Title : Evidence
Author : Becky )
Spoilers : Season 2, ADT
Synopsis : Set during ADT. Vaughn at the bar.
Disclaimer : I don't own them. They belong to JJ, Bad Robot, and ABC.
A/N : Thanks to Jen, Denise, KJ, and Jude. You know why.
Evidence
You wait at the bar. You've taken one, maybe two sips of your scotch. It sits on its napkin, its fullness taunting you and you almost give in to the temptation of draining the glass, slamming it down and ordering another. But you don't. You pick it up slowly and take another sip.
You have to be careful. That's the only thing that keeps you from doing what you want so desperately to do. You must be clear-headed. Anything else could make you sloppy. And sloppy can be fatal. So you set the glass back on the bar.
You remind yourself as you stare at the amber liquid that you have been careful. For months you have been meeting in bars like this one, meeting with people like the man you are about to meet with and no one knows it. And it needs to stay that way. At least until you are sure, one way or another.
You shift slightly on the bar stool and the movement reminds you of what you carry in your jacket. You glance around the bar, trying to judge if you should be worried. At that thought you almost laugh. Of course you should be worried. You're in a seedy bar waiting for someone who, given different circumstances, could and would gut you without a moment's hesitation or an ounce of regret.
You shake your head to clear that particularly gruesome image from your head as you reach for your glass. Your fingers have almost wrapped themselves around it when you hear his voice. Immediately you pull your hand back, allowing it to rest on the bar as he takes the seat next to you.
He orders a shot of Stoli and you figure that is the last thing a place like this would have, but the bartender doesn't seem to think anything of it and he returns a moment later, sets it down, takes his cash, and discreetly heads back to the other end of the bar.
You listen as he begins to speak, but you quickly interrupt him. You're not there to listen to his demands. This is a simple transaction. One that can and will be completed quickly. You know he has the information you seek. He knows you have the money he desires. Neither of you have time for senseless accusations or unreasonable demands so there will be none.
He can see you mean what you say and he agrees by pulling an envelope from his jacket. You remove a similar one from yours and place it on the bar. You pick up the one he just set down and he no longer exists for you. Only the information contained on the papers you hold in your hands exists now.
A moment later you are aware of him once more as he stands and drains his shot, but it doesn't matter. You won't see him again. At least you hope you won't. In this world you inhabit, nothing is certain. You can only hope that all the information you've gathered is relatively reliable.
You scan the pages again, studying them to make sure you haven't missed something when you feel someone sit next to you. You don't look over. You can't. Your mouth is suddenly dry and you can only try to swallow the lump in your throat.
When she speaks you remind yourself that you've been careful. But obviously not careful enough.