He had never been so nervous.
Vaughn stood backstage, watching nervously through a hole in the curtain. Every time he blinked, more rows in the bleachers filled up!
"Watcha doin'?"
He turned, pasting on a smile and hiding his trembling hands. "Nothing."
Sydney laughed, advancing the space between them and leaping at him. Muscles primed from countless rehearsals, he caught her easily.
"You'll be fine," she whispered, burrowing her head underneath his chin. He rested his head on hers, relaxing.
For a moment, they just stood there. Roadies moved rapidly around them, fans' screaming permeated every corner of the arena, and the smell of seat and stale coffee stained the air… but the only variable that mattered was in his arms.
"Hey!" Eric grumbled. "Time is money, people! Mike, unless this is a new dance move, put her down and get ready to go out!"
Vaughn rolled his eyes, ignoring his manager. "Sorry," he breathed to Sydney.
But she laughed, kissing his neck. "You gonna play the guitar for me?"
He set her down, accepting said instrument from one of the interns. The blonde man - boy, really - promptly blushed, amazed that he would acknowledge him.
"Of course," he told his love. "Whatever you want, Syd."
"Mike!" Weiss hollered. "Now! Stage! Show! Go!"
With one final nod, he turned his back on her.
"Hey!" Sydney called.
He glanced over his shoulder, fingering the wooden guitar.
"Break a leg," she grinned.
With one final smile, he turned reluctantly, moving away from her.
"I think he's waking up now," the security guard quipped from off to the side. Set on his task, Vaughn ignored him.
The screaming increased as he emerged - to the point that the pores of his body plugged closed.
And Lauren stood waiting patiently onstage, accepting the guitar he gave her with a grateful smile. Thanks, she mouthed.
"All right, Denver," she yelled to her fans as he slinked off, heading back into the wide expanse that was backstage. "Who's ready to party?"
The lighting increased as she stroked the strings, blending all the colors of the rainbow into one continuous sphere. He squinted, trying to look away, but the invading brightness followed him. His struggles to save his eyes turned violent, his body spasming wildly. But with every helpless thrash, his ability to discern what was happening faded just as quickly as the lights brightened…..
And then, suddenly, it was over. Vaughn's eyes shot open.
"Hey, buddy."
More than a little flummoxed, but unable to remember why, he turned his head towards Weiss' voice. "What - " he started, then stopped. His throat ached.
"Ici," another voice murmured, holding a water bottle to his lips. ("Here.") Vaughn closed his eyes again and drank without protest. His neck ached and his right cheek throbbed - two relatively new pains he either didn't recall or only vaguely remembered - and it looked like he had been moved into Operations, although he clearly had not because his mother was the one helping him drink…
Amélie removed the water, smiling down at him. "How do you feel?"
He blinked, even more puzzled. Why was she speaking to him in English?
"Not even a hello?" Eric drawled from off to the side, reappearing in the corner of his eyeline. Vaughn again forced his eyes open - why was he so tired? - to meet his best friend's gaze.
"Hi," he managed. "Where - "
"You're in Medical Services. In the Rotunda," Weiss answered, smoothing down his rumpled suit. He'd spent the past four hours avoiding his duties entirely and watching over his friend - because damnit, Vaughn had been through enough and Weiss would do anything, including risking a lecture, to make sure the only concern his friend had to worry about now was recovering.
Lauren had been there for most of that time as well. Though Lindsey eventually had called her away, she had further earned his gratitude by first running out to find Mike water when he awoke…
But Vaughn, far from content, glared at his friend in horror. Eric! My mother is in the room!
"Nice to see you awake, Mike," Weiss babbled, groaning inwardly as he remembered one concern that he couldn't help him with. At the very least, he could get out of the way. With a nod to the two Vaughns, he turned on his heel and left.
"Eric!" Michael shouted after him. It was an effort that proved to be too much, he dissolved into coughing as his friend hurried back.
"Easy, Mike," Weiss said dryly. Amélie tried to help her son with another drink, but he shooed her away.
"Eric - Sydney - Sloane, he… he - " coughs again, this time painful. His injured lung and ribs, as well as his forced long nap, ensured that speaking quickly took tremendous effort.
"Calm down," Weiss ordered him, alarmed. "There's no rush, Michael. What's wrong?"
Vaughn shook his head in frustration. His coughs were forceful, possibly wrenching enough to tear apart stitches. Certainly enough to irritate his chest and back.
That was enough for his mother. "Finding the doctor," she murmured, leaving hastily. Neither man noticed.
"Talk to me when you can, Michael. Or I can find you a pen."
"Eric," he tried again, pacing himself. "Sloane knows."
Eric perched himself on the edge of his bed, arms crossed. "Knows what?"
"Everything," Vaughn whispered, and the agony over his heart was not just from his wound. "Everything."
"He told you this?"
Vaughn nodded. The room spun from his sudden energy. "He said - " - cough - " - he said that he - " another fit. He doubled over. Damnit! Sydney's life was at stake!
Weiss hurried to his side, turning up his oxygen for him. He relaxed a little, opening his mouth to continue. But Eric held up a hand to stop him.
"I'll be back later," he said, heading for the door. His friend clearly needed to rest. "Chill out, Michael."
"No," Vaughn wheezed. Wheezing is better than coughing, right? "No! Eric! Listen! Sloane knows that - "
But his friend was already gone. Already stretched far past his limits, despite his desperate attempts to fight his exhaustion and warn someone, anyone, Vaughn fell back asleep moments later.
Lindsey studied her for a long time, eyes sliding lewdly up and down her body. She stared straight ahead, carefully hiding any emotion. When this is over, she swore, I -
His hand extended -
"Are you off your trolley?" she hissed, stepping back. "Someone could walk in this room at any moment!"
He raised an eyebrow. "You're a beautiful woman, Lauren."
"That is completely uninterested in you," she snapped. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must check in with Dr. Matthews."
Smirking to himself, he stood back and let her pass.
Arvin Sloane was not a fool. He knew, and always had known, the stories whispered about him.
The man is incarnate evil, went the gossipers, the police officers, the Intelligence agents and even his friends and allies. Cross him and you won't live to regret it.
Fear was a useful tool. That and appealing to civic duty were perhaps the most successful techniques he had ever ever employed.
Which meant his failure at frightening or subduing the man sitting across from him was more than frustrating.
"It's been awhile, Arvin," Cole smirked. "How've you been?"
Will Tippin hated hospitals.
It was a rather childish fear, of course. But ever since his involuntary dental surgery, anything remotely related to such a thing sent chills up his back. And with its needles and probes and clinical smell, where he stood was the last place he'd normally want to be.
But none of that mattered. What did matter was the little boy slowly waking up inside the room he stood outside.
When Vaughn awoke again, Jack sat in the chair beside his bed. The older man's brown eyes burned with fierce intensity, and Vaughn straightened reflexively. Whatever Jack wanted, it was important.
"I reviewed the tape," the elder Bristow told him, nodding to something. Puzzled, Vaughn followed his gaze. A camera had been mounted on the wall, overlooking him. The red flash of the power indicator was almost in tandem with the beeps from his heart monitor.
Relief shot through Vaughn. Eric had put his injured friend's health first, not pursuing conversation out of worry that he wasn't strong enough for it. Jack Bristow harbored no such consideration. Sydney came first.
Thank God.
"Jack," Vaughn managed. "Sydney - "
He didn't blink, leaning forward more. "What did Sloane say?" he demanded, cutting Vaughn off. If speaking was a hardship to the boy, he didn't want Vaughn to waste his words on repeated information. That wouldn't help either of them, or his daughter.
"He knew we weren't loyal to him," Vaughn told him, somewhat guiltily. It had been his plan, after all.
"How long?"
But he shook his head, coughing slightly from exertion. Jack forced himself to sit back. He was concerned for Vaughn, but he was also a man that survived by ranking emotions in order of prominence and dealing with them accordingly. And right now, worry for his daughter was paramount.
"The beginning," Vaughn croaked out, his voice softer than a whisper. And he was tired again, so tired, but he didn't care. Someone had to help her!
Jack paused, thoughtful. If that were true, why not kill them outright? Why allow Sydney to travel with hardly any supervision?
"He could have been - " he began to say.
But Vaughn cut him off. "We both know he wasn't bluffing."
Jack sighed. And then another thought occurred to him. "Does he know of Sark's betrayal?"
Something flashed in Vaughn's green eyes, a very different kind of betrayal on his mind. "I… nothing he said indicated that."
"What's going on?"
They both turned toward towards the door, Vaughn moving sluggishly but with growing strength behind his actions. David and Amélie stood together, the latter clearly uneasy with Jack's close proximity with her son. She had told the husband of her husband's murderer that she didn't mind his visits, but…
"I'll come back," David drawled, understanding what they were doing. "Five minutes. You all right, Agent Vaughn?"
It took him a moment to respond, not used to such formality from the free-spirited doctor. "Yeah," he replied. No. Not until she's home.
"Good."
And then David turned away, lightly pulling Amélie with him. "C'mon," he said to her as they disappeared down the hall. "Let's take a tour."
Irina chose that moment to walk in and join them at the table, thus ending any chance Sloane had at replying.
"You were successful?" she snapped at Cole, warning him with her eyes that she would not tolerate any male testosterone battles.
Her longtime operative nodded. "We used blanks, except for with the cops, and scared the bejeezus out of everyone," he confirmed. "And lil' Laurie saved the day."
"Thus removing her as a possible suspect in the future," Irina filled in for Sloane.
For his part, the other man merely raised an eyebrow. I already know what you're up to, Irina.
"And this is the coffee nook," David said, pointing extravagantly at a perhaps the CIA's dirtiest corner. The smell of coffee all but oozed off the walls to palpably cover anyone that walked by.
"It's very homey," Amélie answered diplomatically, fighting a smile at the other man's mock-enthusiasm.
The doctor glanced down the hallway where she was allowed to wander. Vaughn's door was hardly five feet away.
"And thus concludes our tour," he grinned sheepishly. "This place is bigger, really."
"I believe you," she assured him. He laughed.
"Well, now we can - "
"Excuse me."
They turned. Lauren stood in the doorway that marked the line Amélie was ordered not to cross.
"Ms. Reed?" David questioned.
"Sorry to interrupt," she apologized, nodding a greeting to Vaughn's mother. "But may I have a word in private?"
"Jack, you still owe me an explanation," Vaughn reminded the man, pulling himself up a bit.
"For what?" Sydney's father asked, with innocent curiosity that fooled no one.
Vaughn waited. Jack could take the hint, or he would ask again, and ignore the cameras.
Jack sighed, fiddling with his watch. "We have 90 seconds," he said curtly. "Mr. Vaughn - "
"You had me cover for Sark," Vaughn growled. "Why? I would think the Agency would want to know that both him and Derevko are plotting against the United States!"
Jack didn't flinch, ordering him with his eyes to calm down. "But you're wrong, Mr. Vaughn," he answered simply. "They're working for us."
"Dr. Matthews, thank you for meeting with me. I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
He smiled, remaining upright until the lithe blonde stepped past him and sank into a chair. Conduct becoming of a gentleman.
"Agent Vaughn will be settled for the night soon," he assured her, sitting down. As you well know, since your daily visit is already scheduled, right before the sedative kicks in. Why are you asking me? "Can I help you, Agent Reed?"
She folded her hands on the table, absently tossing her hair away from her face. "Forgive me," she said. "I don't wish to seem a nag. But I do want confirmation that you are following my orders."
He sighed. It always depressed him to obey someone younger than him. When this was over, he planned to barricade himself inside the hospital and never leave. "To the letter."
Lauren nodded to herself. "Have you noticed a change in Agent Vaughn's behavior?"
David pursed his lips, hands drumming on the table lightly. "Not really," he answered thoughtfully.
She frowned, clearly disappointed. "Well, it may take time to set in."
"Probably," he agreed. "But I'll keep you updated."
"Thank you," she smiled. "Have a good night."
"Where is Emily?"
Sloane folded his hands on the table, studiously ignoring Cole. "She is en route to the Villa," he answered Irina. "She believes I am out shopping for glass to replace what Sydney destroyed during her… entrance."
"What about Pigtails?" Cole perked up.
They ignored him, much as parents would ignore an insolent child.
"I have to check in with Jack," Irina murmured.
Sloane eyed her, studying her every reaction with seasoned skill. "Will he comply?"
"He will do anything to save Sydney," she answered curtly. "We have the manuscript, and the weapon. All we need now are codes to disengage satellite coverage over Los Angeles."
Sloane nodded. "Mr. Sark will take Ms. Bristow into custody when Emily arrives, per our arrangement."
Amélie paced in the hallway, staring at the cold gray tile lining the floor. The voices of her mon petit and the husband of her husband's murder floated lightly off the walls, though the design of the building made it impossible to discern specific words.
And then the cracked door to Michel's room opened fully and Jack Bristow stepped out. The man paused when he saw her, an unreadable expression passing over his face.
"Good afternoon," Amélie forced herself to say, her previous, David-influenced good humor vanishing as she tensed at his presence.
"Good afternoon," he answered, suddenly the untouchable man once more.
The door opened behind them, drawing parents' attention. An older blonde woman stopped where she was, sensing their unrest. Her blue eyes flicked over them, glints of worry reflecting clearly. This, while unavoidable, would not help her patient.
"Sorry for bothering you," she apologized, keeping her voice warm. "Madame, my name is Dr. Judy Barnett and I'm the staff psychiatrist. May I speak with Agent Vaughn alone, please?" She stressed Vaughn's title deliberately, knowing the other woman needed to become accustomed to both it and her son's true lifestyle.
Amélie nodded, stepping back out of the way to allow the woman entry. Whatever she felt at the moment took lesser priority to her very real worry for her son's uncharacteristically delicate state. He seemed almost defeated.
"Thanks," Barnett smiled, nodding a greeting to Jack. Amélie smiled back, though somewhat tremulously. "He'll be fine," the doctor murmured softly, right before she closed the door. "It may take some time, but he'll be fine."
For his part, Vaughn still was more than a little confused about what exactly was going on. Things were happening far too quickly, the drugs enhancing everything to the point that the world seemed to swirl around him, active and beautiful and alive. And he, meanwhile, just stood and watched, detached from it all.
"It's good to see you again, Michael," she greeted him, coming to sit by his side.
"Yes," he agreed, the words on autopilot. All he wanted to do was sleep. Normally. But the dreams would come if he tried…
"I'm not going to mince words," Barnett said, bluntly. It was a technique that worked almost immediately, Vaughn reflexively turned all of his attention on her. "You and I both know something is wrong."
"Glad you're here to tell me these things," he snapped back. And then his eyes widened. What the hell was wrong with him? "I'm sorry, I... I don't know where that came from."
She chuckled, resting her chin in one hand. "It's all right. That's good, actually. Michael… has Dr. Matthews talked to you at all?"
"About?" he asked, lost.
Barnett braced herself. "He believes that you are suffering from a version of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. And Michael, I agree with him."
He stared at her, shocked. They were wrong, of course. He wasn't at full health, but that hardly indicated he had that.
Denial is the first step. Barnett leaned forward, simply the personification of reassurance. "I'm not here to instantly fix anything," she told him carefully. "If I could do that, I would have done it by now. But I am here to talk about whatever you want to talk about. Strictly on your terms, not mine or any agency."
He shook his head in fervent denial, astonished. "Dr. Barnett, with all due respect, I - "
"What do you know about PTSD?" she asked him. "Can I tell you about it? It's the best way to prove that you either do or do not have it."
"All right," he allowed. Couldn't hurt.
She nodded, leaning back in the chair and relaxing. No notes were in her hands. Reading off slips of paper would be far too clinical, far too unfeeling.
"PTSD is a mental illness," she began, watching him. There was no visible reaction on his face. "There is no cure."
For some reason he could not explain, that amused him. I feel much better now! But he said nothing.
"Those afflicted with PTSD relive their experiences or like intense situations through dreams," she continued. He paused, thrown out of his reverie. It couldn't be… "Normal sleep, at least for awhile, becomes a thing of the past. Sudden stimulations such as loud noises reverberate like bombs going off. The slightest words in a simple conversation can send a patient flashing back."
His breath caught. There were tears in his eyes, something that startled him because he couldn't remember shedding them. Barnett leaned forward and took his hand, knowing he was too bewildered to not allow it.
"I'm going to be honest with you, and I hope you will do me the same courtesy," she told him. "We could be wrong, Michael. From Dr. Matthew's notes, it looks like most of your symptoms appear when you're asleep. Though this may vary, he scribed that you seem fine when you're awake."
Vaughn hesitated. His mind reeled with chilling implications - Could they be right? Am I just in denial? - and it was almost enough to make him lose confidence in himself.
But at the same time, his mind was fighting back against such a ridiculous idea. Was he at his full strength? No, admittingly not. Was there something wrong in the mental arena? Probably.
But was it PTSD?
He was hardly an expert on the disease; much of what Barnett, who was currently sitting quietly and letting him think with no interruption, had told him was new information. But he knew himself. And like any self-respecting intelligence operative, he had unusually high capabilities of compartmentalizing and could thus detach his analyzations of himself into almost clinical, third party observations.
And even those observations knew the medical experts, who clearly meant well, were wrong. Very, very wrong. But would they believe him over their knowledge? If things were reversed, he doubted he would trust himself.
"Dr. Barnett," he started. She leaned forward, compassion evident as she still held his hand. That in itself would usually disturb him, he neither wanted nor needed anyone's pity. But the woman was so dedicated, so genuinely worried for him, that he actually found it rather touching.
"I… thank you for your concern, but I - "
She nodded to herself, saying nothing.
Does that mean she doesn't believe me?
Up next: Barnett and Vaughn's first 'session' ends horribly. Oh dear.
Review Responses
So. I was having an absolutely horrible day a couple of weeks ago. Seriously, it couldn't have been more awful. I hopped online to escape, happened to check my FF.net stats… and learned that, somehow, Presages had gotten over 700 reviews.
7-frickin'-hundred.
I know I don't say it enough. But from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!!!! You guys are just too awesome for words, and I looooove you! Kisses!
But, anyway.
Ginnie: David's a smart guy. And I love him. ;) But if Sloane is working with Irina, and Cole is working for Irina, and Lauren is working for Irina, and David is following Lauren's orders, well… (But then, Irina is also working with Jack. Does that mean Cole, Sloane, Lauren, David are working for him too?)
UndercoverElfHM: Alias/SW, hmm? I confess, no. LOL. But lemme know how that works out for ya!
Kizume Bass: First of all, thanks for the advice! :hug: As for your questions… I'm excited and waiting impatiently and Weiss is Vaughn's friend, not Syd's, so ew. lol
Raina: I hid a what? :whistles:
CoMiCQueeN217: I would be honored if you added me to your favs! Please do! I'm also a paying member of FF, so you can do Author Alerts with me, too. :)
Teaser: "When I help a patient, I usually don't almost give him a heart attack!"
valley_girl2: A Jinnie Shield, hmm? Snerk. ;) And I confess, it originally ended on a cliffhanger, where the van arrived before Weiss et al did. See? I'm nice. :P
Mgterps: Yes, yes he does. Stay tuned. lol
Iverson: Yes, don't flunk because of me! I'd feel guilty!
Vicky: Awww, you're so sweet! Thanks! :hugs:
Kay10197: Well, erm, 'soon' is such a broad word. LOL (but at least this was 10 pages and done in less than a month!)
Mmc1118: Dreamin' right there with ya.
Kittyfantastico: Ha, I'm so glad the British swearing sounded all right to you! Your words are so cuuute! Teehee.
Ilovemypenguin: I love Cole. Very hard to write, but very fun. And no, Lauren wasn't talking to Sark at the end of the last chapter. ;)
Delordra: I love writing Irina, too. Don't get to do so that often, so I enjoy her when I can. She's such a fascinating character to try and tackle… layers upon layers. Every action, every thought, every word is weighed with about 10 different consequences, and she not only knows what they are, she knows how to countermand them. Words cannot describe how much she's adored.
Can I just say, again, how much my readers rule? I love you!