The first thing he became aware of was the smell. Clinical. Pristine. The second was the sound of very loud beeping. A heart monitor? Why would he be in the same room as a heart monitor?
He tried to think, tried to force his mind to wake up to figure out the answer. But that hurt. So instead Vaughn just lay there, bewildered, and wondered where the hell he was and what the hell had happened to him.
Minor questions, those.
The last things he remembered had been giving Sloane, Sydney and Sark correct ways to break into the Taskforce Center. They had then left, and Lauren had drugged him despite his attempts to resist her, and he had powerlessly fallen into a deeper hole than the Avalanche after Roy retired.
He remembered seeing his best friend. At least he thought he did. And possibly even Marcus Dixon. But they were just snatches of color, generic images similar to thousands of operations, and he had no idea if such things had to do with where he was now.
And now he had a headache. His eyes caught a water glass sitting on the table to his left. Suddenly ravenously thirsty, he reached for it without thought.
Only to realize that his wrists were bound to either side of the bed. He frowned, straining his head to look down. Unlike the previous handcuffs, these bindings were legitimately medical…
So am I still a prisoner?
Forcing himself to calm down, Vaughn scanned the room intently. An oxygen mask covered his face (guess that rules out water anyway), two different IVs were hooked up to him and he didn't want to think about the number of tubes and sensors in his body, beginning with the oxygen tubes in his nose. The gown he wore was clean, as was his bedding, and the pillows he lay upon were tremendously, marvelously, fluffy. Hardly the amount of attention normally granted to a guest of Arvin Sloane.
And then the door to his room opened. Vaughn looked up, expecting the worst, and then instantly relaxed when Eric Weiss arrived. His friend rewarded him with a huge smile.
"You're awake," Weiss observed happily, jamming his hands in his pockets.
Vaughn nodded, amazed at how much that tiny movement exhausted him, and then opened his mouth to speak. But Eric shook his head.
"You've been in some kind of coma for almost a week, Michael. They just took out a breathing tube. Take it easy."
Vaughn's eyes drifted down to the restraints and Eric flushed. "Oh. Sorry about those. You were very energetic when we brought you in - "
Vaughn frowned. I was?
" - so we put those on for your own safety. I'll get someone to take them off, okay?"
He nodded, not caring about them anyway. "Sydney?" he tried to ask, without success. He simply didn't have the strength to use his vocal chords.
But Eric knew his friend. He bowed his head, agonizing over his dilemma. He could tell the truth… or he could lie and know that Mike would take the time he needed to recover.
It was an easy decision to make.
"She's in debrief."
"She's okay? " Vaughn trailed off, coughing behind the mask.
"She's uh, fine. Don't talk, Michael. The NSC contacted us. Said they had an operative in there and we were endangering her."
Lauren, Vaughn realized.
"They told us to get you out or cut you lose. Jack cleared an Op to get you out."
Weiss leaned closer to him. "He didn't think we'd survive, to be honest."
Horrified, Vaughn didn't even hear him.
"Is she okay?" another fit of coughing. He groaned, the motions ripping at the new stitches over his lungs.
"Michael, don't talk. I was told to bring you home, and I did. And for the record, I don't regret it."
Vaughn smiled faintly. Good 'ole Eric. He opened his mouth again, but Eric glared at him. "Tell me thank you and I'll have the nurses ram a tube down your throat again. Don't talk."
He nodded wearily.
"What else would you want to know… doctors said you had a punctured lung - you owe me an explanation for that - deep lacerations around your wrists and minor cuts around your ankles - from restraints?"
Off Vaughn's reluctant nod, Eric continued, " - three bruised ribs, some internal bleeding, a high fever, and…" Eric swallowed hard. "…. and about 20 lashes from a wide leather strap on your back, along with burns covering most of the wounds."
Vaughn's jaw dropped. Had he really been that injured?
"You also had some lingering effects from an illegal sedative in your blood, which is part of the reason why we knocked you out for so long. That and the tube. But other than that, you're peachy."
Wonderful, he thought dryly.
"Aaron Caplan will be coming by later." Weiss smiled. "That little boy is so attached to you. The only way Elsa can get him to sleep now is if he sees you first. He'll be thrilled you're awake."
Vaughn couldn't help but grin at that. He adored that little boy.
"Doctors said you've got at least a couple days on pure oxygen via the mask - " Vaughn scowled, earning him an even larger one from his friend. "With no complaints, Michael. After that, we'll talk about weaning you off of it. And yes, I said we. Do what you're told, buddy. It's for your own good. Oh, and your mom is due in later."
Vaughn paused, horrified. His mother had been brought in? He had planned to tell her… but only from a safe distance and after he had fully recovered and could dismiss his captivity as unimportant.
"I didn't know how you really were," Eric told him bluntly. "I called her as soon as I could, just in case. She'll be here in a few days."
Vaughn glared. Thanks, buddy. Thanks a lot.
Eric chuckled.
Jack Bristow did not pace. But he was.
Annoyed, he forced himself to lean against his desk. Sitting in a room with three other agency officials was making him miss field work more than he could ever say.
Enough was enough. As the door opened and the other three strolled out of the conference room, Jack put his pager on standby and began to head for the door, intent on quietly checking up on the young man that had almost paid the ultimate price out of love for his daughter. Again.
But as he opened the door, a blonde woman all but collided with him. "Excuse - " he started to say, automatically.
"It's okay," she chuckled. "My apologies."
Politely, Jack stepped aside and held the door for her. But even as he again turned to leave, Robert Lindsay's greeting stopped him short.
"Agent Reed!" the man called. "Welcome home!"
He was sleeping when he arrived.
Aaron Caplan darted up to the bed, perching himself on the chair next to the nice man. With huge brown eyes he studied "Mr. Mike" intently, grinning to himself when he realized that the man's cheeks were pink like Mommy's cheeks. Before, they'd been as white as the pillow behind his head.
Thrilled by his discovery, the five-year-old crawled onto the bed carefully. His Mommy would yell if she saw him, but it was so warm and comfy!
Being very, very gentle, Aaron gave the man a peck on the cheek, just below the mask. He then wrapped his arms around the man's neck, preparing to cuddle and sleep… and then bounced back, a small cry escaping him, when Mr. Mike opened his eyes and looked at him.
But his fear vanished when the man smiled at him. "Hello," Mr. Mike said. His voice was kinda funny-sounding, but to the little boy that had worried about him it was wonderful to hear.
"Hi Mr. Mike!" Aaron said. "Done taking a nap?"
"Yup," Vaughn answered, amused at the nickname. Eric, no doubt.
"I missed you," Aaron said seriously. "Everyone keeps going away! You're the first person to come back!"
"Sorry," he answered, wanting to say more but unable to do so. His throat still ached from the tube.
The little boy nodded solemnly, resting his tiny cheek against Vaughn's forehead. "Just don't do that again, Mr. Mike," he lectured, tiny finger pointed at him.
Vaughn fought not to laugh, which hurt too. Eric again!
"Aaron! Get down from there!"
"He's all right," Vaughn managed to tell her. Elsa's eyes widened.
"You're awake!" she said, genuinely pleased. She stepped forward, helping her son down and then taking his hand. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied automatically.
She nodded. "Right," she murmured. "Sorry. Um, listen…"
He waited, fighting against the heavy drugs that helped him heal… but also caused him to sleep more in one day than he would in a normal week.
Elsa scowled to herself when she saw his eyes fluttering. Excellent way to show gratitude, she lectured herself. Keep awake an injured man that should be sleeping!
"I wanted to say thank you," she said at length. "It sounds so inadequate… but I owe you so much, Mr. Vaughn."
He shook his head. He was so tired… but this needed to be said. "No," he said, voice hardly above a whisper. "You don't owe me anything."
She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. "But I do," she said quietly. "I - "
And then she looked at him, stopping in mid-sentence to smile. The man that would always be a hero to her family had completely drifted off.
"I'll pay back what you've lost because of us," Elsa swore to him, even though he wouldn't hear her. "Everything."
Glancing behind her, where Aaron stood shifting his feet impatiently, Elsa bent and kissed Vaughn lightly on the cheek. Partly out of gratitude, partly because… well, she had a five-year-old son.
"Mommy!" Aaron gasped in protest, throwing his hands over his eyes. "Ew!"
"Shush," she whispered, laughing. "Let's go out in the hall and wait for Mr. Eric to take us back to Mr. Mike's apartment, okay?"
Aaron stamped his foot. "I wanna wait here!" he protested. "We've always waited here before, Mommy!"
Elsa glanced nervously behind her, but Vaughn, best as she could see through the oxygen mask and other surrounding tubes and wires, remained asleep.
"We don't want to wake up Mr. Mike," she whispered. "That wasn't a concern before."
"Why?" Aaron asked, voice still at his normal pitch.
"Because I said so," she replied. "Shhhh. Come on."
Taking his hand, she started for the door, only to instinctively pull Aaron behind her back at the sound of loud voices.
"Miss, you can't go in there!" one of the marshals guarding Vaughn's closed door exclaimed, clearly audible through the wood.
Elsa frowned. "Wait here," she said to Aaron, lightly pushing him towards the chair.
"But you just said - " and then Aaron shrugged. "Okay!"
She tiptoed for the door, but the moment she opened it, a woman tried to step through. Elsa jumped back.
"Miss, I'm sorry, but Michael Vaughn's visitors must be approved in advance for security reasons," the other marshal explained as he caught her arm, frazzled.
"I care little for American protocol," the woman answered, shaking herself out of his grip. An accent was clearly audible. "I want to see my son, and I want to see him now."
"You're - " Elsa interjected, surprised.
"Amélie Vaughn," she introduced herself. "Michel Vaughn is my son. Stand aside."
"I thought I'd go check up on - "
"Agent Vaughn, of course," Lindsay interrupted. Kendall raised an eyebrow. Even he knew better than to cut off Jack Bristow.
"May I come?' Lauren asked him, genuinely relieved to hear the man's name. They have him back here already?
"Of course," Jack replied, gesturing for her to precede him. "I'll drive you myself."
With one last look at the Lindsay, Brandon and Kendall, Jack turned and held the door for her.
"Surely there's an exception," Elsa said to the guards. "She's his mother!"
"Anyone could say that, Mrs. Caplan."
"If your enemies have nothing better to do than ambush my son by pretending to be his mother," Amélie said hotly to the two marshals, "than I can just as easily say you are both moles! Stand aside, gentlemen."
"Hey! What's going on?"
They turned. Eric Weiss strolled down the hall, gaze livid.
"Can you guys at least close the door before you start yelling? The poor guy needs his rest!"
"Mr. Weiss," Amélie said dryly. "How's the law practice?"
"Mrs. Va - er, Madame Vaughn," he greeted her, sidestepping the question. "How's Mike doing?"
"I would know that," she replied, "if the sentries would let me in."
Weiss' jaw dropped. "You didn't let Mike's mom see him?" he asked the two guards incredulously.
"She wasn't on the list," one sputtered.
"I showed them my identification and the baby picture that was in my wallet," Amélie informed him, while Elsa fully stepped forward and closed the door to Vaughn's room. "And when that did not work, Agent Weiss, I offered to have blood taken for comparison."
Weiss grinned in spite of himself.
"I'm sorry," one beleaguered marshal sputtered. "But I still have to get authorization."
Amélie glanced at Eric. "May you - "
Weiss shook his head regretfully.
"I'll wait with you," Elsa offered, trying to soften the blow.
Amélie sighed, but nodded in resignation.
"So," Lauren said.
Bristow's attention on the road did not wane. "Ms. Reed?"
"How's Agent Vaughn doing? I admit, I expected him to be in a Spanish hospital."
"There were apparently security issues with that hospital," Jack said, deciding to trust her. She had saved Vaughn's life. "They treated him before but did not help him, even though they knew his circumstances."
Lauren lowered her eyes.
"So who are you to my son?"
"Oh," Elsa said. "I'm a friend, I suppose. I uh, work for a rival law firm."
"A rival law firm," Amélie repeated. This woman was a spy, but not for her son's CIA.
"Yes," Elsa said, flashing her a smile. "I hold your son in the highest regard, Madame Vaughn. He saved my case."
"Michel is quite the lifesaver," Amélie replied.
Elsa dropped her head, playing with her hands. I should be better than this, she thought. "When I heard about your son," she said to Amélie, "I felt somewhat responsible."
"Why?" the other woman questioned.
She shrugged. "I'm sure Michael - " the name felt odd on her tongue " - has told you about some of his cases?"
"Yes," Amélie replied, deadpan. "His work with criminals can be sometimes dangerous. Such is the price of being a defense attorney."
She knows, Elsa thought dryly. Everything thinks she doesn't, but this woman is no fool.
But the charade had to be maintained.
"Tell me about your little one," Amélie prodded, sensing Elsa's discomfort. She knows that I know the truth, bless her heart.
"Aaron?" Elsa raised an eyebrow, surprised she had noticed the boy in the midst of all the chaos. But then, the wife and mother of two spies was probably more observant than most. "He's - "
"Excuse me," a marshal cut in, "but you can go in now, ma'am."
"Another time," Amélie smiled, standing.
"Definitely," Elsa said, clasping her hand and rising too as Weiss shooed out Aaron.
"Mrs. Vaughn?" A man questioned as she stepped toward her son's door. She nodded to him but didn't stop.
"I'm Dr. Matthews and I've been treating Mr. Vaughn. May I come with you to describe his condition?"
"Of course."
"What are you doing?"
"Insuring you have clearance to enter," Jack replied, pulling out his phone.
Lauren nodded. She outranked even the Senior Agent, but access to the injured operative was rigidly limited to only a select few, regardless of status. "How's Agent Vaughn doing?"
"I don't know," he replied. "Agent Weiss' reports from the hospital have been sporadic. I do know he's no longer on a respirator."
Lauren raised an eyebrow at him. "You haven't been to see him yourself?"
"No."
Timidly, Amélie approached her precious child's bedside. Michel slept in sheer contentment, oblivious as a whole to the stress and dangers of his chosen profession.
For a long time she sat and watched him, holding his hand and listening to his even breathing and the light beeping of the machines. The doctor had heeded her request and held nothing back in describing his condition. For her to sit here, knowing what he had been through…
Ay, Michel, she thought, anguished. Why did he have to follow in William's footsteps? Why was he so set on sacrificing his own life for a country that would never know of his heroics?
Why did she know he was right to feel that way, even if it meant she lost him like she had his father?
He stirred in his sleep, murmuring a word she did not recognize. Sydney? Amélie squeezed his hand, soothing him in ways only a mother knew. "Vous êtes bien, bébé. Sommeil," she murmured. ("You are well, baby. Sleep.")
He obeyed without thought, subconsciously registering her presence. She smiled at him, proud beyond measure.
But she had almost lost him. Amélie swallowed hard, cupping his chin in her hand and standing to kiss him on both cheeks with French delicacy.
That had been close. Too close.
Her caresses were enough to wake him this time and she waited patiently, flashing her dimples at the accomplished agent that would always be a child in her eyes.
"Bonjour, mon petit," Amélie greeted her son. "Comment allez-vous se sentant?" ("Hello, my little one. How are you feeling?")
He was alert enough to roll his eyes at the nickname. After all, he usually towered over her! "Bonjour, maman. Je suis bien," he answered politely. ("Hi, mom. I'm fine.") His eyes fluttered again and he frowned. Damnit, why am I so tired?
She chuckled at what she knew he was thinking, reaching down with her free hand to tousle his hair. He automatically went to pull away in annoyance; a reflexive response to a game they had played for years.
But this time, Vaughn couldn't help a wince at the even miniscule movements. Alarmed, Amélie touched his shoulder. "Ne vous déplacez pas," she ordered. ("You do not move.")
He nodded, too tired to argue. She smiled again but he could see the tears in her eyes and it ripped him apart, knowing he was the cause for them.
"Maman," he said, needing to ask. No one else would or could answer him. "Avez vous - où est - Sydney?" ("Mom, have you - where is - Sydney?")
Amélie frowned to herself. What was Sydney? Who was she?
She looked down at her son, clearly seeing his anxiety for the woman he asked about. And another truth dawned on her… with Michel's clear worry for her evident, could she have something to do with his current condition in some way?
"Je n'ai pas," she answered, noting how his face fell. "Mais je suis venu vous voir," she hastened to assure him. ("I haven't. But I came to see you.")
He nodded, sighing deeply and closing his eyes again. His breathing gradually evened out and Amélie couldn't help but shake her head as he once more fell asleep. Her son could do that anywhere, anytime.
But then a commotion outside the door startled them both.
"Aaron!" the "lawyer" protested, following her son into the room. "Aaron, I told you no!"
"I wanna see Mr. Mike before I go!" the child protested. Both mothers sucked in their breaths when Aaron bolted onto the bed before they could intervene, jolting a startled Vaughn awake.
But thankfully, the child remembered himself and was very careful. "Goodbye," he said, giving him a ginger hug. "Sleep tight an' don't let the bedbugs bite!"
Vaughn handed him a brilliant smile. Neil Caplan is a very lucky man. "I will," he promised solemnly. "You, too."
Aaron nodded, hooking his pinky with Vaughn's left. "Okay!" he agreed.
"Take care," Elsa said to him, gathering up her son. Amélie rose to join them, kissing her son before doing so. He didn't react at all, fast asleep before they withdrew even a step.
"Agents Jack Bristow and Lauren Reed to see Agent Vaughn," Jack said to the two Marshals, surrendering his sidearm. Lauren shrugged, indicating she was unarmed.
"Good timing," one marshal said politely. "Agent Vaughn's mother just stepped out for a break, and we're only supposed to allow one person at a time. Doctor's orders."
"Oh," Lauren said, stepping back. "Agent Bristow, did you want to go first?"
"Actually," the same marshal intervened carefully, "Since Agent Bristow has already been to visit several times while Agent Vaughn was still comatose, I was going to let you in first, Agent Reed."
Studiously hiding any reaction to that information, Lauren squared her shoulders and strolled in the room, leaving Jack behind her to close the door.
Brandon glared at his 3 "allies," frustrated and confused.
"They were successful?" Kendall asked.
The NSA Deputy Director nodded.
Lauren grinned, relief flowing through her when she reached his side. Michael had color in his cheeks and appeared to be sleeping peacefully. He'll be fine.
She reached over, squeezing his hand. He stirred, opening tired green eyes. He enjoyed his visitors, but they were quite taxing on him.
"We have to stop meeting like this," she teased, keeping her voice pert.
He chuckled, breath fogging the inside of the oxygen mask as he grinned sleepily at her. "So you came back, too?"
"I did," she said agreeably. Too? "They're going to debrief me and such this 'arvo, but I wanted to see how you were."
"Fine."
"Clearly," she said, dropping the subject. She hesitated. He knows where Cole is. Would he tell me, if I asked?
"Hey - " Vaughn started to ask.
Not now, Lauren. "Hmm?"
He sighed, looking down the length of the bed. Lauren frowned, he looked rather dejected.
"Agent Vaughn?"
"I just - I know Sydney had to be debriefed, and she definitely should take some time to herself after everything… but I, well…" he flushed. I miss her.
For her part, Lauren rested a hand on his forehead. No fever…
"Agent Vaughn," she said, her tone that of a mother talking to a clueless child. "Agent Bristow is still out in the field. She's not in debrief."
Vaughn stared at her in abject horror, turning several shades of white. Impossible. Eric told me he rescued us both.
Didn't he?
Question of the Day: Was Weiss right to lie to Vaughn?