Emily sat in her kitchen, alone and scared, knuckles white from clutching the phone. Her husband had simply disappeared, for two straight days. But what could she do? She had known this day would come. His life was dangerous. Chances were very strong he was dead in an alley somewhere.
She hadn't even been able to say goodbye.
And then she heard a noise outside the Villa. Her eyes widened with hope. Could it be? Could he have cheated death, one more time?
"Arvin?" she called, flying around, turning on lights. Oh, please. Please. Please!
And then he was there. Tears flowing freely she flung herself into his arms, showering him with kisses.
"Where were you?" she cried. "I was so worried!"
He held her close. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I was at the hospital."
She jerked away and stared at him. "What?"
He pulled her to him again, his hands lightly holding either side of her face. "Emily…"
"What's going on?" she demanded, lower lip trembling.
Arvin sighed, genuine regret welling through him. "You wanted to know everything," he said.
She nodded in his grip, looking up at him. Something cracked inside of him. She was so beautiful, so trusting…
"Fine," he said. He pulled his phone out from his jacket, leaving his other hand on her cheek. "Bring him in," he ordered.
"Him?" Emily asked.
"Sir?" Sark hesitated.
"It's all right," Sloane assured him, eyes locked with his wife's.
From outside their house came the unmistakable sound of a heavy vehicle. Emily frowned, tried to look, but Sloane shook his head. "In a moment, sweetheart."
And then she froze, jaw falling open, as two heavily armed people strolled in her front door wheeling a medical cot with oxygen and IVs attached. And lying on it, unconscious and restrained, was none other than the sweet young man she had saved. Another guard followed, wheeling in equipment that was linked to him via wires and tubes.
"Arvin," she breathed, disbelieving. What was Michael doing here?
Her husband swallowed hard, hating himself for the raw horror in her eyes.
"Emily," he said. "I believe you at least know of the man Sydney is so entranced by. This is Michael Vaughn."
She brought up a hand to cover her mouth. Oh, God.
"I was at the hospital because Mr. Vaughn required more medical attention than any of us could give," he told her, not bothering to mince words.
As though in a daze, she shrugged off her husband's hand and stumbled over to look down at the injured man. Still in a hospital gown and covered only up to the waist with a sheet-thin blanket, he looked more like a child than an intelligence operative. "Then why is he here and not still there?" she demanded, running a hand lightly through his hair. He didn't stir, and the oxygen tubes kept his breathing normal and steady.
Arvin sighed and joined her. The other three guards stepped back and did their best to appear unobtrusive. "Because we could only keep his identity quiet for so long," he answered honestly. "When they started to question us, we were forced to remove him. They had just finished surgery for his punc - for one of his injuries. He was already sedated, Emily. He didn't suffer. We wheeled him onto an ambulance and made our way over here. It's all right."
"What part of this is all right? You kidnapped him from the hospital! Right after he went through surgery!" What kind of monster had she married? And was she surprised? He had done far worse things than this.
He didn't answer her, instead turning to the youngest of the guards and waiting expectedly. Michael chose that moment to shiver, automatically calling the attention of everyone in the room… as heavily drugged as he was, he had to be really cold to actually react.
Hurriedly, Emily flew into the neighboring living room and snatched up a folded blanket from the couch. With a look that no one dared to argue with, she released the restraints on his wrists that bound him to either side of the cot and then covered him gently up to his chin, tucking him in out of habit. If Sydney was her daughter in all but literal fact, this young man was the closest she had to a son.
Her husband lowered his eyes as though ashamed, but gestured again.
"Right," the blonde man said, nodding pointedly to the other two guards.
"Your pardon, Mrs. Sloane," the woman murmured, gently nudging her out of the way and grabbing the metal left side of the cot. The Spanish man took the other.
Still dazed with shock, horror and a growing sense of resignation, Emily watched as they wheeled Michael and the equipment out of the room, heading towards the wine cellar.
Re-finding the Villa was easy enough.
Sydney stood on the roof of the main house, watching the Sloanes through the skylights of the main house. She'd gotten there as of all things, an ambulance pulled away. And had immediately set up shop to watch for guards before making her move.
She sighed as she watched them argue directly beneath her. Vaughn's debrief had mentioned Emily, of course, but seeing her…
You lied to me, she thought. Oh God, Emily. You were the only one I trusted for so long, and you let me grieve you!
Huddled near the skylight, she watched and waited for her moment. Subtlety be damned. When she was certain the coast was clear, she had every intention of landing right in the middle of them.
Via a few well-placed bullets and the skylight she was hiding by.
She was a woman of many talents. If she hadn't been, her line of work would have killed her long ago. But helping Diego lift and then carry a heavy metal cot bearing an adult man was not one of those talents. More than once on their trek down the stairs of the wine cellar, her younger boss had had to quickly balance the monitoring equipment he was carrying with one hand and grab onto the cot with the other. Otherwise the cot, the three of them and the agent would have ended up one broken mess on the floor.
She was beyond thankful Agent Vaughn was heavily sedated and remained unconscious during that entire debacle.
But finally, they reached the hidden room. With a groan she helped Diego, watching him carefully the whole time, lift the agent from the medical cot and set him down on the one already in the room. As injured as he was, he was heavier than he looked.
Equipment perched dutifully, Mr. Sark vanished without a word. A few minutes later, Diego followed him. She was relieved at that, it would not have surprised her if he "accidentally" injured the agent further somehow.
With the swiftness borne out of years of training, she studied the agent with a critical eye, making sure that none of his tubes and sensors had been jostled out of place during the move. After she finished that, she pulled cloth from her pocket and glanced over her shoulder nervously.
Coast is clear.
As gently as she could, she wrapped cloth around his each of his bandaged wrists before replacing the restraints Mrs. Sloane had removed and adjusting the blanket around them. Hopefully, the cloth would keep the heavy metal and velcro from rubbing into his skin. Finished, she leaned over and just studied the handsome spy, allowing herself to smile in relieved triumph at the sound of his even, painless breathing.
Just a few hours before, when he couldn't breathe or walk and had collapsed on them while being led out of the warehouse, she had been certain she had failed and he was lost. It had been her that had convinced Sloane to bring him to a nearby hospital, tearfully playing the part of terrorized wife that had watched as her husband was roughed up by muggers. And when the doctors saw through those lies, it had been her that had convinced Sloane to bring him to the Villa. Sark had even helped, reasoning that Vaughn still had use.
And now he was here, and she was going to do everything she could to make sure he lived through the next few days until the CIA tracked them down.
Her breath tousled his hair and he frowned, eyes fluttering open as the surgical anesthesia began to wear off. Not wanting him to see her, she stepped back hurriedly.
"Syd?" she heard him murmur. His eyes inexplicably stuck together and he scowled harder, fighting to come out of it. The monitors he was attached to began to beep faster and he jerked in surprise at the sound, moaning quietly as the movement aggravated his still-healing injuries.
Glancing furtively over her shoulder again, she stepped back to his side and pressed him back down, as easily as though she was quieting a child. "Easy, you're safe," she soothed, upping the IV feed. "Relâcher et dormir, Michel." ("Relax and sleep, Michael.")
Responding more to the familiarity of the words than anything else, Vaughn obeyed and stopped fighting her. She stayed a little longer, insuring that he wouldn't again wake up and try to move just yet, and then headed out.
Only to be grabbed by the arm and slammed against the outer wall of the room.
"Emily - " Arvin started quietly, trying to touch her shoulder. She pulled away, eyes flashing.
"Just answer one question," she said, jaw clenched in revulsion. Not just for him, but for her own naïveté.
He waited.
"Will you hurt him?" she asked, breath catching at the thought. Her husband was hardly a good man, but he had limits. Didn't he? "Are you capable of further harming an innocent man?"
"Do you want me to answer that, Emily? Or do you want me to lie?"
She backed away from him, eyes huge. When he stepped closer, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him as if seeing him anew.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
He vaulted forward and scooped her into his arms, burying his head into her neck. When she protested and tried to move away, he only held her tighter.
"Arvin! Let go of me!"
"Listen to me, Emily," he beseeched her. "I love you. I have always loved you! And I know that what I'm doing seems wrong…"
"Seems?"
"But it's necessary."
"How is any of this necessary?" she demanded.
"Everything I do is to protect you!" he countered. "Everything, Emily! And if that means you outlive me and hate me for the rest of your life, so be it. Because you'll be alive. You'll be safe."
She paused. He was looking up at her with tears in his eyes and as much as she hated herself for it, and him as well, she felt something that wasn't hatred.
Enough waiting.
Sydney stepped back, took a preparatory breath, and then fired. Four times. Underneath her, the astonished Sloanes jumped back - and then gaped as she jumped in gracefully, turning in midair to land on her feet, pulling Vaughn's gun free as she did so.
With nary a glance at Emily she lashed out with a powerful scissor kick, dumping Sloane to the ground. Resting her boot against his neck, she aimed the gun at his head.
And it all took seven seconds.
"I knew it was you," Diego hissed into her face, all but spitting the words. His hand shifted from her arm to her throat, lifting her several inches off the floor.
"I don't… know what you're talking about!" she gasped.
He snorted, crushing her windpipe further. His accent made his words even more powerful with rage. "You were working with him. They didn't listen to me!"
Still holding her, he lifted her away from the wall and slammed her back against it. She gasped, fighting to breathe.
"You don't want to do this," she warned him helplessly. If she took action and someone else saw her…
He smiled nastily up at her and choked her harder.
A smile that swiftly turned into a silent scream as she brought her knee up in between his legs with all her strength. Astonished, he dropped her.
She hit the ground hard, gasping and coughing as oxygen flooded back. "You're blinded by vengeance," she managed to throw at him as he doubled over in pain. "He is still useful to us! I'm doing my job! You'd do well to follow suit!"
"Liar," he growled. "You little b - "
"If I was lying, I could have let you leave him in the hospital instead of convincing Mr. Sloane to bring him here," she interrupted. "Watch yourself, Diego! What would our two managers say if they knew you attacked me for following their orders?"
Her throat ached. Seething, she brought up a hand to rub at the bruise. "Bloody bastard!" she swore. "Bloody hell!"
It was working, she noted in between gasps. He seemed to be considering her words… now that he hadn't the ability to do anything else.
"Are you done?" she asked him icily.
He groaned, rocking himself a little back and forth. Still infuriated - both at his forwardness and at her carelessness - she grabbed him by the arm and threw him against the wall.
"Well?"
He nodded.
"Good."
Without looking at him, she picked up the gun she'd dropped in the scuffle, and headed out of the hidden room to where two chairs had been set up.
Diego held the doors open for her.
"Sydney - " Sloane wheezed.
In response, she dug her boot harder into his throat.
"He killed her," Sydney all but whispered, knowing that was somehow more eerie. "He killed her! Did he do it on your orders?"
"Sydney!" Emily protested.
She ignored her. Emily Sloane may have saved Vaughn's life, but she had lost her trust. "Did he?" she yelled.
"No," Sloane wheezed out. "He did it on his own."
Astonished at his audacity, she let him up.
"We recaught him," Sloane informed her. "He wasn't working for me when he did those things."
"Then who was he working for?" Sydney allowed vulnerability to enter her voice. "I trusted him…"
He sighed, coming over to lay a hand on her shoulder. Even Emily raised an eyebrow. "Sydney, I know this is hard for you. Know that I will help you sort this through."
She nodded. "He killed her with this gun…" she mused, inwardly picturing shooting Sloane's hand off with it.
"Would you like to see him?"
She smiled. It was not a nice smile by any means. Suddenly, Sloane knew he was looking at Irina Derevko's daughter.
"Why, yes. I would like that."
Her heart was in her throat.
The room was, for the most part, exactly as she remembered. As was the cot in the middle, except it currently had five times as many pillows than what she had been given.
And lying on top of the cot and the pillows was a pale and sleeping Michael Vaughn, breathing with the help of oxygen tubes in his nose and chest, an IV needle in his arm and medical restraints on his wrists.
She swallowed, ordering her heart to return to where it belonged.
And go to sleep, because what she was about to do would surely break it.
She stepped toward the injured, unconscious and helpless man she loved, the man that was in this room and this condition, because of his love for her. And she slapped him.
Hard.
One of these days, man. But I did give you an 8 page chapter! That has to count for something! :hangs head:
But, up next is fluff. Because I daresay Syd and Vaughn have earned it. ;)
Welcome and thanks to new and old readers and reviewers!