Blood Binds – But Betrayal Blinds
NINE – Disclosed Coalitions
Rating: PG/PG-13
Setting: LA, Unknown Location in Eastern Europe
Characters: Dr. Barnett, Michael Vaughn, Aiden Ivanov (Hugh Dancy or James Franco), Abs Michaelis (Jessica Alba), Marcus Dixon, Will Tippin, Elle Williams (Maggie Gyllenhaal), Arvin Sloane, Steph Mariani (Eliza Dushku), Sark mentioned Jack Bristow, Sydney Bristow, McKenas Cole
Length: 5,350 Words
The clicking and tapping of the eraser end of a pencil on a pad of paper is consistent, driving, grating even. And it's really enough to drive a person insane, Vaughn thinks. He wonders why it is that Dr. Barnett, a woman who has been trained in how to deal with crazy people, would even ever consider doing that. Especially with him. He has just been thrown in jail for losing his temper. Shouldn't she be scared? Possibly a little hesitant in her annoying habits? Or maybe she should be a little concerned with what he's doing, or how he'll react. Vaughn sighs, making eye contact with the blue/gray orbs behind light glasses staring back at him.
"Michael, I feel you need to open up more than you have." She's now holding the tip of the pencil to the yellow pad of paper, wanting to write something down. "Yes, we've talked about the reason you're in here, and you have a firm grasp on it. I'm proud of you. But don't you feel there are other issues looming?" She's pressing the subject, digging even. And Vaughn once again wants to question her credibility as a psychologist. Aren't they not supposed to dig into these kind of subjects? Aren't they supposed to wait until the 'patient' feels comfortable enough to speak about them? He takes a deep breath, letting it out heavily.
Vaughn runs his hand through his hair, and then stares at the blonde woman sitting before him. "What is it that you think I need to open up about?" He questions. He knows the inquiry he's giving with her appears more pointed than it really is. She looks up at him and it seems as though, for the moment, she's glaring. He wonders if she has something to hide.
"Mr. Vaughn, deflection is not going to work with me" Her words are also angry. He wonders why she's going on the defensive, but also wonders why he's going on the defensive as well. Vaughn doesn't like to have his brain picked a part, but he knows it's probably a good thing for him. Dr. Barnett sits up straighter, slightly moving her right leg, which is crossed over the left, drawing his attention to her shin. He thinks, that if she were possibly a woman with a very different personality and if he were in a different situation, he might find her attractive.
And Vaughn sits up just as much, taking a deep breath. They're still sitting in his jail cell - he's happy to be housed in a cell that has no one around, creating a moderate air of privacy. "What is it that you're digging for, doctor?" He didn't intend those words to sound as angry and defensive as they do. And the look on Dr. Barnett's face is anything but pleased.
She gives him a pointed look for a moment, pressing her lips together. "This is not about digging by one person or the other." She keeps eye contact with Vaughn the entire time that she speaks. "This is about you looking inward and telling me what it is that you find." She keeps that same kind of arrogant and disappointed expression in her voice that she always has when she speaks with Agent Vaughn.
But the fact is that Vaughn isn't having any of it; isn't buying the words that are coming from her lips. "Oh so it's about me digging for something within me. Doing your dirty work." He's snide, angry even. He doesn't want to be sitting here with Barnett, while she tries to comb through his brain and see what it is that she finds. He doesn't care to know what she finds. "I don't know why I'm here. I don't need a shrink telling me if I'm okay. I'm okay! I thought emotions were healthy." He'd much rather be helping get Sydney back. "Or is it that everyone here lives by Jack Bristow's 'Stone faced & Stoic: A handbook to self awareness' attitude?"
"Let's talk about Jack Bristow." Vaughn watches Barnett's face as she awaits his response to her suggestion. And he desperately regrets the words prior; bringing up Jack at all. He curses himself mentally for being stupid enough to bring the man into the conversation.
"No, let's not talk about him." His words are quick, and eye contact solid. He doesn't want Dr. Barnett to get any ideas that he's trying to avoid the subject. Sure, he's trying to avoid it, but only because he doesn't care to spend any more time than he has to discussing the man in question.
And Dr. Barnett leans her head forward, looking at him from behind and slightly above her glasses. "Michael, you brought him up." She finishes by pressing her painted red lips together.
Vaughn knows he can no longer hold back. She's pushing him, poking and prodding to see what it is that she can find. "You really want to know? Fine." And he takes a deep breath, preparing for the uncontrolled words about to leave his mouth. "I think he's a homicidal, loose cannon, uptight, reactionary, short fused, quick acting, old pompous jack ass with the personality of a cold fish and the common sense of an ice cube!" He watches the way Dr. Barnett thinks, mentally reacting to his words. "That's only the Cliff Notes version."
"Jack Bristow is an intelligent man." And Vaughn hates that this woman is doing what she is. He hates that she wants to truly get to him in the fashion she's trying. He'd much rather experience anything else; No torture on the face of the planet could be worse than the mental battle he is waging at the present. Vaughn would just generally rather be doing anything else, mostly working on Sydney's case. He doesn't understand why it is that he's being forced to stay away, and waste all these valuable hours.
Vaughn lets a heavy breath leave his body, giving Dr. Barnett and irritated look. "Yeah well if he's so intelligent, then why is it that his personally biased last minute decision has Sydney kidnapped by the Covenant... again?" He watches as Dr. Barnett opens her mouth to speak. But he's talking before she has the opportunity to get her words out. "And I might add, Doctor the fact that he may have intellect, as you say, does not mean he has any amount of good judgment or common sense. His world is games and plans and negotiations. He's like a robot and does not have a single stitch of human feeling." Vaughn finds himself glaring, getting worked up.
And Barnett depicts that same arrogant and disappointed essence. It's almost as though she's let down in the words that Vaughn has decided to use to depict his feelings. Like she expects something different from him. "But Jack was not responsible for Sydney's last kidnapping." She says it as though it's a matter of fact, while Vaughn rationalizes a way to turn this around say Jack is. He wonders, at that moment, if the fact that he finds ways to blame Jack Bristow for everything, is what she's looking for him to say.
"Are you sure about that Judith?" Vaughn let's the words leave his mouth before he has a chance to stop them. Instantly he feels shame for disrespecting the woman, but he also doesn't want to take them back.
Dr. Barnett watches Vaughn for a moment, deciding that she doesn't want to get into it with this man over his complete disregard for her as a professional. Instead she decides to continue with her line of questions, hoping that he'll get a clue and just start to cooperate. "Are you using Jack's mistake here to justify your own actions after Sydney's last kidnapping?" She questions, waiting to see how Vaughn responds. The entire time she's been scribbling down words, taking notes of his reactions.
"I don't care to defend and speak of my actions and decisions with you." Vaughn's words are strong, slow, and bold. He is getting to the point where he has had enough. She is dancing on the line, very nearly crossing it. And he glares at the woman before him, this time not discretely. No, this time he glares with full force and fury. "I love my wife." As he says the words, his mind pictures Lauren, suddenly he knows exactly where he wants to be.
They both know the very words to come, as Dr. Barnett takes her deep breath. And Vaughn wishes she wouldn't do this. "But do you still love Sydney?" She questions. Vaughn prepares the answer he always gives, but stops when she's speaking again. "I mean, to be honest she-"
"What did Sydney say?" He hates that he let himself respond like that.
Dr. Barnett has a satisfied smirk painted across her face. She always does. "I think that answers my question." And she's snootier than ever. Vaughn immediately decides to mirror her tone.
"Yes, I still have feelings for her. You try being in my situation." He looks down, shaking his head for a moment. Dr. Barnett just watching him, waiting. He looks up, expectant. "What, no lecture on the dangers of mixing business with pleasure? C'mon, I know you have one in you." He's taunting her now. And he's not going to stop.
She takes a quick deep breath, standing. "Actually no. I think you know my feelings on the matter. I'm going to leave you, Agent Vaughn." She reaches down, grabbing her suit jacket and empty coffee cup. She then turns back to Vaughn, who is now standing as well.
He looks at her with apologetic eyes. "Well what's the diagnosis, am I crazy?"
And obviously Dr. Barnett does not make light of the words. She does not find this to be a joke. "Michael, I think you're very aware of your mental state; you lost your temper. But I would like to see you again. I think you just need someone to talk to, before you let your anger take over. You're a smart man." She then turns, walking to exit the jail cell, signaling to the guard at the end of the hall.
"Thanks" Vaughn replies, sitting back down.
Aiden's right hand moves slow along her bare skin - her arm - the pads of his fingertips barely making contact with the woman. The very feel of her is like light milk chocolate silk under his steady palms, and their breathing is slow. The definable scent of her cinnamon mouth still lingers on his lips, making him want more. It is not unpleasant and he wonders if Sark registers the subtle taste of Abs after a kiss, or if he knows the moment she is about to sigh in contentment from the way the air hitches in her chest. Aiden wonders if he knows her brown eyes go hazel with any emotion of fear, anger, pain and happiness.
She has such expressive eyes, and he loves them. He thinks she only shows them to him, and he loves that. She trusts him to never hurt her the way Sark always hurts her. He won't. Long brown hair fanning out from her angular face, and it hides the sharp line of her jaw. A part of him wants to know why she hides, knowing how beautiful she truly is. There's a faint acrid scent of burnt embers as he breathes in. He wonders if it's from her hair that has been pressed far too many times, or if it's the burning cigarette he rolled sitting in the ashtray on the windowsill. No, it's her hair, his cigarettes always carry the undertone of mint.
She sighs when she sees him look to the cracked window. "I hate that you smoke," Her words are soft and low, as though she's half asleep, but still declare her reasoning. "Life is too short to make it shorter."
"Then make me stop," he retorts smoothly. But she does not see him bit his lip at the candid remark. He partially hates himself for thinking about her the way he does, but he also loves it. She needs him so, and a part, yes Aiden is brave enough to admit that a part of him needs her too. Her intellect, her brash charm and the vulnerability quivering from a full bottom lip in a bed they'll never sleep in. He has Steph. He loves Steph. He wishes Abs could find a better man. And he slowly is letting his fingers mover higher up her bare arm, to her collarbone, wondering if she's even noticed. He wishes he could call her Abigail.
She has noticed. A gentle smile on soft lips, "would you really stop for me?" yes a bitter smile. He sighs, with his own lips pressed together now.
"No, Steph likes my cigarettes." He hates that he's answered her this way, bringing the other woman into their conversation.
She shakes her head sadly and curls back into his shoulder. "Too bad," and her hand is making lazy circles on his chest, his heart beating erratically now, and they both know it. He closes his eyes, knowing that she is soothing him now, instead of the reverse. How strange that she upsets him as much as delights him, and she looks up at him. Hazel eyes. A moment before an action and her hand on his chest has stopped circling. Harsh breathing, and anticipation.
"Abs..." It's more like a breath or a groan than an actual word, a primitive little statement. He stares at her, and the way she's frozen in time for the moment, before she closes her eyes.
"Shhh, you know to call me Abby," And then her lips meet on his, the way he's urged her, achingly sweet with the touch of cinnamon searing his vaguely mint and tar tongue. How right it feels as he falls back and she follows, cradling him close as she hovers over him and her hair falls around their faces, with eyes closed. All sensation and she is shaking, trembling, quaking over him as his hands glide up her bare arms. His fingers are at the straps, and she flees.
She's off the bed now, one arm out to keep him at bay, one hand pressed to her chest, willing her breath to normalcy. And Aiden is craving. He looks at her, a torrent of emotions falling across her face. Who else but he sees her like this? No one. He wishes she would see that answer the same way he does. One lock of hair lays across her forehead, taunting him, and he longs to play with it. She shakes her head firmly and he pouts at the absence of the hair he wants. "We cannot do this."
"I know." His voice is a hushed silence.
She exhales, heavily, becoming frustrated with him. "Then why Aiden? Why start at all if we can't end this like we want to?"
Aiden doesn't want to answer this. "Because you make me feel needed."
"And Steph doesn't?"
"Not like you do." She smiles weakly at his response. And words suddenly echo in her head, a song she heard once. You look like a perfect fit, for a girl in need of a tourniquet. But can you save me? Why don't you save me? And she knows Aiden won't save her, or can't save her.
"But you don't need me Aiden." Yes, I do he wants to cry. But pride, self-control, so many things his mother taught him so well constrain him. Do not look into the sun, Aiden, or you will be blinded. And Abs is the sun, the very thing he yearns for, and yet will ultimately destroy him if he chooses it to. She destroys so many things with out meaning to. She stands a few feet away, her arm still stretched out in front of her, to fend him off. But he has yet to move. She looks into his deep brown eyes, dark curls dressing the frame of his face, and she sees liquid obsidian. How can she stop this?
His hand is rising, so very slowly, beckoning her back to his side, because he loves the way she curls in to him when they lay together, like she can't possibly be whole or at ease otherwise. Steph sleeps on her side of the bed, only. And she hesitates, she laughs, the very warm and welcomed laugh only he hears when she's comfortable, alone in a room with him and all her secrets. "Could this get any more complicated, Aiden?" He loves that she asks him questions.
Aiden thinks about the book he is reading, words and stories pounding in his brain, like they have all his life. And his imagination awakens, like when he was a child. "We could start a war?" And she grins, eyes flashing bright and wet at him. His hand is still extended in her direction. "Abs..."
"Oh shut up, and call me Abby," she mutters, as she stalks back to the bed, and Aiden is the one laughing, waiting to accept her in his arms. His chest is burning from the inside out with the touch of her hand in his. And the sun destroys him after all. He accepts it gladly, his eyes rolling closed, as she curls back into him, the spot that only she can fit, on the bed they'll never sleep in.
And as Aiden rubs her back, he feels vengeful, vowing to make Sark aware of the destruction he's creating.
Dixon looks up as his eyes fall upon the young man walking in his direction, the sleeves on his shirt rolled up, the way a reporter would; the way he used to always feel comfortable doing. And the CIA director hates it that he's groaning in anticipation of the conversation to come. So he gathers his papers up, tapping them on the desk once or maybe twice. "Will," He acknowledges as the man has approached him now.
Will pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Director Dixon, I need to have a word, or two with you - it's about Elle." He states.
"Who?" Dixon questions, having an idea of the person who owns the name, vaguely remembering its use earlier in the day. But so much has gone on, so much has happened, been said, and developed. Dixon sees the weaknesses in himself as he can't get the grasp he wants on it all.
"She's the analyst we're about to send in to see Arvin Sloane, Elle Williams."
"Oh, right. Of course. What seems to be the issue here, Mr. Tippin?" Dixon asks. And he makes for the door, watching the expression on the young man's face. "Walk with me - I'm on my way to the interrogation room she'll be using now."
Will follows the man through the door, words waiting to leave his mouth. He doesn't hesitate, like he thinks he probably should, but instead starts in. "See that's the problem, Sir. I don't think that she is qualified to handle an operation of this magnitude." Dixon sighs inaudibly. Will's exuberance for the job, at times is a little exhausting for him, it makes him admit his age. And he smiles, kindly at the younger man. "We can't allow her do this. Arvin Sloane is a horrible man and we can't let this girl be a part of his plan."
"This girl," Dixon states sternly, "is a qualified member of this office. She will be put on the assignments I place her. I am sure she is quite capable of doing her job to satisfaction Mr. Tippin," Their feet are heavy on the tile floors, heavy strides in pace as they walk through the halls.
And Will is quick to speak again, urging the man to make a different decision. "But we can't leave her in there, alone with Sloane."
"She won't be alone, Mr. Tippin. May I remind you that questioning my authority when it comes to Sloane is not a good idea?" Dixon doesn't question so much as he warns the man at his side. He can tell by Will's silence that his threat has worked, possibly too well. "Yes, he's decided to use her in some kind of game, and we all know Sloane thinks in games. I will inform Ms. Williams of it, and make sure she's aware of what this man is going to try to do."
"Director Dixon, may I speak candidly with you for a moment?"
"Yes" And the two men stop, just outside the door that will lead them to the young woman in question.
"I'm concerned for her, and the kind of affect this may have." Will isn't sure why he's letting these things be known. But some sort of conviction inside of him is pulling them forward. "She's only an analyst, and I know how coming in contact with these people can change a person."
Dixon takes a deep breath in through his nose, creating a loud noise, as he keeps his lips together. And when he pulls them apart to speak, there's a slight smacking noise. "You' were only an analyst once," He watches the way Will listens to him, intently. "Untrained," And he knows he has the young man's attention, in spite of the fact that Will is dying to speak. "Given a job because... well didn't someone give you a chance?" He questions, not waiting at all for the other man to answer. "Williams is being given a chance to prove herself. Don't treat her like the child she isn't."
And Will takes a deep breath. "Yes... Sir, I know this, but... I spent a long time living a life that wasn't mine..." He stops as Dixon begins to speak once more.
"That was after you were tortured in Taipei, framed for espionage and left for dead in a South LA heroin house" He lets his words sink in, heavy on the young man's mind, wondering slightly if they're bringing back memories. And he smiles. "You got through all of that okay"
"And yet I still had to spend years of my life as a man named Jonas in Wisconsin, and probably still would be that man, had Sydney Bristow not walked back into my life." Will doesn't want this to go the way it is. He fears for her, the threat of his life looming over his head.
"No situation is the same as any other" Dixon's voice is low, beginning to take a changing tone. "If we based all our case assignments on your past experiences Tippin we would not get anything done. Now I understand you have concerns about Williams. And I understand that this comes from being her superior and wanting to protect your newest asset. However," and Dixon leans in ever so closely to Will's face. "I am your superior, so the second she joined this task force I became hers. Do not make me say this again"
"She hasn't joined this task force." And Will wishes he had bit his tongue and stopped himself.
"Not officially, no. But it is just a matter of telling her." He stops his words for a moment, to change his tone and put the young man in his place. "And, Tippin, I mean it. Don't push me. I've already sent one Agent to jail today." And Will closes his mouth mutely as Director Dixon opens the door entering the room that Elle is waiting in. Her brow is furrowed in concentration while she reads through her notes.
She stands as they walk in, an eager smile on her face. "Hello Director Dixon, Mr. Tippin," And she is quick to walk over to them, a hand out stretched for each to shake, not sure if formalities always carry over upon each meeting. She just left these men a matter of forty-five minutes ago. "Are we..." She trails, making eye contact with Will, then looking back to Dixon. "Ready?"
"Ms. Williams, first off, welcome to the task force, your clearance will be explained later. Tippin and I are going to be behind the two-way mirror. If you feel uncomfortable, let us know. Arvin Sloane is known for his tricks...his deceit. He delights in playing games and views his life as a living game of chess. Don't be a pawn" He finishes his words, leaving Elle a moment to let them mold in her head.
And Elle gives a nod in Dixon's direction. "Yes sir," She's suddenly job oriented, no longer concerned with her own well-being and the fears she has of the moment to come stewing in the pit of her stomach. She feels this rush of anticipation and adrenaline running through her, just like the first time she met with one of her many contacts.
"Remember." Will is speaking, and she turns to him. "If you feel uncomfortable at all, we'll be in here." She nods, letting the man know she understands. And Will departs, walking through a separate door, obviously to the secluded room where he can watch the meeting to come. Elle turns to Dixon, suddenly, when she hears the knock on the door. And her whole stomach begins to flop as the man from the jail cell earlier is brought in. He wears his same blue prison clothes, now with wrists and ankles cuffed and chained, making him walk at a slow pace. But the part that sends chills through her body, and actually makes her consider cowering at the task at hand is the thick black hood over his head.
She watches as the two guards sit him down in a chair, removing the hood to reveal his face. And they then remove the cuffs. Elle takes a deep breath. "May I have a glass of water?" He asks, in Dixon's direction. And then he turns to the girl who stands over six inches shorter than the man he just questioned. "We meet again, Elle."
She's changed her clothes now, lost the short dress and wears the same tight black pin striped, well tailored suit that she always wears when she's at work. Her long curly brown hair, that has the subtle, yet strong blonde highlights, is now pulled back in a tight bun that rests low at the back of her neck; reminding her of days as a young teen in Milan, dancing ballet. She shakes the thought, because that time doesn't exist anymore. And she jerks her body forward as she feels the strong hand clam on her inner arm. Sark. "A moment, if you will," he murmurs softly. And his politeness jars her nerves right now.
She doesn't like casualties and conversations before she is about to go to work. She's mentally preparing herself to break someone's defense down, to be cruel. And she doesn't like having someone try to speak with her before hand. But Sark knows all this and is still persisting. A tic in her jaw lets him know that she is pissed, annoyed by his interruption. "Yes, Sark?" She asks, her voice describing the glare he doesn't see behind her mirrored sunglasses. He loves the way she prepares for this. And it's best to walk on eggshells with her, he knows what she can do.
His finger tracing the curve of her neck, eggshells Sark, eggshells. And he can't help but think how he loves the feel and shape of her body. "Just..." She breathes out deeply in response to him, and the vaguely bitter scent of tar envelops him. "Just... be careful with her."
"Are you fucking with me?" She turns to him, asking.
"No, I'm not... Aiden is." His words are quick and the sting of her hand across his face is sudden and hard. He was too slow to deflect that, the most deserved blow. She slips her sunglasses off.
"I thought you wanted Intel, Sark," Stephania hisses. "And don't you dare talk about Aiden that way again." Her voice is low, angry, and beyond all, out of control. He's completely got her off her balance now, and she knows she won't be able to do the job she hopes to anyway. He's getting his wish, if this is what he wants. That fucking ass.
His blue eyes glint, knowingly. He knows that she knows he knows and if that circular line of thinking was not dizzying enough, the fact that his proximity is disturbing her for more reasons than they should aggravates her even more. He inclines his head regally. "I say this to you, telling you to be careful with her, because she is our negotiation piece. She is our pawn."
"Bull shit." Sark startles at her forthrightness. No one has ever called his bluff, not like this. And he doesn't hesitate, placing his lips to hers, and letting his body forcefully pin her against the wall. She feels the way his hands are hungry on her, wondering what it is that he's feeling for her. The way his pelvis is now grinding in to her is sending chills and desires through her mind.
And Sark is remembering. Remembering the first time he met her; his own interrogation. He's remembering how she got him to talk, pouring wine on the floor, baiting him with money, and burning his inner arm. He's always held this respect and at the same time, burning desire for her. The same temperature as searing flesh, and blistered scars on smooth skin. He remembers though, that it wasn't her actions that made him speak - it was the desire she made him feel. But this is what she does not know, and he will never speak. So he tells her in kisses, painfully nibbling kisses across her lips and jaw. And hard, heavy, forceful open mouthed kisses where his teeth hit hers.
And a laugh is puffed into her ear as he's left her mouth and nibbles the lobe - no bites it, tugging and disregarding diamond earrings. No half measures between them, pain is their shared history. Jarring the nerves, the synapses to receptors flooded with twin sensations of pain and pleasure, their own drug cocktail of choice, spreading like chemical electricity throughout their limps. And they are soldered together, the wall no longer real on their plane of existence.
And as fast and hurried as the kiss began, the connections and sensations of pain with pleasure, he is off of her, across the hall, feet away between them now. She reacts first. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" She yells, her face flushed scarlet, and she wipes her hand across her lips, to tear the taste of him away from the memory of a mouth so hot on hers. Her chest is heaving with anger and passion. Her breath is heavy. Quickly. But slower now, only just as heavy and pained, and a quelling breath stabilizes her.
"If you think..." He moves across the room and kisses her again, only this time soft, like Aiden would, but different. Because their electricity is still sparking, he knows it's not by chance. "If I said I didn't know, would you believe me, Stephania?" He questions, his voice in tune with bright blue eyes boring into hers. And she curses herself for removing the sunglasses.
Her chin lifts defiantly, the way he already knows it to. "No!" And she is growling at him. "If you think this helped you, you are dead wrong. If I slip up in there, she dies, you dreadful little moron!"
He's angry now, not passionate. "And if she dies, your life is forfeit."
"Then you shouldn't have kissed me," She hisses deathly quiet, her face pale now, with rage and indignation. Sark lifts his hand to her cool cheek.
"So file a sexual harassment complaint. I'm sure Cole will care." And with that, Sark walks off, leaving her in the hall fuming and attempting to straighten her clothes, preparing to enter the room and do her job.