Part 22

The pulsing bass from the speakers was an endless vibration even through the cement of the sidewalk, and Vaughn wondered again why all bad guys in their late forties to mid-fifties always coordinated meetings in sweaty packed nightclubs.

His hair was slightly gelled into a 'straight out of bed' look, and the charcoal-colored satin suit jacket and pants made the crisp white undershirt pop even in the low overhead light of the Lexus. He adjusted his cuffs making the platinum links glint as the driver pulled up to the curb and hopped out to jog around the vehicle and open the back passenger door.

Stepping out to flashing lights and a line of dressed-to-kill attendees, he made sure the hosts at the door saw him remove a $100 bill and extend it to the driver. Lifting his wrist and checking the time on the insanely expensive Rolex that felt clunky on his wrist compared to the one he usually wore, he bypassed the line of guests and headed straight for the door.

Tilting his lips into a slight smile he pierced the blue eyes of the hostess with his emerald gaze and spotted her eyes drop to give him a once-over. Styled but disheveled sandy hair down to the white, open collar exposing a few inches of his chest before closed by a silvery button that tapered until hidden by the blazer that hugged his trim waist. She spotted the watch and the cuff links, a smarmy smile crinkling the corners of her over-made eyes.

"Are you on this list, sir?" She asked, her voice a soft yell if that were possible.

His finger beckoned her to come closer, his lips brushing the edge of her ear as he spoke in a gravelly tone. "Peux-tu faire une exception, ma chérie?" (Could you make an exception, darling?)

She rocked back and spoke to the gigantic bouncer that leaned forward, and a moment later his meaty hands opened the velvet rope blocking the doorway between two metal stanchions granting Vaughn entry. Pecking a kiss to her cheek he slipped another hundred between her fingers, "merci, mon amour." (Thank you, love.)

The music was even louder inside and the tempo shot through the expensive shoes into his legs and up to his teeth as they rattled in time behind his tongue. First on his list was a drink, so he fought through the sea of bodies to get to the bar to the right of the dance floor. Managing to order, he looked around as the expensive brandy swirled across his tongue. Trained eyes scanned the outskirts of the club and spotted the VIP rooms, his target the third on the right down the line. Finishing the delicious liquid he had another poured before fisting the glass and pushing his way through the dancing, clustered, and yelling crowd toward the other end of the club.

A bouncer stepped up and blocked his path, and Vaughn responded with a cool smirk and reached into his jacket to extract a folded piece of expensive and embossed cardstock. At the flashing of the paper, the man nodded in agreeance and stepped aside, Michael continuing to the open door of VIP room seven.

The walls were painted a deep red and swirls of gold filigree spun in paisley patterns on all four sides. A small, oval, glass coffee table sat in the center of a c-shaped gold velvet couch, a bucket half-filled with ice and two bottles of pricey-looking champagne nestled inside.

"Ah, you must be Mister Vaughn," a Spanish voice said loudly, and Michael turned to see his contact standing with a glass of white wine and talking with a tall guard. The bouncer nodded and left, the curtain closing behind him and leaving the two men inside to talk alone.

"Mister Veloso?"

"Si, si," the man said behind a slimy smile and swept his arm in an arc for him to join him on the sofa. "Can I interest you in some very expensive champagne, Mister Vaughn?"

"I'm interested in the information if you don't mind."

The Spaniard scoffed, "take time to enjoy the little things, amigo. Does the CIA not allow you to have any fun?"

Stifling an eye-roll knowing that he had to make the man feel like he was in control, Michael finished the brandy in one gulp and set the Steuben glassware on the table. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other with the ankle resting on his knee before tossing one arm along the back of the soft cushion. "By all means," he acquiesced, his hand gesturing toward the unopened bottles.

Though he knew it was coming, the popping of the cork still made his stomach jump, and two fluted glasses were nearly overflowing with the bubbly drink before one was offered with an outstretched arm. It felt like he was being sold something by a scummy used car salesman, but Vaughn took the drink anyway and brought it to his lips.

It was good champagne, he had to give him that. "You contacted us, Mister Veloso. I'm listening."

Ramon Veloso was the former leader of SD-12, though all of the intelligence gathered in Luxembourg had him pegged as the still-serving director. Someone new had been approved and put into place, Ramon skipping away from the Alliance of Twelve with a large money settlement, protection from the other directors, and a replacement he helped train from a very short list. Vaughn was there to get that name.

"I first have a question, Mister Vaughn," Veloso chided as he mimicked the casual position across from the agent.

"What's that?"

"You work in the Los Angeles branch, tú no?" (...do you not?)

A frown caused wrinkle lines to appear across his forehead. "Why do you ask?"

"There was just an unfortunately public amount of business that was conducted by the Alliance with that CIA agent from the Los Angeles branch, that's all." Ramon saw the warning flicker in the green eyes.

"If you don't mind, I'll take that information now," Vaughn growled, his decorum slipping quickly away.

"Did you know her?"

Michael sighed as the muscles between his temple and cheekbones flexed with the effort to not say something that could compromise his whole reason for being there. "There's a lot of people in that office, Mister Veloso."

"Ah, but there was only one Sydney Bristow, no estaba ahi? Why do you think I got out from under the Alliance's thumb? Ellos son maniacos," the man growled downing the rest of his champagne in a single gulp. (was there not?) (they're maniacs).

"I have no doubt. Who is the Director of SD-12, Ramon?"

The Spaniard chuckled and wagged his finger. "Give me something, hermano. We're trading here; so you give me some information, and I'll give you some information."

"I'm trading you forty-million dollars, I don't have to tell you anything."

Veloso lifted his hands, "okay, okay, I get it. It's a sensitive subject. No one likes to see a colleague tortured over six days and murdered on live t.v.," he grumbled. "I was just asking if you knew her, that's all. She...seemed worth knowing," he grinned wiggling his eyebrows.

Jack's voice boomed in his head: get the intelligence before you do anything.'

"SD-12? Before I decide that you don't need forty million," Vaughn threatened.

Pouring another glass of champagne and topping off the one that Vaughn had set roughly back onto the table, Ramon sat back and again crossed one leg over the other. "When I notified the Alliance that I wished to hand the mantle of SD-12 to another and retire, I made several agreements, paid a lot of money, and signed what felt like a thousand documents. So, perdóname if I don't just give everything to you right away. For all I know, you aren't CIA at all and there will soon be a knife in my back, lo entiendes?" (pardon me) (do you get it?)

Michael rolled his eyes and placed both feet back on the floor before leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees. "Fine. I'll play along."

"¡Fantástico!" Offering the cup in cheers, his brown eyes expected the agent to follow along.

"Yeah, I knew Agent Bristow. She was occasionally in the field office, though I didn't see her much." He hoped his lies were convincing enough for the man to roll over and give up the intel.

Ramon squinted his eyes as if studying at that very moment everything about his temporary companion's face and body language. "What information did you acquire on me, Mister Vaughn?"

"A name off of a list from a raid on an office building in London," he bluffed.

"Do you see that I'm more than just a - a name on a list?"

"I don't give a shit who you are. I was tasked to meet with you because you chose to trade information instead of getting life in prison."

"I don't believe you," Veloso said wryly.

"What? That I don't give a shit or that your name was on a list?"

Ramon laughed. "That you didn't know Sydney Bristow. When I mentioned her before, your eyes," he ticked against the roof of his mouth, "Se pusieron de un tono medio verde." (they went a mean shade of green.)

Shaking his head Michael rose, his fingers buttoning the jacket back up across his stomach. "I'm done. You don't want the money? We'll find someone else that does. I'll escort you out to the team waiting at the curb." Another bluff, but hopefully one Ramon took seriously.

"Oh, good luck with that, amigo," Veloso laughed, though he didn't rise or seem to really care that Vaughn was threatening to leave. "The man is a ghost. It'll take you years to even find his name. Unless you have another double on the inside, of course."

Ramon relaxed. "Mis disculpas; sit." (my apologies)

Looking toward the curtained exit and knowing that at least two of the guards were waiting for the boss to exit, he heaved a sigh and undid the jacket button before sitting back down on the edge of the couch. Folding his hands with his elbows atop his knees, he waited.

"The man they sent as my replacement was someone even I had never heard of, and that's saying a lot. I made it my business for almost 25 years to know as many people, at least by face and name that I could. My friends in the Alliance assured me that he was perfect for the job and when he arrived and was sitting in my office, santa mierda was that guy a hard ass." (holy shit)

Vaughn held back his impatience as Veloso took a long drink from the glass before settling back and smacking his lips. "Anthony Geiger. Which, is almost all I can tell you. I had my top agentes look into him and they couldn't find so much as a parking ticket. This guy spent his life off the grid. I offered to teach him what I could before leaving, and he rejected all of it before giving me a date when I should vacate his new office. Puto gilipollas." (fucking asshole)

Vaughn nodded and reached into his jacket pocket to extract his cell phone. Swiping the pattern with his thumb, he rose with a glare. "Thank you for the information, the transfer has been made. Once you confirm, I'll be on my way."

Tucking the phone back inside his jacket, he reached down and pretended to straighten his cuffs, his thumb and pointer finger pinching the platinum link and feeling a click. He knew it was working when the thumping music of the nightclub immediately stopped, Ramon confused and looking around. A moment later, Michael's fist slammed into his nose, and though he felt a crunch, he didn't hear it.

Two more hits followed, Veloso choking on the blood filling his mouth from the two missing front teeth and, his now broken nose. As quick as the attack had come, it was over, and the agent rose breathing heavily and flexing his sore fingers above the former Alliance director as he sat slumped against the cushion. Thumping and voices returned a moment later, though Ramon was too stunned to realize that things were going back to normal.

"Your friends murdered the woman I loved. Consider yourself lucky I didn't feel like ripping your damn head off. The next time you're meeting with the CIA, leave her name out of it if you'd like to keep your remaining teeth," he growled before straightening up and making his way out the door.

Dancing bodies surrounded him as he took a quick turn and got lost in the crowd, not bothering to look back and see if the guards had found their broken boss.

...

Vaughn woke surprisingly refreshed, though a moment of confusion hit him as he looked around the hotel room with uncertain green eyes. The meet with Sloane, the contact in London, the pulsing nightclub, punching the guy's lights out - it all caught back up to him as he flopped back against the pillow with a heavy sigh. Wincing at the soreness of his knuckles on his left hand, a grin formed on his lips as he recalled the surprised and stupid look on Ramon's bloodied face. He tossed out his other hand and fumbled around until he felt the rectangle shape of his cell. Wiggling the cord out from the bottom, the light blinded him momentarily as it turned on and booted up.

Five missed texts and two missed calls. 'Not as bad as last time,' he mused. Seeing that he had plenty of time before his flight, he settled back and scanned the texts.

JACK: Irina okayed to visit. Will update you.

No update followed, however, and that text had been sent three hours ago. His heartache rekindled and served as a shadowy reminder of why he'd taken the assignment across the pond in the first place. He'd managed to convince Kendall to send him instead of Weiss, the bald man glaring but authorizing the switch. Speaking of Weiss, he'd text just thirty minutes ago. Many times.

WEISS: Text this number when you wake up: 213-555-5247

WEISS: You haven't yet...have you? I just called and you didn't answer.

WEISS: 213-555-5247. Whenever you get up, sleeping beauty.

WEISS: another ghosted call. Fine.

Michael's voice was low and growly since he'd just woken up, "okay, god."

Pulling up the app he typed in the number and stared dumbly at the screen. "What the hell am I supposed to say?"

He settled on CIA professional:

YOU: This is Agent Vaughn. I was asked to contact you. Please respond.

Five minutes passed by and there was no answer. Another passed when the device rang in his hand making him jump and drop it with a thump against his chest. Cursing, he picked it up and frowned as the number was now calling him, so he answered with a flick of his thumb.

"This is Agent Vaughn," he said, trying to sound alert and awake.

"'Bout time. Hang on," it was Weiss.

"Weiss? Did...did you get a second number just to mess with me?"

He heard shuffling in the background and Eric's voice in the distance, though he couldn't make out the words. Silence a moment later made him pull the phone away from his face, the furrowing of his brow getting deeper. The call was still connected.

"Hello?" he asked again.

"Hi." Her voice soft and tentative, but it was her.

His heart slammed into his throat clogging his voice, though he managed a strangled, "Syd?"

"Yeah."

She could hear the thick emotion from his end and found that her nervousness was beginning to ebb at merely the sound of his voice. She'd forgotten how quickly he put her at ease, and at that moment she regretted the distance she'd forced between them.

"They...you got uh - a phone, huh?" Vaughn was trying to play it cool, for whatever reason he didn't know, but despite his best efforts he stuttered and swallowed around the emotional lump in his throat.

"Yeah," she said again, wishing she could be more eloquent. The headset pinched her ear but she was thankful that Eric had made the effort to set it up. She was able to slowly lift her right arm at the moment, the muscles aching and tight, but holding the phone to her ear for the length of an entire phone call would have been impossible.

The two lapsed into silence but it didn't feel awkward. It felt like their souls were trying to reconnect after a long, forced hiatus.

"Now that I'm talking to you," she swallowed. "I don't really know where to start."

Michael nodded, "I just want you to know that I'll go whatever speed you need me to, Sydney. If you need me to keep my distance, no matter how hard that might be, I'll do it for you."

"I don't think I want that."

'Thank god,' Vaughn thought. "Just...know that I - I'll do whatever you need me to do."

A small smile tilted her lips. "Thanks."

"How...how are you?"

He heard her sigh and realized even that was a difficult question. "I'm okay," she lied.

"That's...good," he didn't call her on it.

Another silence took over and Vaughn feared that if he didn't come up with something to say, she'd fall asleep on him.

"I punched a guy in the face last night," he admitted.

"Really? Why?"

Michael chuckled, "because he was an Alliance piece of shit."

The anger behind his words for them, now more than before, made her wary. "Where are you?"

"London. We're just...filling gaps in the information from the Luxembourg intel," he explained. It felt natural, talking about work. Their relationship had started as work anyway, so maybe finding their way back through CIA jargon would be their saving grace.

"Did you get what you needed before or after you punched him?"

He laughed, "before. I got yelled at by Jack the last time I hit the guy too early."

"You're clearly a loose cannon," Sydney grinned and he could hear the smile behind her words. That knowledge made his heart feel light.

"Seriously though, I...I only took the assignment because I," he stopped with a sigh. "Nevermind."

"No, don't," she swallowed, "please be honest with me," she begged, trying to sound brave.

She wasn't sure if he was going to take her up on the request as the silence went on.

"Please?"

"I spent 42 days in that room next to your bed, Syd. When you woke up I thought, 'finally I'll be able to hear her voice and she can tell me that she's okay'," he paused, and she could hear the sadness mixed with regret in his voice, "this week was almost the worst. Almost," he whispered.

He heard her sniffle and began to back peddle, "I'm sorry, you don't need this crap from me."

"It's okay," she said quickly, though her words were watery.

"Syd, it's fine. I'm talking to you now, and that's all that matters."

"I need you to be able to be honest with me. The last thing I want is...is to be babied. I'm going to get it enough from everyone else, please don't let me get it from you."

He thought about choosing his words carefully, but he also knew that she would end up seeing right through his attempt. "I had to get away for a bit. Not from you, but from the fact that you were right there and it was getting harder and harder for me to stay away. This way, I'd be in London and not tempted to break into your room."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"I get it; it's okay."

Faint beeping could be heard over the headset, and in his mind, he could see the layout of the medical room perfectly. They sat quietly for a little while as each tried to decide where to go with the conversation. He hadn't meant to hit her with so much real all at once, but the words just came out like a turned-on tap he couldn't stop.

"You can talk to me; you know that, right? I mean...you don't have to tell me everything or...or even anything. But you can if you want," he offered.

A few silent moments passed and he was worried that she'd fallen to sleep until she started speaking.

"Where can you start when everyone already knows everything? I can't have a conversation with anyone without feeling that everything is different. It's like it's not me they're talking to, but some poor defenseless victim."

"Syd, you're still you."

Tears filled her eyes again, "great," she scoffed.

Vaughn sighed unsure how to respond, so he decided to go with a change of subject. "Did...you...have a good talk with your mom?"

Sydney frowned, knowing that this was the segue she had been waiting for since she didn't have the courage to bring it up on her own. "It was a lot more honest than I thought was possible between us," she said quietly.

"Honest? Irina?"

She let out a weak chuckle. "I...learned a lot."

"Syd, you sound tired. Why don't...why don't you call me after you get some rest?"

The longing in his voice begged her not to take his offer as he never wanted the call to end, but he could hear the fatigue behind her words and didn't want to push for his own selfish needs.

"No, please don't hang up I," she begged, "I'm fine. I promise."

"No - I," he stuttered, "I didn't mean I was going to hang up it's just...you sound tired."

"I slept for forty days, I should be fine," she joked, his laugh making the panic that got her heart thumping to settle. "Seriously, I...I want to talk with you about this. It's important and...I don't think it should wait."

"I'm not goin' anywhere," he promised, both minds rewinding to their time together in London before all of this had happened. It felt as if it had been years ago, Vaughn lingering on her voice in his head saying 'you don't get to decide that' at his words.

"Our families knew each other in Virginia," she started.

Vaughn frowned. "What?" 'Maybe Jack and I aren't as close as I thought.'

"My mom told me the truth about a lot of things, but that was the first surprise. You were almost four and I was almost one and...our dads were really great friends."

Michael sat up leaned his back against the padded headboard as the blanket pooled over his lap. "Jack never mentioned that he knew my father."

"I know. Doesn't that seem weird?"

"Well, your dad takes second place in the office for secrets, but that's only because you're mom is technically in the office," he grumbled, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. "That's...that's not all she told you, was it?"

Sydney shook her head lightly though he couldn't see it, "no."

"Was it - was it about my dad?"

"Yeah."

Vaughn sighed. "It's in the past, Syd. You don't have to keep apologizing for her. Truth or not, family past or not, nothing she did makes me love you less."

The warm fuzzy feeling of him admitting his feelings made the ball of dread loosen in her sternum, though only for a moment. "I know, but-"

"Nothing she could say would change anything between us."

"I know, but-"

"I get it," he interrupted again, agitation edging into his voice and taking it from soft and gentle to harder and edged. "I get why Jack didn't tell us that our families knew each other. I mean, the friendship didn't exactly work out-" he grumbled.

"She didn't do it, Michael," Sydney blurted.

Silence.

"Yes she did," he countered in a harsh whisper.

"No. She...she couldn't. She found out it was him and...he recognized her and-" she stopped hearing his scoff.

"She just...told you she didn't do it?"

"Yes."

"And you believed her? Syd, how many times does she have to lie to you before you get that she's just a liar?"

She frowned, "wait, what? She didn't lie about this, Vaughn."

"Because she said she didn't? Sydney...you're smarter than this. She told you what you wanted to hear because...be-because," he stopped, not knowing where to go next.

"Because what? Because she felt bad for me? Because she should feel bad for me?"

"What? No! Of...of course not." He softened his tone and swung his suddenly restless legs off the edge of the bed. Rising with a huff he paced over to the door of the hotel room and back two or three times with slow and determined strides. "I'm sorry I just...I don't believe her."

"Why don't you believe me?"

He sighed. "It's not about you, Syd. You can't just...expect me to say that everything's okay now because she said so. I've seen the file."

"Listen, I know that this is hard to hear. It - it was hard for me too, but she told me everything, Vaughn. Every detail. They were friends-"

His harsh laugh cut her off. "Friends? God help anyone else that was her friend."

Sydney sighed as everything began to feel heavy. "I couldn't keep this secret, Vaughn."

Another moment of silence passed between them, the soul-connecting feeling beginning to wane as they realized that something wasn't the same. He spoke first.

"You don't talk to anyone for a week, and the first person you wanted to see was your mother. And I was fine with that; I understood. She'd been through a lot, plus she hadn't seen a single moment of that goddamned stream," he growled, and she could almost feel the rage behind his words as he mentioned the room with Flynn. While Vaughn felt rage, Sydney felt anxiety wrap like vines around her lungs.

The deep pit was beginning to pull her in as her mind went unbidden to the chair. Crackling twitches ran up and down the nerves in her arms as phantom wire tightened around her wrists. She wiggled her fingers, wincing at the painful stabs radiating from her left hand and wrist, but she did it anyway. It grounded her for the moment as she tried to claw her way back out from the memories sucking at her.

Vaughn stopped his pacing and tightly closed his eyes, his head tipping back as he faced up at the ceiling. As he tried to calm himself his ears tuned into the ragged breaths coming through the earpiece of his phone. "Syd, I'm sorry. I...it's okay. I shouldn't take any of this out on you; I didn't mean to snap."

"It's...okay," she whimpered, and his heart broke for a moment.

"I believe you."

She silently shook her head.

"I do. I just...I need time to digest this. I've only known the truth for a year, and...I don't know what to say." He paced back and forth a few more times before flopping back onto the edge of the bed. "I should've kept my mouth shut."

Her breathing calmed down a bit from what he could hear, and he realized that he had been right to feel nervous about their first interaction after she woke - she wasn't the same. Or maybe it was him - maybe he wasn't the same? Hell, he didn't know. He had been hoping that they could just immediately swing back into the same banter and light conversations they had in the month before she'd been taken and that the reality of their ease with one another would heal her.

Which the psychologist had told him wouldn't be the case, but he hadn't put much stock into that assessment.

"You don't know our relationship. We've always been able to be honest with one another. There's nothing but trust there," he'd said smugly, his words now biting him in the ass. He had to change the subject and change it fast. He compartmentalized Irina and his father intent on dealing with it later.

"Can I just say...your voice is the most beautiful thing I've ever heard," he admitted quietly.

Despite the tired despair that was pulling at her, she smiled. "I bet you say that to all your coma girlfriends," she joked with a sniffle.

Michael let out a genuine laugh as the twisting tightness in his chest began to loosen. "You sound really tired. Just...you drift away. I'll be right here."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" The slight tremor in her voice gave away how unsure she was about everything.

"I'll try, but I am in London. But I'll be home in twelve hours and you'll be my first stop. I promise," he swore with a glance at the alarm clock.

"Okay. Be safe?"

"I love you. Despite the fact that I was an asshole, I'm so glad you called." He didn't want to hang up, even though it was his idea.

"Love you too," she whispered as her blinks went long and her body began to relax.

Michael stayed on the call until he heard her even breathing, waiting until she was completely asleep. He listened for a little longer before hanging up and setting the phone back on the nightstand next to his watch.

His father's watch.

Lifting it between the side of his pointer finger and brushing his thumb over the shiny glass, the grooved worry lines on his forehead sprang to life.

'Truth takes time,' the Jack voice said in his head, 'and all we have is time.'

...