Chapter Eleven- "Leave No Stain"

Let his flesh not be torn

Let his blood leave no stain

Though they beat him

Let him feel no pain

Let his bones never break

And however they try

To destroy him

Let him never die -"No Good Deed"- The Wicked Soundtrack

I don't think I'd ever been scared to bring the prize of a successful mission to Sloane. It always meant one more point on the CIA scoreboard; one step closer to the obliteration of SD-6.

But this time was different. This time, as Dixon and I led our blindfolded, handcuffed prisoner to my scheming, fraudulent boss's office, the terror that coursed through me was physically sickening. I couldn't even imagine how Vaughn was feeling.

In effort to soothe him in the slightest bit, I squeezed his upper arm more gently, and discreetly stroked my thumb across his bound hand. To anyone watching, Dixon and I were simply grasping the areas to prevent struggle. Hopefully my rebellion from this goal had assuaged Vaughn's apprehension a little.

"Ah, Mr. Vaughn," Sloane greeted him as we entered his office and peeled the cloth from Vaughn's face. It was all I could do to not turn into his now exposed olive eyes.

"Who the hell are you? What the hell am I doing here?" Vaughn spat out, his façade of perplexed fury overtaking any fear he was most likely harboring. Too bad it only heightened mine.

"My name is Arvin Sloane and I am the director of this office of the Central Intelligence Agency. You are under arrest for numerous acts of treasonous arms dealing and terrorist negotiation."

"Bullshit! I have no idea what the hell you are talking about."

"In a perfect world, Mr. Vaughn, I'd believe you. Agent Bristow, bring him to the holding cell until I'm ready for him."

I forced on a rigid understanding smile and nod, then gripped the arm of a scowling Vaughn much more tightly than I'd ever choose to and roughly shoved him towards the door, silently apologizing for my callous but necessary treatment.

Keeping his ploy going, Vaughn continued to shout, "You have this all wrong!"

I took a deep breath before doing what I knew I had to. Harshly, I snapped at him. "We have all the evidence we need, Mr. Vaughn. Ridiculous claims cannot save you from this situation."

Vaughn let his angry persuasions fall then, either feeling he'd convinced them enough, or just wanting to save me from having to reprimand him again.

Finally, we reached a tight alcove in the hallway, out of view or hearing range from the guards outside the cell. Leading him into it, I quickly twisted the diamond stud decorating my left ear and waited for the quiet beep.

"Alright, we have two minutes. The security cameras are on a loop so they think the hallway is empty and silent," I explained, and he nodded. Suddenly I realized that, given this tiny amount of time, I had no idea what I wanted to say. "Vaughn…."

"I know, Syd," he picked up my thoughts softly, interpreting my hesitation in exactly the way it was meant to be said in words, "I'll be fine."

"We don't know what they're going to do to you… Vaughn, I'm so sorry… I'll help in any way I possibly can, and my father too."

"Sydney," he cut me off, sliding my hands between his cuffed ones. "I know. It's alright."

I stared at him until I realized how much time I was spending silent and unmoving as our seconds were ticking away. Snapping out of it, I lifted his hands and pressed my lips gently to his fingertips. Slowly, I lowered them again, eyes locked on his, and we lingered until my earring beeped once more, separating us insensitively back into reality.

I silently wiped at the moisture condensing in my eyes, hid my emotions under a perfected 'Don't-mess-with-me-I-mean-business' mask, and gripped Vaughn by the arm again, herding him in the cell's direction.

"Here we are, Mr. Vaughn. Your new home for the next while," I forced the wickedness into my tone as I pushed him into the class cage. "I trust you'll take good care of him," I commented to the guards, who nodded and locked the door of the cell. I could feel bile rising in my throat and threatening to emerge.

Unable to contain myself much longer, I smiled at them and headed back down the hallway towards the elevator, shooting what I hoped was a seemingly disgusted glance back at Vaughn but knowing he took it for its true meaning, as I did so.

Once I was out of sight, I escaped to the echoing silence of the bathroom. I huddled before the toilet, the knees of my suit pants soaking through with water from a puddle on the floor. Then I released the contents of all my recent meals into the toilet until my stomach was as empty as my soul and my throat burned and screamed as loudly as my heart.

"Good work, Sydney," Sloane congratulated me when I finally collected myself and returned from my impromptu bathroom break.

"Thank you." I paused. "I'm curious- how will Mr. Vaughn be dealt with?"

"He'll be held in custody until arrangements are complete for his transfer to Giovanni."

Was that all?

I let out an immense sigh of relief that I hoped wasn't as audible as it had seemed.

"…After we interrogate him ourselves, of course. We can't be sure that Giovanni will share all of his findings with us willingly."

I nodded and tried desperately not to get sick again.

"Anyway, good work, Sydney. You're free to go; I'll be in contact when we're ready for the transfer."

"Thank you," I answered, eager to get out of this hell and back to meet my father at the Joint Task Force so we could further coordinate Vaughn's escape.

"Have a good evening."

"You too."

With that, I headed towards the elevator and tried to ignore the cries of anguish that I swear were echoing in my head.

"Sydney!"

I whipped around quickly, pausing in the pursuit of my father, to answer Dustin Gray, head of the Op-Tech department at the Joint Task Force. "Yes?"

"Would you mind helping me out for a minute? I'm having some trouble with a video feed."

I wondered briefly why someone with an intellect possibly surpassing Marshall's would need my help with something as simple as a video feed. In spite of my curiosity, I nodded. "Sure," and followed him into the tech room.

He led me to the largest monitor in the room, which was flickering between static and a fuzzy depiction of an unnervingly familiar room. With a dizzying tremor, I quickly realized that it was Sloane's beloved and infamous 'Conversation Room.' Why was Dustin monitoring this, and why would he need my help with it?

"I can't seem to get a clear image of it," he explained as he typed something rapidly into the keyboard, smacking the side of the monitor a couple of times. Then he looked up at me. "I thought maybe you'd know if there was a problem with the bug, since you're the one who planted it and all-"

I cut him off, surprised. "I didn't plant this."

"You didn't? I suppose it was your father, then. Do you know where he is?"

"No- Dustin, I didn't even know we'd planted a camera at all. Who ordered this?"

"Kendall," Dustin answered, mildly distracted as the screen began to waver. "He wanted a thorough monitoring of Agent Vaughn's interrogation."

A wave of shock drowned the ability to suppress my exclamation, "Why?!"

"He said we had to account for all possibilities. In the time frame we had to work with, we were unable to give Vaughn a counteragent to thiopental sodium, or truth serum of any sort. If he gives something away, we'll know and be able to extract you and your father to safety immediately."

As queasy and distressed and startled as I'd been two minutes ago, I didn't think it would be possible to add double the amount of fury. But somehow, I accomplished it. "He what?! Kendall thinks Vaughn will rat us out?"

"He didn't quite put it that way, Agent Bristow, he just expressed the concern that…" he paused, staring intently at the screen.

"What is it?"

"It appears to be working now," Dustin answered. I looked at the screen over his shoulder. He was right, the image had snapped into clear focus, and two figures were now plainly visible on the screen.

In horror of what I saw, my boiling anger was quickly shoved aside. There he was: Michael Vaughn; sitting in the deteriorating leather chair, heavy, wide brown restraints holding him down; imprisoning him. His body was overshadowed by Sloane, holding himself in a stature that resembled that of the devil himself. Fitting.

I should have turned away right then, wished Dustin luck with his surveillance and gone back to find my father. I tried to open my mouth to do so, I tried to turn to leave; I even tried the simple act of closing my eyes. But I couldn't do it. I had to see; I had to know.

Agonizingly slowly, Sloane raised his arm and brought it down across Vaughn's face, impacting with a strident crack. Vaughn instinctively turned his head away in pain, but his face remained stony, giving nothing away.

"What do you know about page 63, Mr. Vaughn?"

"Exactly what I knew about it fifteen minutes ago: nothing."

"Mr. Vaughn, your reticence is not impressing anyone or helping your situation. It will only serve to irritate me. And my irritation is not something you can afford in your position."

Vaughn said nothing.

Why can't I stop watching, damnit?!

"Alright, let's try another question, since that one seems to be so difficult. Who is the Prophecy Woman?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Oh?" More quickly than I could even blink in reaction, Sloane reached out and flicked the switch of a machine I hadn't even realized Vaughn was attached to.

Vaughn's agonized cry filled my hearing, as he convulsed, eyes squeezed shut, tears dripping down the corners as he forced himself to blockade the pain and transform his scream into a less revealing grunt.

The all too familiar sensation of overbearing nausea began to take shape again in the deepest corners of my stomach, my attempts to fight it off now woefully defeated. Still, my eyes were unwillingly glued to the screen as a passerby's to a car wreck.

"Who is the mole inside SD-6?"

"What mole."

"Need I remind you, Mr. Vaughn, that the machine whose effects you just experienced was on the lowest setting? I have no objections to taking it up a notch."

Vaughn stared up at him, eyes dark with enragement. Finally, he muttered in a tone that was almost a growl, "I was hoping you'd say that… I was beginning to get bored."

Sloane's frustration was growing as rapidly as my repulsion, though the smallest flickering of respite bloomed in my heart at Vaughn's sarcastic words; he was protecting me, he wouldn't give in, he wasn't going to let Sloane win.

"Who is the SD-6 mole, Agent Vaughn?" Sloane repeated.

"There isn't one. All of your agents are loyal servants of the CIA."

I couldn't smirk; I couldn't take even the slightest tinge of gratification. Not under the circumstances. Not when Sloane's hand reached over to the dial of his infernal machine and spun it until it clicked into the last stop of its rotation; not when he flicked the switch again. Not when Vaughn's screaming became so loud and constant that it sustained its ringing through my ears and made it impossible to distinguish between the cries and the questioning in between.

I don't know how long I stood and watched in a hypnotized horror. It could have been a minute; it could have been fifteen. It could have been an hour. I was beyond the point of comprehension, and even further beyond the point of nausea, though my head pounded with the screams and my legs and hands quivered as though my blood had frozen inside them.

Still, I could not turn away. And I no longer attempted to. Finally the reason for my relentless attention to my worst nightmare was clear: his pain was mine. I could not allow him to go through this alone, and so I endured it as best I could. I witnessed every shock and every punch; I heard every shriek and every emotionally prying inquiry. And finally, I watched through clouded, dreamlike vision as Sloane yanked the wires off Vaughn's skin and snapped, "I see we're going to get nowhere. But I promise you, Mr. Vaughn, this is not the end. You will cooperate; Mr. Giovanni will see to that." On that note, he unlocked Vaughn's restraints and crudely ripped them off before stalking to the door and exiting, slamming it shut behind him.

The camera then focused solely on Vaughn, the lone figure in the center of the room, leaning back into the chair and allowing himself several long, ragged breaths. It wasn't until that moment that I allowed myself to satisfy my burning lungs as well.

Thank God… I thought, my eyes still locked on his trembling, aggrieved form, yet now given the chance to alleviate itself. In its relief, my mind began to run through a tirade of disarrayed thoughts. It's over…. No more pain. He made it through… and he never gave anything away. God, he's amazing… please don't let his hurting last long… he doesn't deserve it. That'll show Kendall… he can go to hell for ever doubting Michael Vaughn…

"Agent Bristow?" the hesitant voice of Dustin Gray imposed upon my internal torrent.

"…Yeah?" I answered slowly, managing to fight the shakiness that had shimmied up my throat with the word.

"Your father just called in. He's looking for you."

I hadn't even heard the phone ring.

"Oh… alright… thank you, Dustin. I'll… I'll be reporting back in later for any new developments."

He nodded and went back to the screen; I suppose to be sure Sloane didn't return. Somehow, by some cosmic instinct, I was sure he wouldn't. As I left the room to meet my father, though the heavy emotion of what I'd just seen still swam through my mind, I was in some way able to take comfort in the thought that Vaughn was safe… for now.