Chapter Two

"Get that shit eating grin off your face, James Vaughn! Just because you know kicked all our asses on that exam doesn't mean you have to rub it in," grumbled Josh, good naturedly, punching James in the arm as they left their classroom, both exhausted from the three hours of testing they'd just completed.

"Hey," James retorted, "If I did well, its because I studied. Unlike others," he grinned. "Just how much tequila did you drink last night, anyway?"

Josh rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Too much. I dunno…I lost count after we started playing that ping-pong game. I kept losing. You missed a good time, buddy."

"I'm sure," James said, turning on his pager. 'Good luck' appeared on the little screen, followed by Erin's number. His grin got bigger. Good thing he hadn't looked at it before the exam. He never would have been able to concentrate.

"Aww, whosat, Jamesy?"

"Shut up, man." But the grin didn't go away.

"Aw, it's heeeer, isn't it?" Josh nudged his friend.

"Grow up, would you?" James smirked. "And stop knocking my love life to feel better about the impossibility of having one of your own."

Josh put a hand over his heart. "That hurt. Really, it did, Jimmy."

"Don't call me Jimmy."

"Whatever. I hate to leave you when we're having such a thought provoking conversation, but I've got another class to get to. Later."

"Bye, man."

James shook his head and started back for his apartment As soon as he reached his room, he swung his too-heavy bag onto a chair and flopped down on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the light of his answering machine blinking. Slightly agitated at having to accomplish such an arduous task in his drained state, he slowly rolled over and hit the 'play' button.

"Salut, James. C'est ta mere. Ca va? Alors, je vais juste le dis; je suis inquiet au ton frere… s'il tu plait, appeles moi. Je voudrais te parles. T'aime."

Beeeep.

He cursed inwardly. "Worried about your brother" always meant "Find out what's wrong and then report back to me so I can fix it." His mother always relied on James to find out what was wrong with Michael, since his darling twin brother never called home unless it was a holiday or he needed something. In the six years since they'd graduated high school, they'd drifted so far apart James wasn't even sure what was going on in Michael's life, and he knew that Mike sure as hell didn't care about his life.

They went the same law school, and saw each other maybe once a month. James pressed his face into his pillow in anger, imagining how disappointed his dad would be at their nonexistent relationship. They were twins, for god sake; most twins had some sort of connection, but theirs had been lost long ago, stemming, James guessed, from their father's death. They'd handled it so differently, James attaching himself to his mother and Michael pushing everyone away, bitter and inconsolable.

"Damnit," he whispered, punching the bed in frustration. Erin had mentioned something about going to a bar tonight after his exam, and that sounded a thousand times more appealing than confronting his brother. Michael could wait another day before his twin brother psychoanalyzed him. He was going to have fun.

"Hey, Jamesy? I wanna go dancing. Can we go dancing?"

He smirked down at the girl his arm was looped around. "Erin, dancing is the last thing we should be doing right now."

"Aw, why not? I won't get sick, really. I didn't drink all that much," she protested, her blue eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and the buzz she was denying.

"Ok," he smiled slyly as he stopped in front of his apartment building. "How bout we do some dancing right here at my lovely abode?"

She raised her eyebrows seductively, as if visualizing the suggestion for an easier decision then lowered them and shook her head. "Nah… I want real dancing."

He'd had a couple beers at the bar, but the lightheaded feeling he had wasn't from alcohol. Still smiling, he turned her to face him and put her hands on his shoulders. "Let's practice first," he said, reaching for her waist. She leaned into him, and they swayed gently from side to side.

Two months and going strong. He'd be damned if he ever got that grin off his face. Erin sighed into his jacket. She whispered, "This is nice," and snuggled deeper into his chest. "Can we just stay like this forever?"

He held her a little tighter, too engrossed in her to notice the black van across the street that had been there all day, and he would fail to notice the taps installed in his phones for the next several days.

Two days ended up going by before James finally couldn't handle the guilt anymore. Had he always done everything his mother told him to do? Apparently it was an inescapable trait burned within him.

He pondered this for a moment as he listened to the phone ring on the other end. On the forth ring, an all too familiar voice answered, a voice he heard every time he himself spoke, differentiated only by the roughness of tone, the lack of warmth that James's voice had always carried.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Mike?"

"James. This makes the third call in two semesters. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

He sighed. "I have to talk to you about something."

"And here I thought phones were created for decoration."

"Mike, I'm serious. Can you come by for a little while?"

Pause.

"Yeah. Looking forward to hearing Amelie's latest frustrations of my existence. Be there in an hour."

Closing his eyes, James sighed as he set the phone down in its holder. This whole conversation was going to blow, big time. His good mood from finishing exams and spending time with Erin was evaporating far too quickly, and it was going to be shot to hell by the time he was done talking to Mike. He'd been mediating between Amelie and Mike for too long, and he swore this was going to be the last time he gave into his mother. Mike didn't appreciate it, and he hated doing it.

When the buzzer finally rang, he steeled himself. No point in getting his hopes up for an easy conversation.

Mike had neutral expression on his face, something he'd never had before he graduated high school. His moods had always been in extremes, so much to the point that his mother had him go to a therapist. James had been dragged along on that one so his brother didn't feel isolated. Apparently being a twin meant you had the same mental problems as well.

"Hey," James said awkwardly, moving aside so Michael could come in. His twin only nodded. "So," he stalled, "want something to drink?"

Michael walked further inside and sat down on the couch. "Let's cut the pleasantries, James. What does our mother want?"

His tone sent shivers down James' spine. Had he always been this cold? He remembered a time when they were inseparable.

He remembered a time when their biggest confrontations came from who got which color of the matching outfits Amelie would buy for them. He tried to shake it off.

"She's worried about you, Michael. And frankly, I'm beginning to feel the same way."

He scoffed. "Worried about me?"

"Yes. Amelie may not be your favorite person right now, for whatever reason, but she still loves you. And the last thing she needs is to lose you the same way we lost Dad."

He looked at James hard and for a second, James thought, maybe, Michael was thinking about it. But when had he ever been right?

"Screw you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" As many times as they'd gotten into fights recently, it rarely escalated this quickly, or without reason.

"Come on, you're believing that bullshit? If our mother is worried, it's because she doesn't want the guilt of having her son's blood on her hands along with her husband's."

James felt a pang of quick anger shoot through his veins. "…What?"

"She let him go, she never stopped him, never tried. He's dead. Need I make it any more clear for you?"

Looking over his brother carefully, James found no apparent signs of insanity, other than the dark, almost bruise like circles under his eyes, but surely, surely, Michael was suffering from some sort of mental strain. Their mother, the woman who had refused to even look at other men since their father's death, who had cried herself to sleep for years, guilty of murder? It was fucking ridiculous. "You're crazy, you know that?" James finally said, rubbing the dimple in his chin. "You need help."

"Well, you won't have to worry about it much longer," Michael spat, standing up quickly, "I'm going to CST in four days."

The term sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "CST? What the fuck is that?"

"Clandestine Service Training. I'm joining the CIA. You remember what the CIA is right?" said Michael, "Central Intelligence Agency—"

"Yes, I know what that is, you dumbass!" James yelled, pushing Michael backwards, "You hate the CIA! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Pushing James back, harder, he gritted, "I'm going to find out who killed our father, Jimmy."

James flushed. "Don't call me Jimmy."

Michael grabbed hold of James' collar. "Don't you ever wonder who was responsible? No justice was ever served, because of the fucking red tape and classified stamps all over his files! We deserve to at least know why we didn't have our father growing up, don't you think, Jimmy?"

"It won't make it any easier, Mike," James muttered, releasing himself from Michael's grasp and stepping backwards. "You're never gonna find what you're looking for at the CIA, bro."

"Thank you, Dr. Vaughn. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some packing to do," Michael walked past James, turning as he opened the door. "Oh, you'll tell our mother? I won't be able to call for awhile." He smiled, sending more shivers down James' spine. "See you around, Jimmy."

The door slammed close, and James gripped the back of the couch with white knuckles. He never thought Michael could go off the deep end so hard, or with such conviction. Closing his eyes, he felt a wave of sadness wash over him, leaving a startling truth in its wake; his brother Mike was now completely gone, replaced by Michael Vaughn, a man searching for catharsis in all the wrong places.