Part 19

Two Weeks After Rescue

Butterflies danced in Vaughn's stomach as the first gate lifted. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that Kendall would ever allow him to speak with the captive in the third cell down the row, but here they were dressed in suits and clean-shaven waiting for the gates to open.

Michael genuinely didn't know what he was going to do when he saw the man's face or heard his voice. He had promised to stand back and say nothing but wasn't sure if he would be able to keep his word. The second gate rose, the two men continuing to move forward.

"Mr. Davis," Kendall's voice was tight.

The man behind the glass was lying on the metal cot with hands resting over his stomach, features blank as he faced the ceiling with eyes closed.

"Ah; the powers that be come down to converse with the condemned," Flynn said jovially, the sound of his voice putting the men on edge and forcing their minds back to the video screen in the conference room.

The Brit sat up slowly and stretched before tugging the black tee down around the waist over the dark blue pants. "Friends call me Flynn," he offered in greeting.

"I'm not your friend." Kendall opened and looked down into a file folder.

Vaughn couldn't stop his glaring green eyes from burning a proverbial hole through the glass and into the man's forehead. He knew he would have a hard time seeing him face to face, but he was taken aback at the level of rage that built up behind his heart.

Jerome Davis, better known as Flynn, had been in this cell for two weeks with no knowledge that he'd failed his most simple task: killing Sydney Bristow. Exactly as she'd warned, a team grabbed him as he left the building. The assistants were carted off to another security facility with the NSA while the torturer was brought to the JTF holding cell where he had been sitting this whole time with little to no human contact.

"And who are you? I know you." Turning his curious blue eyes on Vaughn, Kendall snapped his fingers to pull the attention back.

"We want some information from you if you'll cooperate."

Flynn leaned his shoulder against the glass and crossed his feet at the ankles, the hard cast over his lower right wrist gleaming white in the overhead lights. "What do I get out of it?"

"Probably nothing."

"Then why would I cooperate?"

Kendall shrugged and turned to leave, the man's voice calling him back, "you might as well tell me what you want."

"We want the bank account information of the men in the Alliance that hired you."

Flynn tisked through his teeth. "That's a tall order. Who are you?" He looked back at Vaughn. "Mr. Clean is clearly the boss, but you look damn familiar and it's driving me crazy. I've seen you before."

Kendall cleared his throat before Michael could say anything, though the younger of the two hadn't planned on giving Flynn the satisfaction of an answer, "my name is Director Kendall. Will you give us the information, Mister Davis?"

"Ugh, that's what you'd call my father. Call me Flynn."

"I already told you," the Director growled, "I'm not your friend. You murdered one of my agents; she was my friend. So you're either going to give us information while you sit and rot, or you'll just sit and rot. This is the only human contact you're gonna get, so it's really up to you."

Flynn thought for a moment, though his eyes hadn't left Michael's, and he loosed a crooked grin as his eyes lit up in recollection. "You'd meet with her at that warehouse a couple times a week. That's...that's you." At the raised eyebrows from both on the other side of the glass, "yeah, it's amazing what you can see and do with drones these days."

Vaughn felt his muscles tense.

Kendall once again tried to intervene. "I'm only going to ask one more time."

"You're the guy that sent her on missions." Flynn grinned. "If you hadn't royally screwed up, all this," he said quietly, gesturing around him, "could have been avoided. Director Kendall would be organizing little missions and Michael Vaughn here would still be meeting in that warehouse with his super hot agent."

The Brit laughed and spotted Vaughn's hands curl into fists, deciding to push a little farther. "Now, I know your boss is standing here, and her incredibly scary father is probably watching through some security feed, but be honest: did you ever...you know," he wiggled his eyebrows, "with your agent?"

"You son of a bitch," Michael growled, tipping his hand.

Kendall set a hand to the young man's shoulder, though anger was building in his own stomach and was threatening to come out in a stream of not so friendly language. "We will not be discussing any part of our SD-6 operations with you. Ever," he ordered, trying to match Vaughn's threat to make it seem like a reaction that could happen with any of his staff. It didn't.

Flynn faked a surprised gasp, "you did, didn't you?" He knew it was a risk, but it was worth it to stick it to his captors. He'd decided that he'd be as harmfully belligerent as possible whenever they decided to meet with him.

At the Hulk-like rage he saw in Michael Vaughn's eyes, something dawned on the criminal. "You're the crush," he whispered.

"We're done here." Kendall severed the meeting and closed the paper-filled folder with a floof as he waved his other hand to the guard on duty and ordered him to lift the gates. Forcing his agent to turn away from the glass, the two men faced down the hallway as the barriers lifted much too slowly for their liking, each breathing heavily through flaring nostrils.

"Well, Agent Vaughn," Flynn said loudly as the two men stood waiting for the rising metal to let them out. "I don't doubt it was amazing to fuck her when she wanted it, but know that taking it was just as good."

Four Weeks After Rescue

Dixon lifted the blue chalk and rubbed it on the end of the pool cue in preparation for his next shot. Vaughn had rolled the sleeves of his button-up shirt against the crooks of his elbows as the clack of two balls making contact ended with a groan when one didn't rumble into a pocket.

"Lemme ask you something, Vaughn."

"Sure," he acquiesced.

"Did Sydney ever have a meltdown moment after a mission with me? You know, after she'd started working with you," Marcus asked, Michael frowning with a pause as he watched the other agent line up his shot.

"What the hell is a meltdown moment?" The shot missed.

The game was just an excuse to have something to do while conversing, and the more shots they missed the more time they had to talk. They'd spent the last few weeks getting to know each other, but the powers that be had decided Marcus Dixon was to be left in the dark about Sydney's official status. This made each conversation a painful reminder of yet another truth they were keeping from the honorable man.

"You know, the other side of Sydney's coin." Dixon looked up and saw the jealous confusion in Vaughn's eyes and winced. "Look, I'm not trying to compete, please don't think that. I'm just trying to better understand the person she was these last two years. I mean, we both lost our partner, you know? I'm just trying to connect some dots."

Michael held up a hand, "Dixon, I know that you knew Sydney far better than I did. You were her partner for seven years. I didn't mean to get defensive."

A few seconds passed as they eyed each other across the table.

"Sydney has two sides; I know you've seen them. Half is a super bad-ass, compartmentalizing, hyper-aware genius. The other half shows up after things calm down. The...the broken vulnerability. She soaked my shoulder nearly a dozen times in the first few years we worked together."

Michael was relieved and it showed on his face, so Dixon continued.

"The first time I saw it was in Sao Paulo. It was her first field mission with me and I'd really only known her from her file. Which...was impressive, but it was still just training courses and seminars."

Dixon pointed at the table asking whose shot it was, Michael shrugging and gesturing to the other agent to take the shot. Marcus grinned and lined up the stick on the cue ball.

"Sydney was in the van. This was back when she was eager and happy to do anything under the sun, including analysis and sitting in the van." There was a clink just before the red striped ball thumped into the left corner pocket.

"I got in too deep. Maybe...maybe I got cocky trying to impress my new partner," they shared a knowing grin, "and I found myself with a black eye, broken ribs, and kneeling on the floor of some shitty office with a gun to my head."

Vaughn grimaced as he lined up an angle on the blue solid, the edge of the cue hitting the damn striped green slightly in the way sending the two off in opposite directions with his ball coming to rest nowhere near a pocket.

"I heard her say she was on her way over coms," Dixon chuckled. "I couldn't exactly tell her to stay put or they'd know I was bluffing when I said I'd come alone. Out of nowhere, this guard gets kicked in the face a split second before the second guy at the door takes one to the groin. It was...like taking the lid off a bottle of lightning."

Michael smiled remembering how many times he'd read about the amazing things she'd done on missions, only seeing first hand a few moments during the select times they were able to go together.

"But the third guy was just too far for her to reach. The hammer cocked with that - that familiar click, and before I knew, 'bam, bam'." Dixon slammed the stick twice into the linoleum floor driving his point across and making the young man across the table jump.

"When I opened my eyes, surprised that I was still alive, the guy was on the floor and she stood with a gun in her hand. It was steady as a rock; not a wiggle at the end of the barrel."

Dixon shook his head a bit, "the first was a perfect shot, she hadn't even needed the second. Straight through the heart; he was dead before he hit the ground."

Leaning over the table Marcus took the next shot, Michael realizing that he'd inadvertently set up an easy one on the green striped bastard dead on to a side pocket. It sank without issue.

"It wasn't until she got me to the van that I really knew what was going on, and by then we were halfway to the hotel. She got me to my room and bandaged me up, and when I finally looked her in the face," Marcus shook his head, sad reminiscence clouding his features.

"What?"

"I'd never seen more tears in someone's eyes than hers. I mean...they were brimming. She was barely holding it together. She broke when I asked what was wrong, and all she said was 'I killed him', and that was it. Yeah, she knew it was him or me, and yeah, she knew it was what she had to do. But," he stopped, "it killed her that she'd taken someone's life. At that point, I knew that you couldn't have the bad-ass agent with a mind like a steel trap that can kick the crap out of the bad guys without also having that other, fragile side. It made her who she was and kept her human through everything we did - everything we'd seen."

Leaning over to take another shot he missed, though Vaughn was no longer paying attention to the game. He took in the story, so different from the monotone details in her file, and thought for a few moments.

"When she calmed down and said she was sorry, I told her never to apologize about that again. I said that...that not all missions will go this way or take this turn, but when they do? Having a meltdown just proves that you're human. So, we kinda called 'em meltdown moments after that. I was just hoping that...nothing I did during a mission had ever given her one of those."

Vaughn's mind went screaming to one place: Badenweiler. As honest as he wanted to be, there was no way he was going to tell Dixon that truth. So he lied.

"She had meltdown moments, but not because of you or anything you did on missions. Because of her father? Mother? Sloane? Missions in general? Yeah. Plenty of meltdowns for those. Did we argue about telling you the truth? Yeah. She didn't have meltdowns when she had to lie to you, it made her angry. She didn't cry about it, she wanted to fight me every time I suggested something that affected you on a mission."

Letting his words land, he finally sunk the pesky blue solid into a corner pocket, two more shots following until all that remained for him was the shot on the eight.

"Will you answer something for me? Honestly?" Dixon asked, Michael nodding as he leaned over and wedged the stick against his fingers with the white ball in his sights. "You...you said that she came to you right after Danny died, and I remember this moment when we were on a long flight and...she asked me if I'd ever thought of telling Diane the truth about what we do. I didn't think much of it, but the day after we got back she didn't show for work. And when I found out from Sloane that some terrible accident had happened...I don't know why I never connected that death with...her words on the plane."

Michael missed completely, the black and white not even clacking together.

"Is there a question in there?" Vaughn knew this had been another piece that Sydney had planned on taking care of when her SD-6 take-down had ended. Now, it was his job.

"She told him; didn't she?"

Vaughn nodded.

"And they killed him. Which is why she quit." Dixon's eyes bored into Vaughn's, the game forgotten.

Michael nodded again.

"And he...he tried to kill her for it?"

Another nod.

"That's why she got Sloane the Mueller Device. A way to get back into his good graces."

Vaughn felt like his head was attached to a spring. It seemed Dixon didn't have specific questions, it was more that he wanted confirmation of a timeline.

"After that, she started working with you? Here? That...that was 18 months ago. She...was double that whole time?"

Vaughn confirmed.

The older man's eyes began to fill with tears. "If I'd known the truth," Marcus started, a catch in his voice as he both did and didn't know the answer before asking, "would she still be here today?"

Finally, something he couldn't give a nod to, but also...he had no idea how to reply. "That's...not something I know how to answer. It could have been both of you that were compromised, or worse: your family."

"She was my family. And...if I wasn't helping I was a hindrance. Just - just another thing for her to worry about. So I sat there," he growled, his almost black eyes spilling tears and boring into the understanding green gaze. "I sat there and obeyed Sloane and...he killed her because I didn't see past the lies."

Vaughn wanted to speak but couldn't. What he did do was make a decision, one he'd wanted to make for a while despite the fact that it wasn't his call. He gingerly placed the cue on the tabletop and turned to walk from the room. "Come with me," was all he said, but the look on his face and the resolved tone made Dixon toss his stick to the couch, making sure it didn't clatter to the floor before following with quick steps.

Wiping at the tears on his cheeks, Dixon was only a step behind as they got to the elevator. His eyes begged the younger agent to give him something, but Vaughn was broody and silent and the wrinkles on his forehead stood at attention in deep grooves.

"I'm sorry; I don't mean to pile it all on you. I know you - you lost her too but I just," Marcus sighed, "I need to know that part of her. She was such a huge part of my life for over seven years, but I didn't know her at the end and I'll regret that forever."

The ride stopped and the panel dinged, a stark white hallway stretching out before them. It was empty, insofar as Dixon could tell, and he fell behind Vaughn as he walked the familiar route. Jamie sat at the desk with a book in her hands and her feet propped up on the second chair.

"He's not on the list," she protested with little to no authority in her voice, monotone in lack of seriousness, "no; stop; don't." The two shared a grin though she never looked up from her book, and Vaughn patted a confused Marcus on the shoulder.

"Anyone in there?"

The nurse shook her head looking up with kind eyes. "Weiss got called for a meeting, but Jack said he'd be down in about twenty minutes."

The confused agent followed to a side room, his eyes scanning for any sign of familiarity or reason that Vaughn would have brought him down here, and nothing immediately came into view.

As the door opened, the beeping of a heart monitor and the whooshing metronome of a breathing machine filled his ears. The minute his eyes focused on the prone, unconscious figure, everything became a watery blur.

"I couldn't lie to you again. Take your time and know that...she's as okay as she can be." Dixon barely heard the words as he slowly walked forward until his knees hit the end of the bed, the plastic edge biting into his shin as his shaking hand reached out and touched the lump of her foot underneath the blanket, a sob on his lips.

Five Weeks After Rescue

Francie's tongue poked out from between her lips as she concentrated, the tiny, lidded brush pinched between her thumb and pointer finger spreading the pink paint over Sydney's fingernails. With a broad smile, she sat back to admire her work as the door opened pulling her attention. A faint flicker of worry hit her as she stared at her best friend's imposing father, but his eyes were kind and he gave her a grin as he entered.

"Thank you, Mister Bristow, for letting me come in here. I know there were some crazy rules, but...it means a lot."

Jack nodded and sighed as he flopped in the chair on the opposite side of the bed after placing his customary kiss to Sydney's forehead. "Of course. I'm sorry it took a month to get the clearance."

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, Jack peeking from the corner of his eye as he flipped through a folder of papers he'd brought with him.

"Mister Bristow?" Francie's voice was timid but garnered the man's full attention. Screwing the lid on the small bottle of polish, she set Sydney's hand back down on the bed making sure the freshly done ends didn't come into contact with the soft blanket.

"We're past the mister phase, Francie. Call me Jack."

"What happens next?"

It was a question the man honestly didn't know how to answer. "The truth is, I have no idea what's next. I'm just trying to work one day at a time."

"Are Will and I ever going to be able to leave? Are you?" She was somewhat relieved by his smiling chuckle.

Closing the file, "of course, Francie. Once it's safe, you'll all get your lives back. The restaurant is still yours, and though you're away caring for a sick relative, the operative we put in charge is taking very good care of things for you."

"How long have you been trying to bring down those guys? When did you start this crazy double life?" Curiosity was eating at her, and if he was in a talkative mood, she figured she'd get all her questions out at once.

Jack's smile turned sad as he broke eye contact and looked down at the ignored folder. Setting it on the table to his left he settled deeper into the comfortable sitting chair, his long legs sticking out. "You'll have to forgive that I don't know how much you've been told."

"Not much, honestly, but I'm okay with that," she admitted.

"Sydney's mother was a Russian spy sent to steal government secrets and...when our daughter was six Laura faked her death. A year after that, Arvin Sloane quit the CIA, and six months later I was approached by the director about a new terrorist organization to research. My former friend and partner was in the middle of it all. Sloane had become disillusioned, and his joining this new organization hit me hard."

To say that surprise was written across Francie's features was an understatement. "Holy shit," was all she could muster.

"Indeed," Jack grinned. "Our lives, however complex, were necessary to hide from those around us. While painfully obvious now as to why secrets are paramount with this job," he said gesturing to the prone woman between them, "Sydney was kept in the dark about the truth until just last year. I learned when Sydney was eight about the betrayal. For a little over a year, I was held in prison and interrogated as they thought me an accomplice, and Sydney was taken in by Sloane and Emily. I was released with a new mission: get close to Arvin and get an invitation to the new organization he was working with by whatever means necessary."

"Wait, that was twenty years ago," Francie said. "Are...do you think this could take twenty years!?"

Her exclamation made the father laugh. "We have more cards up our sleeve than they know. Before...this happened, Sydney went on an operation that compromised every facet of their organization, and we've been using that to set things in motion for a complete takedown."

Francie looked to her comatose friend, impressed for what felt like the hundredth time that month at all she'd been doing while going to school, helping with the restaurant, and editing articles for Will.

"I hope she's awake to see it, but I think it would also be nice to just wake up one day and have everything around you fixed."

The beeping of the machines was becoming comforting and Jack went back to reading his paperwork while Francie did touch-ups on Sydney's fingernails.

"Let me ask you something," Jack queried softly, Francie holding back her surprise behind a nod as she blew air on the fresh coat of paint. "What's the first thing you're going to say to her?"

They both knew that it could be if she wakes, but left that out. The young woman flopped against the back of her seat with a contemplative look, her eyes focusing on nothing but looking straight ahead.

Francie's smile was infectious, "hi."