"You don't have to go through with this! Just tell her!"
"And then what kind of man would I be?"
"One that's alive?"
"Sometimes, David, living is not as important."
"As what? Dying for a - "
"Just remember that."
"You once told me I was being ridiculous."
David sank down into a chair, but not out of choice. All energy fled his body, and he almost fell onto the aged black leather.
"Sounds like something I'd say," he agreed, though there was no levity in his tone.
Jack leaned against the desk, facing his old friend with his arms crossed. His hint went ignored.
David shook his head, blinking rapidly as dust irritated his eyes. "I didn't mean to tell him all that," he muttered.
Jack nodded, falling silent.
"In fact, I'm pretty sure I wasn't cleared to tell him that."
Jack nodded again.
"And that might be an issue with Ben, I think. Me saying things I'm not allowed to say. Maybe he'll force me to retire again."
And then David stopped, his eyes all but bugging out.
Jack pursed his lips. "I've always wondered if that was what occurred."
David smirked a little to himself, coming out of the fog that had previously consumed his mind. "What were they supposed to do? I was a mental case. I couldn't exactly stay field-rated after I came back."
He sighed a little, wry amusement at himself disappearing. "And now Bill's kid is gonna get to experience that hell firsthand. The hell of knowing you're no longer wanted. You know as well as I do that his career is over. They'll shake his hand, thank him for his service with a pension that pays for nothing, and then force him to see shrink after shrink until he's learned to live with himself or funding dries up, so it looks pretty on internal auditing."
For a moment, the two men fell silent, both very aware that others in the Rotunda were listening.
"Probably," Jack agreed at last.
David raised his head, incredulous. "'Probably'?" he echoed. "That's all you have to say? The kid's life is over, and you're standing there like you don't care?" He snorted. "Don't lie to me, Jack. One thing you get good at, seeing as many shrinks as I did? Reading people."
"The next 36 hours are crucial to the coming event," Sloane instructed, hands folded in front of him. He and Irina exchanged a united glance, nodding in unison, before he grudgingly turned his attention to Cole.
"There can be no surprises," he stressed.
But the renegade slouched low in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the conversation, studying the pipes on the ceiling of the room in the vast, unused water filtering plant they were hiding in. "You have a leak, you know," he mused.
Sloane glared. Smirking, Cole allowed the legs of his chair to slam back down on the floor with a dull thud. "Chill out, Arvin," he advised. "I'm in this for the long haul."
Vaughn lay alone in his room, eyes fluttering against drugged exhaustion almost as often as his mind took twists and turns.
David had known his father. Had watched him die. Knew details that he had never dared to dream could be available to him. A thrill shot through him. The answer to every question he ever had rested on the tip of his tongue, waiting for the doctor to return.
And then a harsh, grating voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Do you remember me, Agent Vaughn?"
Vaughn squinted, trying to focus on him. Why won't everyone just let me sleep?
"Lindsey, sir?"
The other man nodded, leaning in much too close to him. Vaughn stiffened. The NSC Director simply radiated a feeling of corruptedness.
"We need to talk."
"Sir?" Vaughn forced himself to remain calm.
"It's about my Agent Reed," Lindsey said, pulling a thin black remote from his pocket and depressing the button. It beeped. Vaughn cocked his head, puzzled.
"I've looped the camera feed," Lindsey informed him. "Listen up, Agent Vaughn. You and I both know that she is a far cry from a patriot."
Vaughn nodded, forehead burrowing warily. Was he here to follow-up with Kendall's very odd order of silence?
"You would be unwise to spread that information," the NSC Director warned, speaking slowly to ensure that the agent heard every word.
"Are you threatening me?" Vaughn breathed, eyes wide with disbelief.
In response, Lindsey rose and fiddled absently with the tube connected to Vaughn's IV.
"I could claim that Reed is on a special assignment, but you're a smart young man, Mr. Vaughn. So I'll say this."
Vaughn waited, jaw clenched and green eyes aflame with wordless anger.
"I'm not threatening you," Lindsey drawled, turning the painkiller down a setting. Vaughn swallowed hard, gritting his teeth as some of the drug's precious numbness effect went away.
"Because let's face it," the man continued, smirking at Vaughn's reaction. "All of us in this life are accustomed to receiving threats. They become incentives to us, little golden rings we prize above all else."
"If you have something to say," Vaughn ground out, "say it."
He laughed. The IV went down another level.
"I've said it, Mr. Vaughn," he mocked, watching as the injured man fought to not show his pain. "I'm not threatening you. It's much more successful to do so to someone not in the Intelligence business."
Vaughn tensed. Surely the director wouldn't go so far as to…
"Your mother is a beautiful woman," Lindsey said, voice utterly neutral. "Strong as well."
For a moment, Vaughn couldn't respond, stunned by the other man's audacity. "Touch her," he growled when speech returned to him, rage invading his very soul, "and I'll do more than just kill you."
Lindsey smiled at him, restoring the IV to its previous setting and disabling the camera loop.
"Golden ring noted," he smirked. " I do hope that my comments are noted as well."
And then he left.
"Of course, McKenas," Sloane responded, still holding the other man's gaze with his own. "I never doubted it."
His phone rang. Sloane reached for it without breaking his stare, waiting until Cole ceded to him and looked away.
"Yes?" he answered.
"Sir," his younger associate said, accent brittle. "We may have a problem."
Vaughn had learned quite a bit on arguments while growing up.
His parents had loved each other, deeply. But the stress of William's career choice had often weighed heavily on their minds. They had tried to never fight in front of their son, but they had fought.
And just as he did then, Vaughn lay stiff in his bed, eyes unblinking as his mind worked, trying to find a solution by exploring every possible angle of the problem. Even if he couldn't solve it, it was better than not trying at all.
Why would Kendall order his silence, but not inform his fellow directors? Why would Lindsey go so far as to threaten his mother, to ensure his silence? What exactly was Lauren Reed truly doing? Was it related to the alliance between Jack and Irina? What about Lauren's brother, Cole? And why would Jack ask him to lie about Sark? Why would Sloane risk a visit to him? And where on earth was Sydney? Did she know Sloane knew what she was doing?
A light knocking broke through his reverie. Vaughn started, turning his head automatically to see an awkward-looking Weiss standing in the doorframe.
"Hey!" he brightened.
"Hey, Mike," Weiss greeted him, not budging.
Vaughn waited, puzzled at the other man's uncharacteristic shyness. "Would you uh, like to come in?"
Weiss swallowed hard, Barnett's tips running through his mind. Stay relaxed. Stay normal. If anything, anything, seems the slightest bit off about him, keep him talking and press the call button. It's okay to laugh and joke around. It'll probably help him more than I ever could. And if he wants to talk, do so. Don't push him, just listen.
Vaughn sighed, compressing his lips into a thin line as he realized his friend's thoughts. "Not you, too," he groaned.
Eric could've hit himself. He was already failing! "What're you talking about?" he forced himself to ask, sauntering to the chair.
He shook his head, eyes hardening into sharp-edged emeralds. "Eric, you don't believe them, do you?"
Well. This was not going well. "Them?"
Vaughn scowled, looking down at himself. "You do!"
Damn it. "Michael, I've got no idea what you're babbling about," Weiss informed him, making sure he knew exactly where the call button was. "As per usual. Chill out."
Mike laughed to himself. Laughed. "You know, if anyone were to believe me, I would have thought it would be you."
Weiss sighed, folding his hands in his lap - and promptly unfolding them hastily.
"They're wrong about me," Vaughn told his friend. "I don't have …" He trailed off, unable to voice it.
"PTSD?" Eric filled in helpfully. And then he really did smack his forehead.
Michael smirked. "I knew it."
"Mike, look - "
"No," his younger friend snapped. "You look. I'm not denying something is wrong, all right? But I'm not in denial. Barnett, David… they're wrong about me."
"Are they?"
"Eric, Sydney is in trouble," Vaughn pleaded, switching topics. "No one will listen to me! Sloane knows what we were doing. He knows neither of us were loyal to him. Do you hear me? I'm the only one that can save her, but I can't do it as long as they're convinced I'm suffering from something I'm not!"
And then it was Weiss' turn to laugh. Wholeheartedly. "So let me guess, Mike. You want to go back. Again. And then what? Repeat the cycle? Torture, beatings, the whole shindig? Do you hear yourself?"
Vaughn closed his eyes briefly, knowing his one chance was rapidly fading away. "Eric - "
"You're my best friend," Weiss interrupted. "No matter how much ribbing I'll take from the camera guys later for saying that. And when I thought you were going to die, I was not a happy person."
"Eric - "
"No!" he roared, hating himself for it. "The answer, Michael, is no. You need to chill out and recover and face reality! I'll block this door myself!"
Silence.
"Look," Weiss muttered, while his friend stared at him stonily. "I know you're worried. But Sydney isn't exactly a damsel that needs saving, Michael. And you - "
"Yes, me," he interrupted, voice ice-cold. "Everyone here is so eager to pass judgments on the state of my head. And when all of you say something, it's acceptable. But when I say something, it's denial? Do you hear yourself?"
"Mike, I never said - "
His stare turned from stony to incredulous. "Eric, give me a little credit. I watched you when you first came in. You looked like you were looking at a complete stranger!"
"All right, calm down," Eric interrupted, watching Vaughn's heart rate skyrocket nervously.
That was what did it.
"Get out," Mike ordered him. "Come back when you face reality."
He groaned, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his hands. "You don't mean that."
His friend responded by struggling to pull himself upright, ignoring the pull on his back.
"Michael! The hell are you - ?"
"Get out or I will," Vaughn snapped, sitting up straight for the first time in days. "Since you and everyone else can't seem to realize that Sydney will not be returning without my help, the least you could do is spend every waking moment working on ways to prove me wrong!"
Weiss shifted his feet, studying the floor for a moment as he steeled himself to meet his friend's intense gaze. He tried a smile.
"Mike, you act like I'll even think about sleep until you two are earning Jack's wrath again. You couldn't be any more mistaken, all right?"
But his friend waited, gaze not softening in the least.
Weiss ran a hand through his hair, suddenly exhausted, before returning to Vaughn's side and easing him back down. Mike didn't fight him.
"You have my word you're wrong," Eric told him. "In fact, I'm going to tell her how wrong you are when she gets back. You'll never live it down. We'll make sure that you know how superior I am when we're all old and gray and you're senile."
Only then did Michael shake his head against the pillows, his lips turning upward with the slightest of subtlety. "Never thought I'd say this, but you'd better be right about that."
His pager went off. Weiss jumped a mile.
"Asshat," he mumbled, lifting up his suit coat to look down at his belt. Vaughn eyed him blankly.
"Lindsey wants to talk to me," Weiss explained, amused when Vaughn immediately made the connection between the two names and nodded in agreement. "Time to go show him how right I always am. It's a warmup."
"Better be," Vaughn called after him.
"Damn straight," Weiss mumbled under his breath as he left the room. He all but crashed into a listening Barnett.
Irina watched Sloane closely. Something was wrong, and Sydney's mother had no doubt that 'something' was her daughter.
Carefully hiding her pride, she leaned over to listen - and froze in place as the cold end of a gun suddenly rested against her throat.
"Hi," he said in surprise, closing Mike's door behind him out of protective habit.
"Hello," she replied, gently taking his arm and moving him out of her way.
"Maybe I should stay for this," Weiss said warily, eyeing his pager. Would Lindsey mind if he was, say, an hour late? Possibly two?
But Judy shook her head. "These sessions are private," she reminded him. At his concerned glance, she sighed. "Last time was an anomaly," she reassured him. "It won't happen again."
Weiss scowled. He hated to leave, but a guy that played golf with the president was not someone to ignore. "All right," he agreed unhappily. "But have you seen Amélie?"
"I believe she's visiting the Caplans," Judy answered. That's why I picked this time to have a session. "Go, Agent Weiss. It'll be fine."
With one final glance at Vaughn's door, he left. Taking a deep breath, Judy opened Vaughn's door. She approached him with more than a little trepidation. After all, the last time they'd talked she'd single-handedly caused him to suffer an anxiety attack. It was necessary, it hadn't been malevolent, but she had still caused him more pain. He couldn't need anything less.
He was alone when she arrived, doubtlessly something arranged by David. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was steady enough to show that he was awake…
Judy sank into the chair by his bed, crossing her legs and folding her arms in her lap. For a moment, no one said anything. She waited, content to let him have the first words.
"You asked me some questions," he said after a moment, and his voice was strong and proud. "I'd like to answer them."
She nodded, watching as he opened vivid green eyes and turned his head to face her. "All right."
He paused, line of sight just over her head. "You asked me if I blamed myself for the tor - for what happened to me," he began.
"I did," she agreed.
His mouth bunched at the sides. "Strictly speaking, the answer is yes. I do."
Barnett raised an eyebrow, inwardly thrilled that he could talk to her so easily. "Oh?" she inquired.
He lost his nerve then, glancing down to play with a loose strand of yarn from one of his warm blankets. "I killed that man's brother," he murmured. "I didn't have to. I probably could have knocked him out. But I killed him, and some part of me enjoyed it."
"Why?"
"Because, I…" he trailed off. Barnett sighed, her hope fading. He was fighting with himself, but he hadn't won yet.
"I'll stay here for as long as you want," she told him. "Take your time."
He nodded, winding the yarn around his fingers. "I, um… I…" Come on, Mike, he lectured himself. This isn't brain surgery.
"Michael?"
He looked at her again, startled out of his thoughts. "No one calls me that," he blurted.
She raised an eyebrow, going with him patiently. It was a topic he was clearly comfortable with. "Why so, do you think?"
It was like navigating a maze, she decided. PTSD was of course a challenge no matter the age or circumstances in which it was contracted, but even more so for anyone in Intelligence. Vaughn had been trained to compartmentalize his emotions away, to hide them so they could never be used against him.
Which meant forcing him to face himself and acknowledge his condition was not only difficult, but went against everything he had become.
"I don't know," he answered honestly. "I mean, Eric does. But I think he's the only one, except for you."
"And Dr. Matthews?"
"No," Vaughn said, smiling a little, oblivious to her analyzations. "He calls me 'kid'."
To successfully break through to him, she had to break him. It would be horrible and traumatic and cruel, beyond doubt. Mainly because the man's guard was so extremely high that any less action on her part would be met with failure.
"Sounds like him," Judy chuckled agreeably, watching as the yarn loops grew in size. "What about Sydney?"
Silence for a moment. She waited, on the edge of her seat. His walls were up so ridiculously high… but both sides, good and bad, knew the weakness he had for the youngest Bristow. Her name was the trigger to both his greatest fears and highest joys.
And sure enough, his eyes widened. The reflexive protection his mind had done to itself by changing the conversation topic backfired. "Sydney?"
Bingo. Judy hid her smile. His love for her was so strong that the mere mention of her name was enough to refocus him. The course inside the maze of his thoughts righted itself.
"Is she why you killed that guard?" Judy asked him. Things like this were hard to judge, but it seemed to be back on track. "Did he threaten her?"
"What? No," he replied instantly. "No, no. He was going to kill me."
"So it was self-defense then?" Barnett inquired.
His eyes clouded. "I suppose. Emily let me go. I wasn't expecting that, I… I had said my goodbyes, and I thought - "
"Your goodbyes?"
He looked at her. Really looked at her. For just a moment, she saw again the cocky operative that had sat across from her before violating protocol set forth by the Constitution of the United States and breaking into SD-6.
"Don't you have a file on me? I was debriefed, and I'm sure Sydney was as well…"
"If it has pertinence to your answer, I'd like for you to tell me," she urged him.
He looked blank. "My answer?"
"To my question?" she prodded gently. The maze took another twist.
"Oh," he stammered, mind processing quickly as he fought to remember.
"I asked you if you blamed yourself for the torture you endured," she reminded him, using that word deliberately. He had stumbled over it when the conversation first began. "And you said yes, you did."
He nodded. A second strand of yarn unraveled.
"The guard that… the guard that…" he couldn't say it. Determined to finish this, he switched tactics. "The guard I killed… his name was Ricardo. The other one, the one that…"
"That tortured you," Barnett repeated, mentally noting the way he recoiled from that word.
"Yes," he said. "His name was Diego. He looked older, Ricardo was probably his little brother."
"Did you kill Diego?"
"No," he answered quietly. "I couldn't. I'd already taken his little brother from him. I shot him, but only so that we - Eric and I - could get away. He was alive when we left."
A third strand unraveled. Judy sighed, unfolding her hands and resting one on top of his, stilling his fidgeting.
"Why do you think your torture was your fault?" she inquired.
He shook his head, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with her. "I didn't mean that. But it may have been justified."
"And if he had killed you, would he have been justified?"
He hesitated, not knowing how to answer. Judy braced herself.
"You know what I'm going to say," she whispered, knowing speaking quieter would cause him to actually resist not listening to her.
He nodded.
"Then I'll say it," she plowed on, voice still soft enough that he had to lean over to hear her. "On your logic, he would have been perfectly in his rights to kill you instead of torturing you. Yes?"
"I guess," he stuttered.
"Because you killed his little brother."
He nodded again.
"Because you took someone he valued."
Tears filled his eyes, but they didn't fall. He didn't fall.
"So on your logic, Diego would have been justified in hurting someone you valued."
His eyes widened, tears spilling unavoidably as a result. Fitting, that, Barnett decided. His weakness wasn't himself, but his loved ones.
"What?" he asked, breathing speeding up once more. She hid her frustration carefully, knowing she'd make no further progress today.
"Someone like Sydney?"
And there it was. Under her hand, his clenched into fists. "No," he choked. "That's not what I - "
"But it is, Michael. That's exactly what you just said."
"I - " he floundered. The beeps on his heart monitor quickened dramatically.
Weary, she tightened her grip on his hands, compassion in her eyes. "That's enough," she told him, though she hated to end on such a note. "I think David might give me an IV if you have another attack."
He tried to smile at that, but it felt as though every emotion he had ever felt and could ever feel was rioting inside his head, fighting for control.
"The purpose of my questions was not to make you doubt yourself, or work yourself up over answering them," she informed him, breaking into his thoughts. "I want to get you thinking about things, possibly in ways that you haven't. All right?"
He cast his eyes away, but nodded.
"We'll try the next question another day," she soothed, squeezing his hands before releasing him. "Whenever you decide you want to. All right?"
"Yeah," he muttered. "Dr. Barnett?" he asked quickly as she rose.
She sank back down, waiting.
"Has there been any news on Sydney?" he hated himself for showing how desperately he wanted to know, but he'd gladly do much more than that for information.
But she shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of," she answered carefully. "But I'll do my best to find out in time for our next talk."
"Thank you," he sighed, suddenly tired again. Just talking took a lot out of him.
She stood again, reaching over to touch his shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow," she told him. "Get some rest."
Utterly drained, he was asleep before she crossed the threshold.
"I'm very disappointed," the new voice hissed. "Have you learned nothing?"
Irina stretched, the moves careless. The gun digging into her skin remained, until she abruptly twisted in the chair, springing up like a cat, both hands coming up to encircle the barrel. Sloane and Cole watched in fascination as she whirled, wrenching the gun out of her assailants' grip and spinning the aim around. But the newcomer easily guessed her movements and pulled out an old-fashioned dagger.
And then their adrenaline faded, and both women fully focused on one another - Irina aiming the gun at her visitor's heart, while she pressed a knife against Irina's chin.
"Nrevyet, sestra," Katya greeted, eyes dancing with amusement. ("Hello, sister.")
Vaughn was dreaming again. He knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, even if this dream was much different than any others.
He lay on his bed in Medical Services, covered snugly with blankets, body monitored closely with sensors and cameras, breathing once again with the light aid of an oxygen tube in his nose and down his throat. The IV needle in his right arm radiated numbness, something that coursed through the rest of him with the gentleness of ocean waves.
Just like things actually were. With one exception.
Sydney stood by him, holding his hand, stroking his hair and watching him breathe. Her face was a mixture of love, relief and contentment as she smiled through tears of joy at the sight of him. Injured but recovering. Wounded but strong.
And she was beautiful. Lord, she was beautiful. Like the first flower in a barren meadow, or a rainbow after a foggy day, she illuminated his dream in ways that the brightest artificial light never could. He tried to open his mouth, tried to tell her that, but she held her finger to his lips and handed him a dimpled smile.
"Shhhh," she teased, grinning even wider as he looked back at her.
He smiled back. For the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.
She leaned over the cot, resting her head lightly on his shoulder. "I miss you," she whispered to him. He closed his eyes. The scent of her hair, the feel of her deceptively small frame, the way her nose lightly tickled him as she talked…
She completed him. It was that simple, really. He could never allow himself to rest knowing she was in danger. It may have sounded trite and cliched, but she was who she was. The other half of his heart. Of his soul.
She rose up a little, kissing him on the forehead before returning to lie on his shoulder. His hands encircled her automatically, tangling themselves in the silky strands of her hair.
"Fight this, Vaughn," she murmured to him, speaking against his body. It was almost as though she was talking directly through him, urging his mind to reawaken.
"I will," he swore, voice softer than hers. She laughed, the sound washing over him in soothing rays of shining light.
"You'd better," she teased.
She looked away suddenly, over her shoulder. He frowned, bewildered and guarded. Why would she worry about something unseen? In dreams, nothing mattered but them. Especially this dream. Unless, of course, it was about to change again…
But then she was back, kissing his lips, his face, his neck, his ears… with utterly wild, desperate abandon.
"I'm sorry," she choked, "but that's all the time I have. I have to go."
"But - " he shook his head, confused. Go? He decided when he woke up, not her!
She smiled down at him, carefully pulling herself and her hair free from his hold. "We'll see each other soon," she whispered to him.
And then she was gone. The light she brought to the room faded. All returned to normal.
And Vaughn awoke with a gasp. His hands grasped at the blankets, disoriented. He turned his head, half-expecting to see his mother.
But the room, save for himself, was empty. He glanced around, wondering at the unusualness of that. His eyes caught notice of the camera that overlooked him, the flashing red light always serving as a reminder that he was safe.
Until now. He squinted, looked again. The camera was off.
More than a little puzzled, he brought his hands up to rub his eyes, certain he just wasn't seeing it.
Only then did he notice the two strands of silken brunette hair curled inbetween his fingers.
Up Next: Syd and Lauren meet. Oh, and Syd's pissed. Mwahahaha.
So many new readers! My apologies to your rear, and welcome to Presages! ;)
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I recently did something I've always wanted to do: made myself a fic archive! It's called Words of Whimsy, and you can see it at . Of note are two long previews from my upcoming Alias novels, Double-Sided Karma and Return to Truth, that will only be found on that site!
Also, if you or someone you know has been plagiarized, get the help you need at The OPR (The Office of Plagiaristic Research)! The idea was conceived by Celeste (author of Rainy L.A. Days and Snowy Boston Nights), and developed by myself of two of her friends, Ames and Sakura.
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Review Responses
Alicarter: Vaughn is definitely my favorite character, too. I always root for the 'hero', and he is. Jack is the gray character, and Sark is the villain, but Vaughn has always been the white knight. That and he's cute. (Hot-cute, of course!)
Meghan: Ta-da, there's a reunion! ;)
Teaser: "I'm not asking to lead it," he said at length, folding his hands on top of his blankets and sitting up straight. "But I want to go to Spain."
Apryl: I'm hurrying, I swear! lol
Mgterps: Well, I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! But it was 12 pages, so hopefully length makes up for the wait!
Brittany: If you're a member of FF.net, you can sign up for Author Alerts which will tell ya when I update. :) I also have a mailing list - the link is in my profile.
Britty: Well, I can't wait to hear your thoughts! :)
Ginnie: You know, just when I think I'm done, my muse says, "Wait! Here's another plotline!" lol. Dang thing. ;)
Amazed: Awww, thanks! Hope you slept and didn't wait up for an update! Hee.
UndercoverElfHM: Everyone knows Alias isn't complete without the F150!
Sugarqube: Oh dear! May I get you a pillow? lol
Gator-Girl: Thank you muchly!
Irina's Cellmate: Like I said, Irina is so hard to write. I'm always very nervous. lol. I had to let Syd be on the backburner for a bit to get the reunion to work, but she'll be back with all guns blazing from here on out.
Ilovemypenguin: I got an A! Woohoo!
valley-girl2: Well, if it helps, I think Vaughny has as many questions as you. ;) Oh, and Sydney reappeared!
Kay10197: As always, thanks! lol
Rachel: What will Katya tell Jack? That she thinks he's cute, of course.
Raina: An excellent question.
Kittyfantastico: Geez, poor Vaughn. I'm a little worried about him. Nervous breakdowns are bad!