"We can wait a bit longer. Michel doesn't like me in there when they ready him for bed…" Amélie flinched. "And I don't enjoy seeing what was done to him, I admit."
She stood in the hospital gift shop, watching Elsa watch little Aaron run with tiny matchbox cars up and down the metal shelves.
"But you said he was doing better," Elsa reminded.
"He is," Amélie sighed. "But watching them change bandages… I should be grateful that he is healing properly, but to see my mon petit in pain, and then to fully see his injuries…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "And I wish I could say they just did that, but I also cannot stomach watching them strap him down like a nameless criminal. He told me not to fret, but he…" she shrugged helplessly. "He deserves better."
"Your son is a strong person and I'm honored to know him," Elsa said, knowing Amélie needed to let this out. "I have no doubt he'll be fine. He is fine."
Oblivious to the adults, Aaron ambled over and tugged on Amélie's jacket. "I have a question," he said, voice earnest.
And just like that, the somber mood broke. "Yes, precious?" Amélie inquired, sinking down gracefully to his height.
"Your name is pronounced funny," Aaron informed her. "Both of them."
"Aaron!" his mother choked out, horrified.
"I'm from a different country," Amélie said, fighting to hide her laughter. "So yes, my names may seem different."
"They're not different, they're weird," Aaron dismissed. "I want it easy!"
"What was your question?" the unflappable Amélie inquired, while Elsa buried her head in her hands.
"Can I call you…" he frowned, lips pursed in thought.
"Aunt Amy?" Amélie suggested. "If your mother approves, of course."
"Perfect," said mother managed to approve, bright red. Problem solved, Aaron went back to his cars.
"I am so sorry," Elsa groaned.
Laughing again, she waved her off. "Your little one reminds me of my Michel," she chuckled. "That's probably why Michel thinks so fondly of him."
"Speaking of Ag - of Michael, I was thinking Aaron could say good night to him before we dropped him off to Will?"
"Of course," Amélie smiled. "He's probably been all settled in for the night, so now would be the perfect time. Let's pay for Aaron's toys and then return upstairs."
"So I heard about Mike. How's he doing?"
Weiss shook his head, slouching in his chair. "You know, Craig, I don't get it."
The other agent sank down into Vaughn's chair, facing him. "Get what?"
"Okay, you know when I almost died?"
He nodded. "Darkness."
"Yes - wait, huh?"
Craig raised an eyebrow at him. "Mike told me."
Weiss was aghast. "I poured my heart out to him and he told someone?"
"It was a very moving speech!"
"Yeah, I know. Anyway, I spent like 3 months in the hospital, and was poked and prodded by like, every nurse and her mother. And I didn't get one phone number!"
"Poor you."
"And then here comes Mike, and I can't even look in on him without finding one nurse too many hanging around."
"So Michael's fine then?"
"According to the nurses he is," Weiss muttered, jealous. "Is there something wrong with me? One glimpse at him and the ladies run from me."
But Craig wasn't listening. Puzzled, Weiss followed his line of vision… and then bolted upright.
Mike strode toward them, dressed to the nines in standard Hugo Boss, with no hint he'd been lying in a hospital bed just an hour before.
"What are you doing here?" Eric hissed.
Vaughn ignored him. "Rick?" he called, not batting an eye when the man seemingly materialized out of nowhere, per usual.
"Good to see you," the tech greeted him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Vaughn replied. "Is Agent Reed somewhere in the building? Or Kendall? Or Jack?"
"Reed and Kendall are in a closed door debrief, but you can talk to Agent Bristow," Rick offered. "He's in a conference room listening to Sark's transmitter, I'll walk you."
"I'll walk him," Weiss intervened, grabbing his friend's arm and nodding in satisfaction when Vaughn winced as he pulled away. You shouldn't be out of bed yet, buddy.
Rick shrugged and walked off, leaving the three alone. Only then did Vaughn look at Weiss, who blanched at the anger in his eyes.
"Mike, my man!" Craig said into the tension. He moved to smack Vaughn on the back, remembered himself, and shook his hand instead.
Vaughn sighed, grip firm. "I'm not made of glass," he said dryly.
"You are on the court," Craig mused. "So I forgot you're not here. Sue me."
Awkward silence, while Weiss wondered at Vaughn's anger and Craig realized what was going on.
"Listen, good to see you," he said. "Catch you later, Daddy?"
"You bet," Vaughn smiled, clapping him on the arm.
Craig nodded and escaped, leaving the two of them alone.
"Michael - " Weiss started.
"You lied to me," Vaughn cut him off. "And you know what? I can understand why you did. But that doesn't change the fact that when I asked you about Sydney, you took advantage of my condition and lied to my face!"
"It was for- "
"Don't tell me it was for my own good! I'm not a child, Eric. I am fully capable of making decisions for myself!"
Weiss sighed. "You say that," he challenged. "But then you show up here! You should still be on oxygen, Michael. In bed. Not here and working yourself up over something you can't control anyway!"
Vaughn ignored him. "Where is she?"
"She?"
"Eric. I want to hear it from you, not a woman I hardly know."
He sighed, bracing himself. "She's still with Sloane."
Something in Vaughn shattered, though he held himself erect. "You told me you had pulled us both out. We had a whole chat on that, remember?"
"I did," Weiss agreed quietly. "Had I told you right away…" he grimaced. "Michael buddy, you may have banned me from your room, but I know you haven't been sleeping well."
Vaughn frowned, dropping his head and shifting his feet. As far as he was concerned, that was none of Eric's business.
"But when we brought you in… I meant what I said about your energy, and you were even more animated that day than anything you've done here while sleeping. Telling you then would have done more harm than good, and I stand by my decision."
"See, that's not a decision you can just make!" Vaughn hissed. "You had no right - "
A door opened, interrupting the two of them. Vaughn watched, still steaming, as a haggard-looking Jack stepped out and headed for his desk, apparently taking a break.
"Stay here," Vaughn ordered Eric, walking as fast as he could to join the man. The world abruptly spun and he halted, shaking his head to clear it from sudden dizziness. Weiss coughed unobtrusively behind him, wondering how much longer his friend would last before fainting in front of everyone. Serves him right for coming here, Eric thought childishly.
"I mean it," Vaughn snapped, once he'd collected himself again. Eric held his hands up in surrender. Warily, Vaughn turned and again headed toward Jack, though his movements were much slower. Weiss didn't bother to hide his smirk.
"I hope he's not already sleeping," Aaron whispered loudly. "I wanna show him my new cars!"
"You can wake him up if he is," Amélie promised, holding his other hand. She and Elsa grinned at each other over his head. "Just this once."
"Really?" Aaron bounced in between the adults, jumping up and down.
"Just this once," Elsa repeated. "Those are some pretty neat cars."
"I know, mom!" Aaron said, voice clearly asking where have you been? Amélie laughed again. How she loved this little family!
They rounded the corner to Vaughn's room, knowing the marshals wouldn't dare to enforce the one-visitor rule with Amélie Vaughn.
Neil bolted upright when they walked in. All three of the new arrivals froze, noting a certain agent's absence immediately.
"We released him, as per your orders."
Irina perched on a stool, scanning Neil's notes intently. She didn't bother to turn at the guard's words.
The man shifted his feet, wishing he hadn't drawn the short straw that had elected him to stand in her presence.
"Ma'am," he forced himself to say. "I don't mean to question you, but the prisoner knew about you and all of us… was letting him go wise?"
Still turned away from him, Irina didn't bother to aim when she suddenly pulled a gun out from her belt, held it behind her, and fired, the bullet gliding a few precious inches above his right shoulder to embed itself in the wall behind him.
The man froze, his mouth forming an 'o' of surprise.
"Do that again," Irina said, her back still to him as she replaced her pistol, "and next time, I won't miss."
"Ma'am," the man stammered, face as white as his t-shirt.
She turned to face him then, the hint of a smile on her lips. "I know what I'm doing," she said. "Always."
"Excellent," Sloane all but gushed.
He was allowed a moment of levity. After all, Sydney Bristow, who had once done all she could to handicap his efforts to explore Rambaldi's artifacts, had just handed him the key to the prophet's teachings on a silver platter.
"So Mr. Vaughn came through then," Sark said mildly into the silence.
Sydney stiffened. As far as she was concerned, no one in this room had the right to even mention his name. He was too good for all them, including her.
But Sark, standing right next to her as they looked down at Sloane and Emily, gave her a look.
Sydney, he thought, irritated. I'm trying to save his life for you! Pull it together!
"Indeed," Sloane mused, carelessly. He had the manuscript, anything else simply didn't concern him anymore.
"Arvin," Emily spoke up, voice full of steel.
Her husband forced himself to focus and smiled at her, draping an arm over her shoulder. "Relax, sweetheart. I never break a promise. He proved his value and has thus earned himself more time… provided Sydney has no objections?"
"What?" Sydney asked, thrown both by Sloane's promise assertion and what he was asking her. Sloane honestly thought she would want him to order Vaughn's death? Was she that good an actress?
Because if she was… Sydney repressed a shudder.
"As long as he is useful and cooperative," she heard herself say, as carelessly as Sloane had sounded earlier. "I will postpone my vengeance."
"We appreciate your magnanimity," Sark replied.
Sydney barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Sark seemed to be running hot and cold… joking and confiding in her one moment, and reminding her just what a heartless bastard he was the next. The younger man had made no secret of his disinterest in Vaughn's health, even though the ops officer was, by Kendall's orders, Sark's direct superior.
"Now you're mocking me," she snapped back.
Sark shrugged. "Yes," he agreed.
Jack didn't bother to look up when he became aware of someone standing in his shadow.
"You're on medical leave, Agent Vaughn."
No response. Jack sighed and glanced behind him, where his daughter's current arm decoration stood.
"That means you shouldn't be here."
"You're right," Vaughn snapped. "Sydney should be."
Jack sighed again, rising out of his chair. "At least sit down," he directed, gesturing toward it.
So you can tower over me? Vaughn wondered, even as he obeyed the order and moved to sit. The gentle movement traveled up and down his back, and he drew in a sharp, involuntary breath as lines of fire lanced up his spine. Painkiller's wearing off, he realized, dropping into the chair with far less grace than intended and perching himself on the very edge of the leather. Jack had yet to bat an eye, thankfully.
Though Vaughn doubted the man would have cared if he had noticed.
"You served your purpose," Jack told him bluntly. "Sark is now fully integrated into a partnership with Sloane. Sydney also established her cover. You were nothing more than an expendable distraction, and I will not risk my daughter's life in such a way. That's why I arranged for your rescue. Leaving you there meant I left a timebomb for her to foolishly blow her cover."
Vaughn hesitated. When Jack Bristow felt strongly about something, it was enough for all near him to either flee or nod stupidly and not dare to say a word in opposition.
But he was a man ruled by emotion, not logic. For the most part. So he forced himself to look up and meet the man's unreadable look with one of his own.
"You may have pulled me out, and I am grateful for that," Vaughn said at length. "But if by doing so you caused Sydney's death, I promise you Jack, I'll kill you myself."
And then, without another word, he stood up in one fluid motion that hid the pain he felt and walked away.
"Daddy!" Aaron exclaimed. "What're you doing in Mr. Mike's bed? Where's Mr. Mike?"
"A very good question," Amélie growled.
"Michael… stepped out," Neil said awkwardly. Mike's mother was even more frightening than an angry Elsa and that, well, was impossible.
"A man that was in a coma two weeks ago does not just 'step out'," Amélie gaped. "Where did my idiot son go to?"
Neil pulled himself off Vaughn's very comfortable bed reluctantly to join Elsa and Aaron. "He went to the firm," he lied, with the ease of a man that had lied to his wife from their very first date.
But Amélie scowled. She knew the truth, thanks much, and was not in the mood for more cover stories.
"Well, I'm sure Will Tippin would like to meet you," Elsa said to her husband, trying to fill the silence. "He's already offered to take Aaron for us."
"Where will we go?" Neil asked, eyebrow raised. She smiled, resting her head underneath his chin.
"Home," she all but whispered. "They have an escort waiting."
Neil flushed, draping an arm over his wife. He understood Amélie's worry for Mike, and didn't want to appear insensitive, but…
"Go," Amélie said, sinking into a chair by the empty bed.
"Oh, Amélie," Elsa said warmly. "We'll wait until Michael's whereabouts are confirmed."
Neil nodded. "Least we can do," he said, and Amélie glanced at him, acknowledging at his unspoken apology.
But then Vaughn's mother shook her head. "My son will reappear only when he chooses, and rest assured he will never leave this room again without my consent," she muttered, voice just above a growl. Even the guards outside the door stiffened to perfect attention at her tone. "Elsa darling, you just got your husband back. Now is not the time to concern yourself with my boy's foolishness. Go."
"All right," Elsa agreed, torn between desire to leave Aaron here and explore the empty room next door with her husband - their house was so far away and it had been so long! - and genuine worry for Vaughn. "But call us the moment you hear from him."
"I will," Amélie promised, underlying menace obvious. "Once he is settled in once more."
Neil grinned to himself. Wherever you are, kid, he thought, you have my pity when you come back and she gets her hands on you.
"Come on, honey," he said aloud, lightly pulling her and his son towards the door. "We'll come back and visit."
"When he's not sleeping!" Aaron insisted.
"Yes, of course," Neil drawled. "Evening, Madame."
"Have a good night," Amélie said, pasting on a smile.
Eric met Michael in the corridor, raising an eyebrow at his increasingly jilted breathing.
"I thought Jack was going to shoot you in the face," his friend drawled.
"He probably will," Vaughn muttered, frustration growing. Why did he feel like such a invalid? Why did everything have to hurt so much? And for that matter, why was breathing suddenly so difficult?
He glanced sideways, growling under his breath at the look Eric was giving him. "Not one word."
"I won't say just one," his friend replied, not bothering to hide his amusement. "Stop being stubborn, Mikey. You aren't ready to be out of the hospital and you just ran out of adrenaline."
Vaughn shook his head, instantly regretting it when dizziness registered. "I hate this," he said, then paused. Had he said that aloud?
Chuckling, Weiss stepped closer and lightly held his arm, insuring his friend wouldn't have to experience a humiliating faint in the Operations building. "Me too," he said. "Now. Can you handle a car ride from yours truly, or should we call someone?"
But Michael glared and tried to step away, though Eric immediately gripped him tighter. I'm helping you whether you want me to or not, Mike.
"I'm not going back to the hospital. I need to work on getting Syd home, and I can't do it from there."
"Oh, you're going back," Eric informed him when he bothered to stop laughing. "Even if I have to knock you out myself and call a 'chopper. And then I'll personally tell the doctor to keep you unconscious until you can leave. Your choice, idiot."
"But Sydney - "
" - would kick your ass if she saw what you were doing! This is not a debate, Michael."
"Eric - "
" - and if you tell me you're not a child, I know. Although, gotta say, most kids aren't this dumb. I wasn't. Now, are we going or do I need to find a brick?"
Vaughn sighed. Blood was beginning to soak through his bandages, and he could feel it dripping down his back. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
"Michael?"
"We're going."
"Good."
"My agreement with Emily means I have no contact with the Villa while we are here," Sloane informed them.
Sydney bit her lip. It wasn't like Sloane to put himself at a disadvantage like that. He really does love her, she thought, noting Emily's look of gratitude at her husband.
"I have some things I'd like to say to Va - to Mr. Vaughn, if I can," she said, thinking quickly. Sloane would probably send Sark otherwise, and Lord knew how that would turn out. "I can go back to the Villa and inform the guards of your decision."
But Sloane knew better. "Mr. Sark, accompany Ms. Bristow."
"Dr. Matthews! Any word?"
The man shook his head. A strand of graying brown hair, just long enough to make him seem unlikely for his profession, fell in his eyes. "I was about to ask you the same question, Madame."
Amélie clenched her hands into fists. They stood in Vaughn's room, the silent phone inches away from their grasps. "Foolish," she growled. "What was he thinking?" A new thought occurred to her and she snapped her head up, green eyes alarmed. "Will this set him back in his recovery?" Could he have damaged himself permanently in his stupidity?
"That we won't know until he decides to come back," the doctor answered. "But I must say, in all my years here… I've never seen a patient walk out like Mr. Vaughn did." He smiled, trying to calm the frantic mother. "Your son has tremendous courage."
"I know," she sighed. "I know."
They paused, Amélie again watching the phone and the doctor trying to think of ways to keep her occupied.
"I had planned to discuss with Mr. Vaughn his probable timetable," he blurted at length.
"Timetable?"
He nodded. "Considering his injuries… especially to his back… I had estimated his length of recovery in bed to last 8-10 weeks. Of course, that was before he took action that will possibly aggravate his wounds further." He inclined an eyebrow, genuinely impressed. "To be honest, I didn't consider him capable of sitting up unassisted for more than an hour, let alone leaving on his own power."
Amélie laughed to herself. "You say 8 to 10 weeks? Médecin Matthews, with all due respect, my son will fuss about 8 days, let alone even a couple of weeks. He has what I believe you Americans refer to as White Knight Syndrome, and simply will not allow himself the chance to heal until he rescues his damsel."
"Yes," the doctor, long a trusted practitioner for injured CIA Agents and with clearance that rivaled even Vaughn's replied, amused. "I suspected that. But my duty supercedes his, I'm afraid."
"Oh?"
"My duty is to ensure your son returns to full health. If he himself wishes to interrupt that process again, well…" he smirked, feeling years younger, " I'm afraid I outrank him, so to speak. Once he arrives and you are finished with him, Madame, I have every intention of reminding him who issues the orders in my hospital."
"Hypothetically speaking, of course," Amélie drawled.
"Of course," he answered. He leaned in closer to her, dead serious. "Madame, I know he objected to needles of any kind after he awoke, probably because of something he experienced while a captive. But I have already requested a light sedative that I'll run through a constant IV line. Until he shows he is as concerned about his health just as much as we are…"
"I'm his mother," Amélie said quietly. "If he protests… I'll authorize it myself."
Dr. Matthews nodded, relieved. It was something that would never happen in a normal hospital… but he was under orders from four different agencies to have the spy back to field-ready status as soon as possible. If worst came to worst, he could somehow convince Amélie Vaughn to take a breather and explain what was really going on to the agent himself. In fact, he'd probably do that anyway.
"I'm going to head down to the lobby and pass some time," Amélie said. "If Michel was going to call me, he would have done so."
"I'll ready the needle and get him a gown," he said as she left.
"Do they suspect anything?"
"No sir," Lauren said, almost thankful that she could get this over with. Kendall had stepped out, leaving the two of them alone. "Sark, Sloane and even Derevko never once questioned me."
"Excellent," Lindsay mused. He smirked to himself. "What about the rest of them?"
She gritted her teeth. "The CIA never did so, either."
"Michel!"
Amélie's voice filled the hospital lobby, and Vaughn groaned. Lightly holding his arm so he stayed upright and striving to avoid touching his back, Weiss chuckled. "You earned this, buddy."
"Idiot enfant!" Amélie exploded, bodily taking Vaughn from Weiss. He flinched, his mother's rage swirled around her in palpable waves. "Où avez-vous été?" ("Idiot child! Where have you been?")
"I - " he started, trying to pull his arm away as she hustled him toward the elevator. Eric followed, chortling to himself.
She tightened her grip, genuinely not concerned about hurting him at the moment. "J'ai été inquiété, garçon!" ("I was worried, boy!")
"Je n'ai pas souhaité cela, maman," Vaughn sighed. ("I didn't wish that, Mom.")
She ignored him, pulling him inside when it dinged. Still amused, Eric pressed the button that would return him to his room.
"Maman, vraiment - " Vaughn tried again. ("Mom, really - ")
"How did you think I would react?" Amélie retorted in flawless English, finally noticing they were not alone in the elevator. "Michel Christopher Vaughn, you cannot just leave the hospital when it suits you!"
"I just wanted - "
"I came to find you gone," Amélie hissed to him. The doors slid open and she hustled him down the hallway with a look that dared him to object. He gulped and studied the floor. "You claim to be an adult, yet you attempt this rubbish!"
How did she always manage to leave him feeling like an unruly five year old?
"Maman, I just wanted to learn - "
They had arrived, and she tugged him inside none-too-gently. "Get undressed," she ordered, tossing a clean hospital gown at him from where it lay waiting on the bed. He caught it reflexively and then forced himself to hide a gasp as the movements pulled on his back. "And then I will find Dr. Matthews. He had some words to say to you, as well."
Great.
"This is where I leave you both," Weiss spoke up, startling the pair. "Mike - " he started. Vaughn raised an eyebrow, green eyes still far from friendly. "I am sorry," he said at last.
Vaughn nodded. "I know," he sighed.
Their friendship restored, Weiss left to sounds of Amélie fussing over her son, helping him undress and carefully climb back onto his heavily-pillowed bed.
It's too quiet.
Sydney strolled into the Villa with the cat-like confidence she had inherited from her parents. Much to her chagrin Sark glided alongside her, staying easily in step.
"Much too quiet," the younger man said, frowning.
She scowled at the echo of her thoughts, even as she scanned the perimeter. Sloane had left Lauren and six men to guard Vaughn, having learned the hard way to never underestimate him. Where was everyone?
"Go find the staff," she ordered Sark. "I'll go check on Vaughn." Because he's okay, she added silently to herself. This doesn't look good, but it doesn't matter. He's fine.
But he didn't move from her side, crossing his arms lightly over his shirt. "You need me to open the doors, Agent Bristow. They respond to my voice."
Glaring furiously, Sydney gestured for him to precede her. The walk to the cellar door and down the stairs took an eternity.
Stepping closer to the door, Sark tossed a smirk over his shoulder. "For what it's worth," he said, "I fail to see any urgency."
She gave him a look that would have melted steel, a look mastered by her parents. Suddenly understanding, he turned and hastily held the doors open for her. She stepped through immediately.
And then froze.
The bed was empty.
Sydney stared with primal terror at the blood-dotted, empty cot. I left him here! Helpless! Vulnerable! And then her mind caught up with her. With that guard!
She whirled on Sark, hands curling into fists. "The guard - Diego," she growled. "Where is he?"
Vaughn closed his eyes. Nurses had come in to replace his oxygen, seen his condition and offered him pills, blessedly helping to mute the inferno that was once was his back, but the pain was still there. Plus, he was bleeding all over the pillows. The back of his suit jacket and shirt, which his mother had helped him take off, had been drenched with the sweet/sour mess.
Not a good idea, at all.
His mother sat beside him, of course. She'd tried to hold his hand, something soothing regardless of age, but that had required him moving. Which had hurt. A lot. So he lay there, jaw clenched and eyes half-closed, trying to ignore the fact that one glance of unmasked terror from his Maman hurt more than any number of blows from a metal-lined leather strap.
Footsteps sounded outside his door, and the hospital's chief-of-staff, David Matthews, appeared seconds later. The man was holding something in his hands, but Vaughn had to move to see what it was, making that possibly the lowest possible thing on his list of priorities. For the time being, he was spent.
"Madame Vaughn," the doctor said, deciding to get this over with. "May I speak to my patient alone, please?"
She hesitated, meeting his gaze. "Of course," she murmured, rising.
Dr. Matthews waited until he knew she was gone before approaching the bed. "Agent Vaughn?"
Vaughn raised an eyebrow. Interesting. As far as the doctor should have been concerned, he was a lawyer! "My name's Michael," he said. Lord! Even talking pulled at his back.
"My name's David," he said, still standing an arm-length away. "But you can call me Sir."
"Oh?"
"I'm retired now," he said. "But I was a senior agent at the Agency for more than twenty years, and I kept my clearance via my medical doctorates when I came to work here."
Vaughn sighed. Smart there, Mike. Of course Kendall would have arranged for him to be in a CIA-sanctioned hospital.
He was so annoyed at his lapse in common sense, and still in too much pain to even open his eyes, that he failed to notice that the man had stepped closer. One decisive daub later, he jerked at the feeling of a needle in his arm.
"What - " he started to protest.
"My orders are to have you recover as fast as possible," the doctor informed him. "And well, Agent Vaughn, so far you are the biggest obstacle towards those orders."
Vaughn shook his head wildly, ignoring the pain that caused. "I made it clear - "
"I'll keep this low enough so that it doesn't force you to sleep, but will act as a painkiller and probably encourage you to sleep," David said, ignoring him. "And it will stay that way until you realize you're no good to anyone until you get well."
"You can't drug me without my consent!" Vaughn gaped.
"This is a CIA hospital, and like I said, I outrank you," David growled. "And on a personal note, son, your mother and your friends were scared shitless. Part of being a doctor is protecting all life, and that includes their mental health."
"But - " Vaughn was beyond outraged, though more at himself than anyone else. He's right and you know it.
David responded by starting the drip. True to his word, he kept it light. Vaughn drew in a breath as the serum simply washed away any pain he felt. The heavy weariness that set in moments later seemed a small price to pay.
"I'll get nurses to deal with your back," David said. "Probably another gown, new bedding, new bandages, the works."
But he didn't reply. The world swirled in front of Vaughn's eyes, his suddenly agony-free existence almost too much of a relief.
Dr. Matthews smiled to himself, watching as Vaughn fully drifted off. He'd have the nurses turn up the sedative while they worked, but then turn it back down. He had promised, after all.
"And stay there," he muttered under his breath as he left the room.
"I - " Sark started to say, annoyed at being questioned. As beautiful as Sydney was, even she could push him too far. I don't know, Sydney.
"I am here," an accented voice said. Both Sark and Sydney whirled, Sydney's hand flying to her gun in the process.
"You hurt him," Sydney said, trembling with rage.
"He killed my brother," the guard snapped back, limping into the room. "He deserved what I gave him, and then some!"
"Sydney - " Sark warned. The man was taking advantage of her distraction to pull a spare gun free from behind his back…
An effort that died. Without blinking, Sydney launched herself off the side of the cot, brutally tackling Diego. He twisted under her, fighting to get free.
But stopped short, body turning to stone when she cocked the gun and pressed it underneath his chin.
"I knew this," Diego mocked. "The Agent's friends came and took him. And not as a prisoner, but as an ally. And when I tell Sloane about all of you…" he included a disinterested Sark in his gaze, "you will all pay."
"You think so?" Sydney smiled.
Inside, however, she was adrift in a chaotic, uncontrollable sea of emotion. Relief for Vaughn - Weiss got him. He's home. He's safe. - Anger - This sonofabitch thinks he can hurt my boyfriend and just walk away! - Duty - My cover could already be compromised. Killing him could only seal my own death - Love - Vaughn, I love you. I love you so much! I will tell you that soon. - Revenge - Everything you did to him I'll do to you. - Guilt - I can't kill a man in cold blood! - Confusion - Where do I go from here? - Resignation - If I don't kill him, he'll either kill me or make sure I die.
So she pinned him down even more securely with her knee, closed her eyes, and pulled the trigger.
Up next: There are always consequences when one threatens Jack. Nice going, Vaughn.