a matter of time before he fell completely.
And the man chuckled again. Another blow landed. And another. And another. And another. He took his time, carefully insuring that Vaughn received the highest amount of agony with the least amount of effort on his part. Irrationally Vaughn began to shiver, not from fright but because the flogging was causing his body heat to rise so dramatically his mind registered him as being cold. Freezing cold. He would have screamed, but the shivers locked up his throat and made his teeth chatter, making it difficult to even breathe.
"Usted mató a mi hermano," the man repeated with every impact. "Usted mató a mi hermano!" ("You killed my brother!")
"I - " Vaughn choked out.
The man responded by hitting him harder, skillfully maneuvering the leather strap to land in the same places as previous blows. Vaughn stifled a sob as he jerked with each and every flare of pain, refusing to give the man any further satisfaction as the merciless blows thwacked! down on him.
Again. And again. And again. And again. Andagainandagainandagain…
"Diego? Parada!" A new voice cut in, just as Vaughn's endurance finally began to allow him to return to unconsciousness. "¿Qué usted está haciendo?" ("Stop! What are you doing?")
The scourging ended abruptly and Vaughn couldn't help the soft moan that escaped his lips. He tried mechanically to curl into a protective ball, a move not permitted by his restraints. Behind him the conversation between guards continued, but Vaughn was in too much pain to even attempt translating it. The only word he recognized was Sark's name as the other captor evidently reminded his tormentor of Sark's "don't-hurt-him" orders.
Lot of good those did, he thought acrimoniously.
The man's voice rose, startling him. Through all the lashings, Ricardo's brother had kept his voice pitched just above a whisper to force Vaughn to concentrate to hear him, and thus remain alert longer. The sounds of his shouts were thus just as jarring to Vaughn's currently torture-heightened senses as the strap itself had been. He closed his eyes, willing himself to black out.
And then the new arrival won the argument. Grumbling, Ricardo's brother - did the other guard call him by name? Diego? - returned to again stand in front of him, grabbing him by the hair and yanking his head up, the harsh movements causing Vaughn to automatically make eye contact.
Diego glowered at him. "We will continue, CIA," he mocked in English, voice heavily accented. He waved the bloodstained straps around for emphasis.
Drawing strength from reserves he didn't even know he had, Vaughn somehow managed to meet the other man's look of hatred with an even stare of his own. "You're very brave against an unarmed man," he mocked in return, the words coming out ragged from unvoiced screams. "Su hermano sería orgulloso!" ("Your brother would be proud!")
Diego's eyes narrowed and he spat into Vaughn's face. With an effort Vaughn didn't turn away, didn't do anything that would give the guard any additional feelings of victory over him.
"Diego!" the other guard prompted.
Murmuring curses under his breath, Diego released Vaughn's hair, but Vaughn kept his head up and gaze proud. Swiftly, the guard replaced the straps in the same places as the last time, but pulled them cruelly tight so that the captive pressed unavoidably against the chair, forced to put pressure on the lacerations on his back.
With one last mocking smile, the guard left. Then and only then did Vaughn drop his head, shaking uncontrollably as anguish rippled through every cell of his body. His involuntary movements caused the strap and the chair to press even harder against his wounds, and he couldn't help the tiny half sob\half cry of pain that escaped. It was done. He was spent.
"Mr. Caplan, I need your decision."
He stared at the woman, eyes red from exhaustion. Not only physically, but mentally.
"Funny how you say that like I have a choice," he responded bitterly.
She rose at his words, gracing him with one final smile that was equal parts calculating and reassuring.
"Where are you going?" he demanded.
"To play a puppet," she answered, and he couldn't help but shudder at the undercurrent of rage in her tone, even if it was not directed at him.
Footsteps behind him startled him and for one horrible moment, Vaughn thought Diego had come back. His endurance was gone, and he had no doubt that if the man continued the lashings at this time, he would break in short order. But it was the other guard, the one who had stopped his torture, and Vaughn was somewhat startled to find that person a woman.
"This won't happen again," she told him, accent distinctly British. Her slender body was hidden entirely in black clothing, and wisps of blonde hair peeked out from underneath her black ski mask. Holstering her pistol with careless grace, she reached into a pocket and pulled out a syringe.
"Until Mr. Sark arrives… Diego will not come near you. I will make certain of that." She stepped closer, absently prepping the syringe as she did so.
"Wait," Vaughn managed to say, voice still rough. "Who are - "
She ignored him, pity and dedication to duty warring in her eyes.
"I was going to do this anyway, to prevent a repeat of previous events… but I daresay it might even help you."
And with that, she stepped toward him and slid the needle into the side of his throat with surprising gentleness. He whimpered at first; the drug was utterly searing as it flowed into him, but it worked quickly. As soon as she withdrew the syringe Vaughn relaxed, spiraling into a deep hole where nothing and no one could hurt him.
The woman stood there for a moment, looking down at him, before pulling out her cell phone.
She had a job to do. It was nothing personal.
And here I am, with around 430 reviews, starting Part II. Life is wonderful!
But I must also say that life is also busy. :sniff: I regret to state that updates will not be as insanely fast as mine usually are, simply because I am so buried in like, every activity possible. I have the rest of this story outlined, but not written.
Right now, I will try to update every three days. If things are going like they are in my zany life, I may have to make that weekly. However, the chapters will be longer (this one was 5 pages!) in consolation.
And of course, on breaks and stuff, "2 or 10?" will happily apply.
See you in three days! :crosses fingers: