Part 13
She woke in a groggy haze, the light blinding her sensitive eyes making them slam closed a moment after opening. Someone was rubbing a rough washcloth at a couple of spots caked with dried blood on her chest before adhering the sticky pads to their previous locations, the barely-wet cloth leaving the skin a stinging red. Trying to look around she felt the familiar metal of the chair and realized she was back in the dreaded room.
"Good morning," a nasally voice said from across the room.
She squinted in his direction and noticed black rings hanging under his eyes and a bandage hiding a gash over the bridge of his nose, a bit of dried blood lingering around both nostrils. A genuine dimpled smile hit her sore face at the sight he made juxtaposed against the immaculate three-piece suit. "You're the prettiest thing I've seen all day," she slurred against the drugs they'd likely given her, fighting the sleepy lack of use of her voice.
"Only because you don't have a mirror in your cell," Flynn growled.
"You can't be too mad," she sighed, "I did warn you." Running her tongue over the sore gash on her lower lip, knew she couldn't have made any prettier of a sight. While her hands were secured back behind her, she didn't need her prodding fingertips to feel the swelling of her lip, right cheekbone under her eye, and the soreness in her right eyebrow. "Are you going to tell the truth when the stream starts? Own up to your mistake?"
Flynn smiled. "Imagine all your friends and family seeing you bloody, bruised, and beaten. They'll realize that when this camera turns off, your torture doesn't end. Don't get me wrong, you busted Rob and Dave up sumthin' fierce, and I do have a delightful day of payback coming your way for this," his gesture to the broken nose made her grin again.
"When's showtime? Wouldn't wanna...disappoint your fans." She groaned and shifted in the chair slightly, her aching ribs reminding her that one or two were at least cracked.
Flynn chuckled and flipped on the machine before walking past, the uncomfortable buzzing shooting through her skin. "See you in five hours," he whispered running the back of his bruised fingers gently across her swollen right cheek, the fiery tingle burning her nerves.
"Can't wait," she sighed behind gritted teeth.
…
"He's late," Kendall grumbled as he sat in the office chair at the front of the room. It was nearly the same crowd from the day before, though a few less meant the whole team had a seat at the table.
Will hurried in last, his hair wet from the lower floor showers, and Vaughn thought that was a good idea. Sure he had deodorant and cologne in his locker, but it was only doing so much to mask the almost 40-hour stint he'd spent at the office with a majority of time spent running around. Looking at his watch he realized Kendall was right, and a million questions zinged through his brain at the same time.
Michael was too tired to focus on any one question, the myriad threatening to drown him. Once again, he felt the lack of sleep tugging at his body and he wasn't sure how much longer fear and adrenaline would carry him. He had gone to the lower levels when sent by Kendall to get some rest, but only managed to power nap for less than a half-hour before incessant worry pulled him from the uncomfortable bed and back to his desk, the spare suit in his locker rumpled and stale.
Five minutes passed, then ten. The countdown had been at 0:00 the whole time and the people in the room began to chat back and forth inserting theories over what it could mean. Twelve more agonizing minutes went by before the stream started, the group audibly shocked to see Flynn's bruised face as he started speaking.
"Whoever trains your field agents has my admiration. I apologize for running a bit behind schedule, but I had to wait for two new assistants to arrive. You see my previous assistants made mistakes, but as you will see, I handled the situation." The man was sporting a bandage over his nose and two fresh black eyes, his closeness to the camera ensuring that everyone watching could see the painful swell to the bridge and the dried blood along the rim of each nostril. A feminine chuckle from off-camera made him roll his eyes.
"She's quite proud of herself. Giving credit where it's due, she wasn't kidding when she boasted about what she'd do if she got free. Rob's radius and ulna were spirally fractured beyond recognition, not to mention the crushed larynx. And Dave? Well...he'll probably never walk right again since knees aren't supposed to bend that way." Flynn stepped out of frame and it slowly turned the camera to face the smiling woman in the metal chair. The bruises that adorned her face, neck, and arms were glaringly opposite from her jovial demeanor, some hidden behind the dried blood left stuck to her skin.
Flynn walked to her side and stood with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, feet a shoulder-width apart. "Isn't that right, Sydney? You feel right good about yourself, don't you love."
She reopened her eyes to squint, the right a little more closed than the left, and looked up at him with a crooked smile offset from the slightly swollen bottom lip, "I think it makes you look like a working professional."
He moved faster than she could follow, his right fist slamming into her stomach just below her ribs and pushing the air from her lungs in a whoosh. Some in the conference room turned away from the screen, her gasping pants over the speakers chasing them and not letting them get completely away from the violence.
He was silent for a few moments waiting for her to catch her breath. She tilted her head in Flynn's direction without making eye contact. "You know," she started with a pained groan as her ribs loosened. "Your...nose whistles when...you talk." Following it up with a chuckle for dramatic effect she looked into the camera. "Can you hear the whistle?"
His fist shot out and connected with her already damaged cheekbone, the blunt crease only needing the barest of invitation to start bleeding again as fresh blood streamed down her cheek to her lips due to the angled dip of her head.
Vaughn could taste the bible rising in the back of his throat as his eyes diverted to the surface of the table instead of the projected video. The anger he felt for Flynn was being to compound upon itself into genuine hatred.
"Uh oh," Will whispered, Jack and Michael leaning in as he sat between them.
"What?" The stoic father asked.
"Mister Tippen? Care to share with the class?" Kendall spoke up as eyes turned in his direction. Flynn had gone back to standing at still attention, though moved to her other side. Her head was low, chin nearly against her chest as she fought the pain from her already sore ribs and face.
"This is her stubborn side. It comes out when she wants to pick a fight and honestly, it drives me crazy. I can't imagine what it's going to do to this guy."
Kendall fixed him with tired grumpy eyes from across the conference room table, the psychologist speaking from his right, "while not clinical, I agree with Mr. Tippen. Agent Bristow seems more defiant today. It could stem from a few different places, but seeing the state she's in this morning suggests that things don't end once the camera is turned off, which is something we feared. She's either given up and is trying to goad him into killing her-"
"Doubtful," Will countered, though the woman continued.
"-or more likely, she's trying to get him to lose control and make a mistake. It's clear she thinks she has the upper hand right now, and the man is reacting with physical abuse instead of trying to put her back off-kilter with mind games. This suggests that he is prone to fits of rage which could be information she gathered last night while the cameras were off."
"You mean while they beat her?" Vaughn growled.
Kendall jumped in, "from the sound of things, she held her own and put two of them out of commission; that's not too shabby. I'm inclined to agree with Mister Tippen. Sydney hasn't given up, in fact, she's digging in her heels. It's what I'd do if I were in that chair."
"Come now, Sydney, we don't have time for this, darling. I have a whole series of new questions to ask you today."
She shook the stars from her vision as the blood charted a new path to her chin before dripping to her chest and getting lost in the already stained maroon tank top.
"Don't let me...keep you from anything...important," she panted, opening and closing her jaw a few times with a grimace.
"Have you ever been to the compound of Vladimir Pachenko?"
Sydney balked at the sudden change of subject. "Yeah, being a spy doesn't get me into as many cool parties as you might think."
He rolled his eyes. "It says here that you infiltrated his compound about four weeks ago to acquire intelligence, but failed in your mission."
Kendall barked pointing at an analyst, "get me those mission details."
"Oh, that Pachenko."
"Sydney," Flynn warned with a flash of his angry blue eyes. "You failed that mission."
She paused a moment in the conversation to lift her head up, the blood forming a new trail taking the path of least resistance. "Define failed."
He raised his eyebrows and slowly trekked back to her side. "You failed to get the intelligence you were sent in to get."
"Yes."
"Do you fail often?"
"I still had a lovely weekend out of the office."
Will leaned into Michael's arm, "you may want to wipe the grin off your face; keep in mind you're viewing a live-streamed torture session no matter how nice that weekend actually was."
"Did you have access to Pachenko's office when you were in the compound?"
Sydney stayed silent, her face turned away as a frown creased her forehead. It looked like she was trying to think, but the man knew better. Flynn reached out and pressed his thumb hard against her still-bleeding cheekbone. She groaned and glared up at him.
"Were you in his office, love?"
Wiping the blood from his thumb on her bare shoulder, the touches igniting her skin, she growled passed pursed lips, "I don't remember."
Sydney was worried by this change in attitude. She'd seen it in his eyes; he had been getting frustrated and angry. So she kept pushing, hoping to make him snap and keep a little control for herself, even though that meant the actual person in control would beat the crap out of her. But now he seemed at ease. His face was unreadable, even his eyes, and his once tense shoulders were now relaxed as he walked the room with light steps.
"It says here," picking up the file, "that the intel was in his office. You wrote in your report that you searched but didn't find it because you were found out by security. So that means you were in his office. Did you see any maps?"
"Oh shit," Vaughn said aloud, people turning at his sudden, albeit quiet, outburst.
"Elaborate, Mr. Vaughn," Kendall ordered, the analyst running back in and handing the director the mission folder.
"She...she was injured and didn't access the office for the intel."
"She got something though, I remember that. If she didn't get the intel, who did?"
"I did. I was there, but it was filed as an SD-6 solo mission. That's why it was easy for her to tell them she didn't get the intel, easier after the surprise by the security guard."
"What are you saying?"
Jack frowned, "This means my daughter doesn't have the information they're looking for, but the report she gave to Sloane suggests otherwise."
"Vaughn, would you recognize it if he asked for something specific?"
"Maybe? I don't have a photographic memory, she does. She said she was in that room and that's the information he's going to try and get from her. That's what they want - she got access to the EMP weapon and didn't give it up. They waited until she withheld something they thought was critical. Who knows how long you've both been compromised - that timeline is officially shot." Michael tossed his pen aggressively onto the notepad and flopped back dejectedly in his seat.
Flynn's voice had a slightly higher timber as he asked, "Sydney, you were so talkative earlier, what happened?"
She swallowed a bit before replying trying to choose her words carefully. "It also says in that report that I was stabbed in the leg."
"Yes, but your profile says you have a photographic memory. While in the office, did you notice a map?"
Sydney turned her head to try and face him, but he was at an angle where she wasn't able to see, only knowing that he was somewhere behind her.
"Do you know how hard it is to remember details about an office when I wasn't there to remember details about an office? While bleeding and limping?"
Flynn nodded slowly and made his way back over to the table on her left. "Why are you stalling, love? Are you hiding something from me?"
"I'm hiding a lot from you," she poked, and his eyes darkened. Just the response she wanted.
"Do you want me to be more aggressive to discover those hidden things?" His back was to the camera which meant that the predatory glint in his eye was just for her, but he folded his hands behind his back showing a small knife to the camera, knowing those watching would react while the restrained agent stayed oblivious.
She tisked through her teeth as the people in the conference room held their breath. "He's a general in the Russian army. Of course there were maps."
Flynn sent her a thankful smile. "Do you recall seeing any maps outside of Russia?"
Sydney was beginning to feel nervousness rise from her stomach to her heart, the tempo increasing. His face was blank, his posture was unthreatening, his body wasn't tense, but his eyes looked like a jackal about to pounce on helpless prey. "I wasn't there for a map."
Even his returning smile was predatory, his ears picking up the waver in her voice. "What were you there for?"
Silence.
"Let me rephrase. You were there for details on a weapon. Can you tell me about it?" His fingers, still clutched behind his back, moved the knife handle into his palm, the blade glinting in the light.
She sighed trying to convey annoyance instead of worry, "you read the report, why are you asking me?"
Flynn finally moved, his path circling the chair slowly with an air of nonchalance. Her eyes followed as far as possible until he moved out of her periphery. "It does sound fascinating, doesn't it? EMP bombs the size of a cell phone."
She stayed quiet. He circled the room once more before startling her and everyone watching as he moved at lightning speed, a burning slam hitting her upper right arm. She screamed through her teeth and looked to see a small knife jutting out from her bicep, the electric vibration in her skin making the thin metal hum. It had hit the bone and he'd left it in place to be a constant throb.
The JTF conference room exploded with angry shouts at the suddenness of the attack on their Agent, Kendall's hoarse voice ordering them to be quiet as Flynn started speaking, his tone gentle and low as the stunned woman panted with eyes focusing on the knife in her arm.
"Oh, I'm sorry, that's right. You can't think straight when you've been stabbed," he said with no emotion in his voice, his fingers wrapping around the handle and yanking the blade out, a warm jet of blood running down her arm to drip to her hands tied behind the chair. A pained groan left her lips, as she glared up at him.
"Better? Any details you've suddenly remembered?"
She thought for a moment about how bad she wanted things to get, deciding to double down as anger rose from the pain and shock, "still a little fuzzy...sorry. Y...you might have to jog my memory some more."
An inch below the first wound, the knife bit her skin again, though not to the bone. He didn't leave it in place this time, a quick in and out as another half inch puncture sliced through her muscle and bled into the preexisting stream. She cried out with a grimace breathing quickly through thin lips to push the pain away as fast as possible.
Will rose and left, Vaughn wanting desperately to follow him but something held him firmly rooted to his chair, his legs refusing to cooperate. Kendall let the analyst go as he sat back down and covered his mouth with one hand, elbow propped on the other arm crossed over his chest.
"Vaughn...tell me you remember that map," he asked behind his hand before turning to see the pain written on the agent's down-turned face.
Through a shuddering breath, "I...uh...took pictures of his desk...maybe - maybe it was one of those," he said softly.
"Get me those pictures." Kendall ordered the analyst, the young man happy to leave the room and go on a file run.
Flynn was back to circling his captive in slow rounds and watching with feigned interest as she compartmentalized his attacks, but she could see that the knife in his hand was coated with blood as he passed by.
Getting a good look she noted it was only about an inch long and less than that wide, definitely not a weapon you'd threaten someone with in a dark alley, but he'd found a sick use for it. It wasn't thick or wide enough to do any serious damage without a lot of effort, but it could definitely poke holes.
"Sydney, I need you to think, love. When you were busy not finding details about an EMP weapon, did you see something marked on a map outside of Russia? A location perhaps?"
"No," she ground out between deep breaths.
The man stepped closely behind her and dragged the blade lightly across her skin in a tingle from her shoulder to a spot under her right collarbone.
"Really? You don't remember seeing anything about a secondary location?" Increasing pressure, the wicked sharpness of the well-cared for blade broke the skin loosing a pearl of blood, Sydney panting through her nose in an attempt to prepare herself for the pain.
"I...can't tell you what I...don't know."
He pushed the blade through her skin agonizingly slow and with a calm, steady, practiced hand, and she clenched her teeth while squeezing her eyes closed. It didn't take long until it was to the handle in her flesh. Leaving it in place, he set his hands to her shoulders flaring the lightning pain up her neck and down both arms, the harsh breaths she was taking causing the blade to wiggle, the split skin protesting each tiny movement.
"That's unfortunate. I'm fairly disappointed."
"Aren't we all," she growled, making him chuckle.
"Tell me about the weapon."
"I'm...I'm not gonna do that...no matter how many holes you poke."
"I know you found what you were looking for. I know you got the intel, and I know the prototype went missing from Russian headquarters about a week later. What you don't know is that there are two prototypes. I need the information from that map, which I know you've seen, to find the second one. So where would I find it?"
"Find what?" Countering with angry brown eyes she met his icy blue stare.
"Tisk, tisk, tisk," he clicked as he grabbed the knife and pulled it free, blood running and soaking into her tank top.
"How many of these do you think you can take?"
She sighed, "let's see how fast your arm gets tired."
Two hours later the conference room was almost empty, those without the stomach for the intensity on the screen leaving to busy themselves on other tasks. Only a few remained, though they were being pushed to the limit of what they could take.
Jack sat alone, Vaughn knocking the chair backward and stalking from the room with tears wet on his cheeks as it all became too much nearly an hour earlier, ten or twelve stabs ago.
Flynn wasn't talking at the moment, nor was anyone on their end, so the sound of her ragged breathing and pained, breathy sobs was all that filled the room. Jack felt that pain in his soul and he found his eyes memorizing the pattern of grain in the wood of the conference table he'd never bothered to notice before.
His eyes finally made their way back to the screen where she sat pale and drained, the wounds dripping to the drain below the chair leaving the ends of her hands and feet slick with blood.
When the Brit finally spoke it was quiet, almost reverent. "No one, Sydney," he paused, "no one has made it past a dozen without talking. I really applaud you, love, twenty-two is impressive. A record for us both, likely."
His hand was wet with blood, and he set the knife on the table to pick up a rag and mechanically wipe at his fingers and palms. He still wore that same blank expression, though his eyes weren't flashing any longer.
"If you tell me what they need, Sydney, I won't have to do this anymore." He was almost believable.
Her head hung low and her tear-filled eyes were unfocused as she breathed in pained, shallow gasps.
"This isn't going to kill you. We can do this again tomorrow if you'd like, but I'd much rather you tell me what you saw on that map."
He moved to the table and turned off the machine, her body visibly relaxing as the current vibrating her skin and lighting up each puncture went away. Slowly making his way to crouch before the chair, he looked up at her pale face. The bruises shone a nasty purple and the blood lines from her cheekbone were dry and cracking.
"Why go through this, darling? Tell me what they want. Isn't it your job to survive as long as possible?"
Her eyes refocused, her mind snapping back from wherever it had been trying to escape, and it brought her back to the present.
"Keeping things from you...is my job." Her voice was a quiet murmur but the honesty and sincerity in her voice made even Flynn pay attention. "This...is my job," she winced and panted against the pain radiating through her body, "I signed up for this."
Kendall snapped a finger at the technical assistant sitting in the corner of the room, pale and trying his best to keep his eyes off the screen, "put this on speaker." Despite his turbulent stomach and frayed nerves, he jumped into action.
"Where, sir?"
"Everywhere."
Will heard the crackle of the speaker in the hallway come to life, Francie tucked against his side finally sleeping after the two cried and talked for the last couple of hours. He knew what it was before anyone spoke, the pained, feminine breathing all too familiar.
In the hallway outside the conference room, unable to move farther away and with backside and legs asleep from the hour-long stint on the floor, Michael closed his eyes as he listened. The beehive-like activity in the Rotunda stopped as the multitude of televisions shone with a dozen news stations with the media's hyperbolic coverage of "America's Finest Trapped" and "Red White and Blue Under Siege" sat ignored.
The only thing he heard was her harsh breathing and surprisingly steady, pain-laced, and stilted words.
Tears refilled and spilled turning into red streaks down bloody paths to her chin. She turned her head a bit with a grimace and spit a mouthful of blood to the floor, her tongue unable to stop prodding at the stab he'd pierced through her left cheek. Meeting his curious blue eyes she hit him with a fierce brown stare.
Her words came between pained breaths in a voice weak but clear. "Did you think that...I just forgot...that what I signed up for came with risk? I knew...I knew this could happen." She swallowed the lump rising in her throat, her chin quivering. "I don't have regrets and...I'm not scared."
"You're not scared to die?" Flynn matched her gentle tone, but his words lacked pain-filled emotion.
Despite everything, a small smile hit her pale lips. "I'm sitting here...because I did...I did a good job."
"Good? You got caught, love. Good spies don't get caught." Flynn was trying to regain the upper hand, but he was realizing that breaking her would be much more difficult than he was led to believe.
"The amount," wince, "of damage I've done to your organization is...staggering. I've compromised whole...branches of your sick...terrorist family tree. Don't think I'm not good at...what I do, your face probably still hurts and that...nose whistle," she chuckled darkly, spitting another bit of blood out from where it swirled around her tongue. "They...couldn't...bear to have me out there for one...more...day. Because...they're the ones that...that are scared."
"Scared of what? Of you?" He scoffed, an edge slipping into his voice that Sydney heard.
"Can...can I ask you a question?" She saw that he wasn't prepared for that particular request.
"Sure, love," he grinned leaning back against the wooden desk and crossing his feet at the ankles. If she wanted her moment, he was going to give it to her.
"How much?"
He frowned, though the smile didn't leave his mouth, "what?"
"H-how much?"
Realization dawned. "For you?"
The nod was slight, the punctures in the muscles of the crook between neck and shoulder throbbing at the movement, but she did it anyway.
"One million."
Sydney smiled and broke eye contact, her head dropping a bit with the effort to hold it up. "You...you don't pay a million dollars to...to kill someone bad at their job."
Flynn rose and made his way back to her side, his movement methodical as he dragged his thumb across two of the wounds on her left upper arm, the blood that had begun to coagulate breaking free and flowing once more. "You think you're going to win with a monologue, Sydney?"
She groaned, squeezing her eyes tightly closed, Flynn sighing and flopping into the chair.
"Who do you think you're really protecting, love? I have all the information I need to make the lives of your friends a living nightmare. Hell; I can get them here in a few hours to join you. Would you tell me the location on the map then? If I took my knife to Will or Francie? Your father?" His tone was slightly frustrated but his body language was casual as he slouched in the chair and stuck his legs out, ankles crossed. He folded his hands over his stomach and regarded her with honest eyes.
Sydney looked back up and he expected her patented Bristow glare of intimidation, but instead she wore a slight grin, her eyes sparkling.
"I already told you that I...knew the risks. They're as far...out of your reach as...the intel I won't give up."
"Then what have you got to lose?" The question was asked in an insolently flippant tone, Flynn lifting his hands to slowly pick at the dried blood beneath his fingernails.
Sydney sighed, regretting it, as overwhelming pain made her grimace and groan with tightly closed eyes. When they reopened a few moments later he recognized the steely resolve and knew she was never going to give him what he needed. Well, what Alain needed; Flynn didn't give a shit about the intel.
"What do...do you think they want with...tiny bombs?" Her glare was pointed.
"How should I know?"
Sydney minutely shook her head. "There's...no way in hell I'm gonna give you intel that will," gulp, "crash planes and...trains...buses."
He was frustrated. He thought he should just end the stream for the day. Maybe he'd leave her to sit in the room until morning. With the amount of damage she had taken in the last two hours, she'd be in pure agony by then, of that he was certain.
'Would that work, though? Sydney Bristow seems unbreakable.'
"So what then, love? Are we truly at an impasse?"
Sydney took a few panting breaths before meeting his eyes. "I won't break for you. I won't bend to them. I won't put inn...innocent people at risk to save myself. This...I know what that means and I...I don't care."
"Even if it means you never have to see me again?"
She laughed, though regretted it as a sharp stab from her ribs and radiating pain from the punctures in her abdomen made her face contort. "I'm not leaving this room. You know it...I know it." She paused and swallowed a moment before looking straight into the camera, her voice watery, "and that's okay. It's...it's okay."
She let out a quick breath with a grimace and more tears ran hot down her pallid cheeks, her skin pale and making the red and rusty brown color of fresh and old blood stand out.
"I'd expect nothing less, darling," Flynn said quietly. "Why spend another day with me? Just...give me what I want and I'll end this whole thing." Rising, he reached into the desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a handgun. Cocking it, he was at her side in an instant, the barrel to her forehead and his finger on the trigger. "Tell me the location on the map and all of this," he started, the pointer finger of his other hand running over several of the seeping wounds making her flinch and whimper, "all of this goes away."
Sydney met his eyes, feeling the cold bite of the barrel as it pushed against her forehead, and her response was to spit blood at him. It splattered along his fancy and likely expensive pant legs before dripping down onto his shining shoes.
She turned her eyes to look directly into the lens of the camera. "I'm not giving you anything." She paused to catch her breath. "I sit...between you...and the people I love," she said in a resolved whisper, looking back up and meeting his gaze with fiery determination as she did her best to sit up straight despite the bone-deep ache in her entire body. "I'll protect them till I die. Because...that's my job. And I'll be damned...if I'm gonna quit before you."
Flynn nodded with a sigh, the hand holding the firearm flopping down to his side. Moving to the camera and obscuring half of the shot with his body he held his finger to hover over the button.
"We'll try again tomorrow," he said confidently as the stream shut down and the projector went blank.
…
A light tap against the door pulled him from his lack of slumber, Vaughn getting up with a tired groan from the desk where papers were scattered as he searched for answers. He was surprised to see Jack Bristow standing with a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey in one hand and two ice-filled glasses in the other.
"Can we come in?" the man asked without his usual stoicism, though Michael noted the deep bags under his eyes and the fact that he looked ten years older than he had two days earlier.
Stepping back, he invited him in. The door clicked behind the pair and Vaughn flopped back into the uncomfortable office chair while Jack settled on the edge of the bed. The first drinks were poured and sipped, minutes ticking by as the two sat in quiet contemplation.
"I...I feel like I abandoned her today."
"Vaughn-"
"I left because...I..." Simultaneously they finished the first cup with a large, hard swallow. "I thought I could be stronger."
Jack nodded, refilling both glasses. "I should have joined you. There's...regret on both sides."
They drank in silence for a few moments, the young man's eyes trained on the stark white floor giving Jack ample time to evaluate the agent. The ever-present worry lines were etched into his forehead, his green eyes dull and glazed above dark circles.
"You should go home-" he stopped his suggestion as the younger man shook his head.
They shared another bout of quiet, both in thought, their eyes finally catching and Jack could easily read the guilt in the jade depths.
"This wasn't you, Vaughn."
Pain flickered behind his fear. "You don't know that."
Jack sighed, "we can't both of us take the blame."
Michael reached out and clinked his glass against Jack's, "sure we can." They went back to drinking the burning liquid and for once the silence wasn't awkward.
'Maybe you got through to him in the warehouse. I mean...he's kind of left you alone since then.' Vaughn thought.
Jack shook his head. "It should be me in there and her here. I've been the bigger thorn in their side...a greater betrayal. I'm an old man," the father mumbled into his nearly empty cup, the ice cube rattling against the glass.
Vaughn's eyes became watery again as he polished off the second glass, Jack leaning over to refill without asking for permission, which the younger wasn't refusing.
"I should have...come to you after Russia, Jack; I should have been honest about...everything."
"It wasn't Russia that compromised her, Vaughn, she was made long before anything happened in that cabin."
The elder saw that his words were falling on deaf ears. Thinking for a moment as the whiskey dulled his heartache a little, he leaned forward on his elbows. The wrinkled and rolled sleeves of the button-up pushed against the crook of his arms, their suit coats left who knows where in the JTF well over a day ago.
"Danny called me before...before he asked Sydney to marry him." The sip burned his tongue. "I'd known she was seeing someone, but I didn't know it was serious until he called. Yes," he drawled, "it was because I didn't ask, but that was just the unfortunate nature of my relationship with my daughter."
Vaughn finished the cup and wiggled it asking for another, Jack smiling softly and refilling it before topping off his own.
"How did that go?" The young agent's words were slightly slurred.
"I ripped him open. I think he would have shit his pants if it was in person."
Michael shook his head wearing a crooked smile, "why'd you do it?"
Jack's face fell a little bit. "Because who was he to think he was good enough for my daughter?" Steely blue met timid green, the younger breaking away to stare at his glass as the older kept his eyes fixed.
"When I figured out what the sideways glances, shallow, corner-office conversations, and the brushing hands in the hallway meant between you and Sydney, I fully expected that same anger. I assumed I would follow you to the parking lot, pick you up by the scruff of your neck, and drill you the same way I had done Danny and, truthfully, every other boyfriend she's ever had," Jack grumbled, but when Vaughn finally had enough courage to look up, all he saw was a soft smile and surprisingly gentle eyes.
Jack continued. "Even after trying to scold you in the warehouse, I never really felt that anger toward you." He saw the young man frown in confusion.
"Michael...you're the only man in Sydney's life that's never betrayed her. You reminded me of that weeks ago. She trusts you completely because you give her reason. Your trust is why she doesn't regret anything."
Vaughn scoffed, though Jack using his first name put him slightly off-kilter. "Bullshit, you probably still wanna wring my neck," he slurred a bit finishing the liquor in his cup.
Jack chuckled as he finished his own and screwed the lid back onto the bottle. "You've been in love with her since she stepped foot into your office, Vaughn, and that was always obvious yet difficult for me to understand. Every...single...time I pushed against your decisions was because…you were thinking of her, and I was thinking of the mission." A tear traveled down his cheek, Michael looking away from his intense stare.
"You've always put her first, and that's how I know this...wasn't you."
Vaughn felt his limbs get heavy as the room spun. He looked at the glass and spotted remnants of something floating in the last few drops among the cubes
"Jack, what...what did-" Vaughn slurred and tried to stand, failing.
"I'm sorry Vaughn, but you've been up for over thirty hours." The father's tone was apologetic, but also unbending. He caught the agent by the shoulders as he tipped forward.
Setting him down on the edge of the bed Jack wasn't prepared for the sobs that wracked the drooping shoulders.
"No, Jack. I...I didn't get to say...say goodbye. If she...dies and I'm not there…" his eyes were rolling back as Jack pushed him down.
The moment the blonde head hit the pillow he was asleep, Jack pulling off the shoes and yanking the blanket up to his shoulders.
Patting him on the chest, "see you tomorrow, son."
…
