Dixon jumped a mile when Sydney's voice suddenly rang out. Jack had never put the stet phone down, but he had never thought she would try to contact anyone now, after her father had left.
"B-ops reads you," he said after scrambling to find it. "B.S. accounted for but not present. Package is in hand."
In Tuscany, Sydney ducked her head with tears of relief in her eyes as she recognized Dixon's voice. Vaughn was indeed home, and probably in the hospital.
"Copy," she said into the phone. "All is well. Stet."
And then she disconnected, heart simply flying with relief.
"As the top-ranked people in this room," Lindsey preened, "Agent Reed and I will be leading the questioning. During the debriefings of Sydney Bristow, the Caplans and Ms. Reed, a variety of holes appeared that we need you to fill in. I decided that enough time on your end had passed for us to do this. Should you agree, of course." It sounded polite enough, but no one believed the NSC Director was requesting anything.
"Okay," Vaughn answered slowly. He tried to pull himself up a little, but a pointed glare from Eric and protestations from his ripped-open wounds dispelled that notion instantly. Resigned, he relaxed once more. Besides, Lauren and Lindsey both sat next to him on his right and Jack and Kendall perched themselves to his left, all four easily in his immediate vision range. And they were arguably the people he most needed to pay attention to, anyway.
Weiss, Brandon, Devlin and a pretty dark-haired woman filled out the horseshoe formation, forcing him to look down the length of his body to see them. As that was hard to do from his prone position, he decided not to worry about them too much.
"Of course, should this get to be too much for you," Lauren added into his thoughts, "please tell us. This is not an official debrief, and your recovery is priority." She flashed him a dimpled smile, sensing his unease and trying to calm him. He smiled back without thought. You're a very good actress, he thought towards her.
Watching silently, Jack frowned to himself. Something was not quite right with Reed, and the look in Vaughn's eyes all but gave it away.
"All right, no need to waste any more time," Lindsay said, taking control once more. "I suspect you're familiar with most of the people here, Agent Vaughn. You know my name as well if you were paying attention; the people you might not know are NSA Deputy Director Frederick Brandon and Special Projects Division Leader Carrie Bowman."
He nodded to them out of habit, a gesture returned by both. Bowman flashed him a soft smile.
"Your foolhardy intervention in Agent Reed's raven work and the kidnapping of NSA Agent Neil Caplan caused all of us to pool our resources. Our endgame is to take down Sloane and Derevko."
Vaughn nodded again, clenching his hands into fists underneath the blankets. The NSC Director couldn't be more offending if he tried.
"Agent Vaughn, what do you know about the supposed doomsday device Caplan was building?" Lindsey began.
"Not much," he answered. "We weren't sure what it was. I assumed it was a weapon, but we had no way of confirming that. I really can't add anything to what Neil has told you, I couldn't even see his notes from where they put me."
Lauren nodded to herself, carefully documenting his answer with both a tape recorder and written notes.
"All right," Lindsey continued. "The weapon will supposedly be activated on a certain day. In his debrief, Caplan noted Rambaldi's obsession with the number 47, and assumed that date would correspond with it somehow. Can you offer any further details?"
"No," Vaughn replied, lost.
"Were they aware of Caplan's Intelligence affiliation?" Brandon spoke up, ignoring Lindsey's pointed glare.
"As far as I know, no," Vaughn answered as he craned his head to make eye contact with the NSA Deputy Director, relieved he could finally be of some help. "Caplan hid it well. I only deduced he was not a civilian when he made an offbeat comment on my rank that only operatives would think about."
"Did anyone hear his comment? What was it?"
"I introduced myself with my full title and he stated that I was rather young for my position. The only person to hear us was a guard that I shot while escaping the first time, sirs."
"How did you end up in this condition?" Eric asked, keeping his voice mild. Everyone else was firing questions at him.
Vaughn stared at the ceiling, knowing his stoic facade would disappear if he looked at his friend as he answered. "The guard I killed… when we implemented the op, I ended up in the custody of that guard's brother and Agent Reed, whom I didn't know was an operative at that time. He chained me to a wooden high-back chair and started with two leather, metal-lined straps and later, salt or soda water."
Sitting at the head of the bed, Devlin flinched. Agent Vaughn was one of his most talented operatives, and had accomplished much in spite of his relative youth. For him to have to endure that…
"The straps served as restraints around my chest and legs as well, and my thrashing from that worked a piece of the metal free and skewered my left lung, which is apparently my most severe injury." Vaughn's voice was almost a monotone, he could have been reciting numbers from a phone book rather than accounting his torture for an audience, for all the emotion he was displaying.
Lauren swallowed hard, remembering those times well. Eric closed his eyes in horrified disbelief.
"Did he ask you anything?" Devlin broke in, drawing everyone's attention back to the interview and sparing the ops officer any further humiliation from a possible Lindsey follow-up on his reactions and the like.
"No. He wanted revenge."
"And Agent Vaughn was gagged during the liquid torture," Lauren spoke up, scribing both his answer and her addendum. Vaughn's jaw clenched, not enjoying appearing weak in a roomful of superiors.
But then, you're already lying flat in a gown with oxygen and an IV, Mike, he thought dryly. So you kinda lost that battle.
"You should know, Agent Vaughn, that Sark's cooperation has continued past your initial op," Jack said into the silence, watching him carefully. "In fact, just before our conversation in Operations, he argued with Sloane to spare your life."
Vaughn raised an eyebrow. They couldn't know yet that he had been rescued… which made Sark's benevolence very odd indeed.
"Did Mr. Lazarey, otherwise known as Mr. Sark, give you any reason at all to not trust him? Any reason at all to arrest him with Sloane when we reach that stage?"
Of course, Vaughn thought. He's working for Derevko. He opened his mouth to answer Lindsey's question - and then paused. Jack stared at him, clearly trying to communicate.
"Mr. Vaughn?"
"Sorry," he lied. "Dizzy for a moment." Jack's pointed stare continued. Jack, I don't know what you're doing, but I know it will ensure Sydney's safety and that's enough for me.
"Mr. Vaughn?" Lindsey's impatience was back.
"All right, that's enough," Weiss said when his friend didn't reply, still simmering that they would do this to him in the first place.
"It's all right, I'm fine," Vaughn assured him. He drew in a breath. "No, sir. Sark has proven himself to be reliable, so far."
Unnoticed by all, Jack nodded his thanks. You'll do much more than that later, Jack. I just covered for the kid working for my father's murderer.
Then a real wave of dizziness slammed into Vaughn and he blinked, frowning to himself as the world swam in and out of focus. The syringe, he realized.
And Lindsey was talking again. Forcing back his sudden weariness, he tried to tune in.
"… correct, Agent Vaughn?"
"Sorry?" he asked. Dr. Matthews and him would have quite an interesting chat later.
"I said…"
Again, the world seemed to tilt.
"Agent Vaughn?" Lindsey leaned forward, waiting for an answer.
"One more time," he sighed. "Please."
"We're done here," was the response, as Lauren pointedly closed her notebook. Lindsey scowled, annoyed at the lack of productivity, but he could hardly blame Vaughn for that. Not that he wouldn't.
"My apologies, Agent Vaughn," Lauren continued, rising. "This was a mistake. We won't disturb you like this again."
"Indeed," Devlin muttered from where he sat at the foot of the bed, glancing at Lindsey in irrritation. "Get some rest, son."
"Sir," Vaughn responded automatically. Weiss stepped up, lightly squeezing his arm before following all but one visitor out of the room.
Jack lagged behind, picking up the syringe the doctor had left on the table behind Vaughn's bed and taking note of the effects. Light sedative when mixed with what he's already being given, time delayed, fast acting when it sets in, short timespan of effectiveness, he thought, amused. Classic Dave Matthews.
"I owe you an explanation another time," he said to Vaughn, who was already half asleep.
"You do," Vaughn asserted, eyes closed. His breathing evened out moments later, the drug working quickly as he fell back asleep.
"It was an emergency meeting for a client Mr. Vaughn was defending," Jack heard David saying, approaching the door. "But it's over now, and I can guarantee he's resting."
"Emergency meeting," Vaughn's mother repeated as they walked in. Jack sighed. Another encounter with William's wife, which was awkward just because of her name, was not something he had wanted to repeat.
"Monsieur Bristow," Amélie drawled. "Bonjour."
"Heya Jack," David drawled.
"David," he greeted. "Madame."
"You two know each other?" Amélie inquired, even as she headed over to check on her son. While she ran a hand through his hair, Jack and David exchanged glances.
"Our paths crossed," David answered for both of them. "Once or twice."
"Indeed," Jack agreed shortly. "I'm due back at the firm."
"I'll walk you out," David offered. Jack nodded. Amélie watched the two of them with interest.
"Good day," Jack said to her.
"Good day."
"Well, that was a waste of time," Lindsey scowled, storming into a conference room with all the subtlety of an elephant. "We don't know anything we didn't already! One would think Agent Vaughn would - "
"Would what?" Lauren retorted. Her heels clicked on the floor as she followed him in and closed the door. "You know as well as I do that was a horrible idea. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he was even willing to answer questions in his condition!"
"You forget your place," he snapped. "I could report you for talking back to me!"
She glared right back, taking a reflexive step closer to him. "I will not be blackmailed, Lindsey. Have you forgotten what you are doing? Report me and I report you. They'd give me a medal, but you?" She smiled at him, though her eyes remained hard. "If they were merciful, they'd have you shot. But the Americans seem to enjoy letting bastards like you rot in a cell for the rest of your life."
Her smile faded.
"I must say, I eagerly await the moment seeing the look on your face - " she hissed " - when you know it's time to pay for what you've done. To your country and to me."
"Neil?" Elsa whispered.
He leaned in closer to her, kissing her on the shoulder. They snuggled together on the couch, watching television and taking simple joy in each others' presence.
"Hmm?" he murmured.
"We really do need to talk," she reminded him.
"I know," he sighed.
She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping. "No matter what you may think of me for lying to you," she forced out. "I would have done anything to bring you home."
He rolled over to face his wife, cupping her cheek in his right hand. "I know," he said again. With ginger caution, he brought his other hand up to wipe away her tear. "We'll have lot to figure out, but I don't think either one of us are in a position to pass any judgments."
She started to cry in earnest then. So did he.
"I love you, she choked.
"I love you, too," he replied firmly.
And then they lost themselves on the couch.
The wresting arena was packed, a sold-out crowd watching the ring with eager eyes. The aroma of beer, hot dogs and sweat wafted through the air. Amidst wild cheers, David Matthews waded out to the center of the ring and grandly rose his arms in the air.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" he crowed. "Tonight, the match of all matches commences! On one side, we find Michael "Boy Scout" Vaughn; former handler, victim of Irina, Jack's protégé, and current love interest of Sydney!"
The crowd cheered, screams intensifying when the seasoned agent flung off off his robe and waved, flexing his muscles for the women watching.
"And on the other side, we have Sydney "Mountaineer" Bristow! Former double agent, Jack and Irina's daughter, as well as daughter to the woman that killed Boy Scout's father and current arm decoration of Michael!"
The crowded screamed louder, if that were possible. Sydney bowed theatrically, coughing a little at the cigarette smoke that permeated the arena.
"I won't tell you to be careful," Dr. Matthews said to them. "Mainly because all three of us know I won't be listened to. But if I feel that either of you aren't up to this, I'll order you to stop and will expect you to do so. Clear?"
Sydney and Vaughn nodded.
"Well, then," he exclaimed, drawing a pistol and firing into the air. "Let the match begin!"
Sydney moved in first, mainly because she knew Vaughn never would. Her speed was a far cry from normal, and her blows were hardly a projection of her normal strength. This was supposed to help Vaughn, after all.
But her protective boyfriend, realizing what she was doing, caught her by the arm, spun her around and sent her hurtling to the floor with ease, catching her in his arms before she hit the ground. The crowd stopped, torn between cheering for his obvious skill and booing at him for him helping his opponent. Vaughn ignored them.
"Holding back won't help me," he told her, breathing in gulps of air from effort while she gaped. Sydney knew he had training in physical conduct, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd been so easily beaten. Even if she hadn't been fighting with all her strength.
Sydney shook her head. "I don't want to hurt you, Vaughn."
He glared. "I am so tired of that sentence. Sydney, I wouldn't have suggested we spar if I thought I didn't have a chance. Trust me, all right? Don't hold back."
She swallowed, studying him. "I won't let you touch the floor," she promised at last. "But fine. I'll give you all I have."
He nodded to her. "Likewise."
And off they went, their movements a mixture of highly-trained martial art talents and simple ballroom dancing. Sydney lashed out first again, sweeping her leg into his ankles and knocking him flat - but lunging forward and catching him by his collar before he could fall. Vaughn followed that with a cross punch to her chest, grabbing her shirt at the same time and literally spinning her upright once more.
And then her eyes hardened.
Before he could blink or react, Sydney dove at him with a hard scissor kick that threw him brutally to the ground. He gaped, yelping as the impact seared his back. Blood flew everywhere, as though his back was nothing more than a popped water balloon.
She moved to stand over him, smiling. Some of his blood landed on her teeth as it flew around him, and she took her own sweet time to lick it off. Terrified, Vaughn looked for David. The doctor watched from off to the side, hands casually in his pockets.
Sydney knelt by him then, hatred clear. "This is all your fault," she mocked. "You let them torture me!"
"No!" he protested.
She slapped him.
"She's right, you know."
Vaughn whirled, breathing speeding up. His mother appeared on his other side, no hint of an accent in sight.
"I lost the man I loved," Amélie told him. "And you are all I have left."
She sneered at him.
"What a waste."
"Mr. Will!" Aaron yelled.
He flew into Vaughn's guest room clad only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, alarmed at the little boy's tone.
"What, kiddo?"
Aaron pointed at the floor, all but shaking from fear.
"'bider!" he whimpered.
Huh? Spider? Puzzled, Will stepped closer and leaned down to scan the floor.
And then jumped back.
"Black Widow," he said aloud. Yuck.
"It was on my caaaars," Aaron wailed, pointing to the matchbox cars on his pillow. "So I hit it to make it go away!"
"You what?" Will asked, torn between pride for the boy's bravery and sudden fear. Which was well-founded.
"And it bit meeeee!" he sobbed, holding out his tiny left hand. It was already swelling, two bright red splotches flanking the bite.
Will ran a hand through his hair, shocked. "Well shit," he muttered.
Sydney all but floated down the stairs. Sark rose when he saw her, having sank down on a chair while he waited.
"I take it you received confirmation?" he inquired, bemused.
She stared at him. "Sark, what do you want?"
"Sorry?"
"All of this," she spelled out. "One moment you're joking with me, the next you're the cocky little son of a bitch I know you to be. What is this? What are you after?"
He hesitated, hands in his pockets as he stared at his feet.
And then he stepped over, leaned in, and kissed her.
"An ambulance is on the way, sir. Do you want me to stay on the line?"
"Yeah," Will babbled into the phone. "No. Uh, can I talk to Dave Matthews?" It was the only name he knew.
Aaron buried his head into the older man's chest, still tired. His bite wound, thoroughly cleaned and disinfected by Will, had been covered with a boring band-aid. Sydney's longtime friend fought to hide alarm, the little boy was already sweating and breathing irregularly. Both refused to look at the floor, where the captured and very much alive spider looked up at them from inside the glass cup it was contained in.
"My hand hurts," Aaron whined.
"Hang on, kid," Will soothed, hugging him closer.
"Dr. Matthews is tending to another patient," the operative said. "But we will have someone waiting."
"Right, okay," Will replied. "Uh, we can disconnect. I have to call his parents."
They were in a meadow, for lack of a better word. Vaughn looked around, admiring the bright and sunny day. Birds chirped, rabbits played, a light breeze whistled through the tall grass…
"What are you looking at?" Sydney giggled. "Focus, Mr. Super Spy."
He laughed at himself, shaking his head. "Sorry," he apologized. She set the picnic basket down and he reached over to open it. "What's on the menu?"
"It's a surprise," she whispered to him throatily.
He raised an eyebrow, snatching her hand when she grabbed the other side of the lid and pulling her over to him
She giggled again, leaning against and into him
"I love you," he told her, resting his head on her shoulder.
Sydney rested her head on his, pulling the basket over to them by her feet and opening the lid. Only then did he realize the back of her white t-shirt was soaked with what could only be bright red blood.
"Syd!"
But she ignored him, reaching into the basket. Her smile remained as she pulled out a metal-lined leather strap.
"Sir!"
Logging the disaster that the NSC had called "informal questioning" and absently reminiscing about the wonder that was sleep, Kendall jumped a mile.
"Rick?" he said, fighting to regain control. "What's up?" And could you knock or make noise somehow, instead of just appearing?
"An ambulance was just called to Agent Vaughn's home. It was routed to a non-CIA hospital since we weren't contacted first. I had it sent to the naval hospital and requested Dr. Matthews to stand ready."
He sighed, running a hand over his head. "Who was there?"
"Tippin and the Caplan boy. Apparently one of them has a poisonous bite."
"Of course," he groaned. Can anything else go wrong these days? "Well done, Rick. Tippin knows too much and the boy could still be a target. Arrange for a deputy."
"Yes, sir."
Astonishment filtered through Sydney, almost overriding her control over herself.
Almost.
Without hesitation, she pulled herself forcibly away and slapped him. Hard.
"So that's what this is about?" she sputtered, outraged.
"No," he answered, rubbing his cheek. "That was an impulse. I've always wanted to know how it would feel to kiss you."
Her jaw dropped, aversion and disbelief warring within her. "Try that again," she growled, "and I'll kill you."
He nodded. "I have no doubt, Agent Bristow. Rest assured it was a one-time experiment."
If anything, her rage increased. "You insipid little… not if you were the last - "
"I'm off to call Sloane and check in," Sark interrupted carelessly.
And then he left, leaving her staring after him, shoulders trembling in anger and disgust.
Irina paced across the floor of her hideaway, impatience making her restless. The fact that her daughter was currently in Arvin Sloane's vicinity sent anger through every pore of her body.
Enough. Irritated, she pulled out her phone and dialed.
Jack answered on the first ring.
He lay on a chair.
Not just any chair. Straps bound him with cruel efficiency, and an IV was in his arm. The drug poured into his vein, keeping him docile and helpful to his captors. He shivered rather harshly; the dark room was cold enough to pucker his bare skin.
And then the door opened. Vaughn looked up, bracing himself. Two masked people walked in, eyes amused behind their masks.
"This will be fun," the first tormentor said, and Vaughn froze. He would know that voice if he lost his ability to hear.
"Yes," agreed the other woman, this time characterized by a light French accent. She stepped closer to loom over him, smirk obvious through the black ski mask.
The first speaker, brown hair laying smoothly in a circular pattern on her shoulders as the mask held it in place, moved to his side. A syringe was injected moments later and he spasmed helplessly against the restraints. Whatever venom had been in that needle felt like liquid fire. His mouth opened in a silent scream. He could feel the drug invade every vein of his body.
"You've done far worse to me," the older torturer chuckled, watching in unhidden delight. "All those sleepless nights, Michel. You think I can forgive?"
"Maman," Vaughn gasped out. Another needle was forced into his skin, and another thrash sent waves of agony up his back. He stifled a sob, naked body wrenching against the straps uncontrollably.
"Votre maman est ici, mon petit," a new voice, calm but underlined with terror that matched his own, interjected. ("Your mommy is here, baby.")
No, not a new voice. An old one, one he would also know if he lost his ability to hear. His forehead furrowed in thought, fighting to ignore the pain and figure out why he heard his mother say two different things.
"Il est un cauchemar se, Michel!" one mother persisted, even as the other joined Sydney in torturing him. "Réveillent!" ("It is a nightmare, Michael! Awake!")
And then he did so, struggling for breath. Lights glared in his eyes and he tried to shy away, wrenching his body away from wherever the brightness was coming from. Only to realize that a haggard-looking David and both of his federal marshal guards held him down, their postures suggesting they had done so for quite a while.
"Facile, mon petit," Amélie soothed from somewhere behind them all. ("Easy, little one.")
He blinked, body relaxing against their holds. The three of them exchanged relieved glances.
"Welcome back," David drawled, releasing him. His guards followed suit.
Vaughn shook his head, infinitely weary. "What - "
"If I knew what that was, I think I could retire," the doctor interrupted, wiping sweat off his brow and flexing tired arms. Amélie rushed to return to his side, studying her son closely.
"Listen," David continued. "I promised that the light dosage on the IV was as far as I'd go, and I meant it. But at night, with your agreement, it might make sense to render you completely under. If anything, it would force me to visit the weight room again instead of coming here to strengthen my upper body."
The doctor kept his tone light, though his worry was genuine. Vaughn's thrashing had been so extreme that even the restraints had been of little use. It had taken three grown men and one mother to get him under control.
"Okay," Vaughn stammered, still thrown. "Makes sense."
"Great," he said. "I'll get someone to clean you up - you're never gonna heal at this rate, son. And then I'll come back and we'll witness the miracle of drugs. I plan on sleeping until noon or so - and you will, too."
And then he yawned and left, shooing the guards in front of him, leaving the Vaughns alone.
The sound of a telephone ringing cut through the haze of early morning with all the subtlety of a siren.
"Neil, get the phone," Elsa mumbled.
Her husband didn't reply. Arms wrapped around his wife, head buried on her shoulder, he was currently having the best sleep he'd had in his entire life. She frowned at herself when she remembered what he had been through. Turning over to kiss him, Elsa pulled herself free reluctantly and stumbled around the room, looking for the cordless and almost tripping over it as a result.
3:07, the green display read. "Hello?"
"Elsa?"
"Will?"
"Elsa, it's about Aaron."
"I need a nurse and a wardrobe change for our favorite guest," David said as he drummed his hands on the nurses' station counter.
"Got it," the head nurse replied, chuckling when he yawned. "You know, Doctor, the patient's mother sleeps in the other bed in his room. Maybe we should set one up for you?"
"Hardy har har," David shot back, grinning at her. His good cheer faded, however, when he recalled what he had witnessed.
"How's he doing?" she inquired into the silence, pulling a clean gown out of a nearby cupboard.
David shook his head. "We might have to call in a shrink. I'd pay for it myself just so he could get a good night's sleep. Hasn't happened since he came here."
She nodded sympathetically, tossing her head to move loose gray strands away. "Poor kid. And hell, poor mother. I have three his age and they'll never grow up as far as I'm concerned." She raised an eyebrow. "You know, his mother is quite good-looking. Where he gets it from, hmmm? Maybe a certain eternal bachelor of a doctor could - "
"Go tend to the patient!" David exclaimed, hiding his amusement as he swiftly ended that conversation. "Not in the mood for a lawsuit at 3 in the morning!"
Her laughter carried down the hall as she went. Shaking his head, David stooped and grabbed his cup of coffee, amused. It was a game they had played for nearly a decade. If he left his coffee alone she'd hide it on the floor, underneath her computer. A doctor should know coffee is horrible for you!
Cheerful once more, he clutched the cup to him as though it were a lifeline.
"Dr. Matthews to the ER, please." the intercom squawked.
He frowned in confusion, automatically setting the cup down and flying down the hallway. I haven't worked the gauntlet for years. Maybe since he had done a favor to Jack and gone down to the ER to wait for Agent Vaughn, the staff thought he was back on it?
Ah, well, he thought as he navigated around various people in the hallway to the ER. Not the time to wonder.
"What've we got?" he gasped, jogging into what was always the busiest part of the hospital.
"Bite," the nurse greeted. "Black Widow. Penetrated the hand. Effects already setting in."
"Have calcium gluconate ready," he instructed, processing her information. She nodded, rushing to get it.
The stretcher was wheeled in. David waited, arms crossed. And then he froze, heart falling as he saw who lay on it.
No, this is not a Sarkney story. Or a V/L story. I promise. ;) And finals are coming up, so school will soon be over and I can reply to reviews again! Yay! (And Ivy, I promise you I'm not wasting your time. It doesn't look it's going anywhere 'cause I'm setting it up to go somewhere. Really!)