A/N: I found an amazing website that has transcripts of all Alias episodes that's really been a help! Also, Amazon Prime just added Alias to stream! Anyone else power-watching like crazy? Anywho, thanks for waiting! I hope you're all still here with me, and as happy and healthy as 2020 can keep you.
Part 26
Sydney leaned against the headboard, the blanket over her lap covered with scattered files and papers. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her finger bumped her glasses making her adjust them back over her nose as she flipped the packet at the staple with a sigh.
"You've been at it for three hours, Syd. You should get some sleep," Vaughn mumbled nearly asleep beside her.
A grin broke loose from her concentration as she peeked down to see his eyes closed and a hand tucked beneath his cheek. He looked serene and she admitted to herself that it was probably a better idea to curl up with him and sleep instead of reading another useless Alliance document. Leaning over, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
"Yeah. I'll finish this one and be done."
Michael let out a sleepy chuckle. "I think you said that three folders ago."
Her response was to turn the last page and blink her bleary eyes from behind the reading glasses. The last page was a copy of an email between Alain Christophe and two other Alliance partners, and a frown furled her brow as she read the details.
After engine trouble and a delayed stop in Spain, the jet is once again airborne. To be safe, the code to access 47 has cycled: SA234564SA. Edward, please take a look at the files labeled Kabir - I believe it's right up your alley.
The email was dated three days ago. "Code to access 47; code for 47," she whispered repeatedly and set the pages down while simultaneously sitting up and reaching for a folder she'd tossed atop her shins an hour earlier. "Code for 47," she repeated, Michael groaning.
"Syd, you're killin' me," he groaned and lifted his head to peek behind her at the bedside alarm clock. The red numbers showed it was a little after two in the morning, and he flopped back down to bury his face in the soft pillow.
"Code to access 47. Does - does that mean anything to you? What's...what's 47?" She ignored his complaint and began to reexamine the files on the bed. Gathering it all into a pile with the stapled pages on top, she swung her legs over the edge and stood with a wince, flexing her stiff knee.
A slight limp hampered her movement, but she made her way to the desk and pulled the lid off another box with one hand while turning the lamp to point from the wall onto the desk. Vaughn flopped to his back with a grumble before sitting up, scooting back until he was propped against the headboard in the same position she'd previously been resting.
"No. Code to access 47 doesn't mean anything to me."
Sydney nodded and continued looking, her hands flipping through pages until she found a file she had seen a few days earlier. It was an email between Arvin Sloane and Anthony Geiger dated a month ago, but the information was eerily similar to what she had just stumbled across.
I have added several files to the SD-12 folder on server 47. These should be what you were looking for. WRT the directory, it can also be found in the server's hidden files accessible with the weekly cycling code. Access this week is AH, though I likely don't need to remind you.
Setting that page with the others she'd found, she rifled through the box for more. A transcript of a phone conversation between Alain and Edward Pool four months ago. When she'd originally heard the conversation about them planning to abduct her, she found it funny that she was yet again the one to uncover a piece of intel about her blown cover. This time, however, she realized that she'd missed a glaring clue.
Alain: Good morning, Edward. I have something I need from you.
Edward: I'm always of service, Alain.
Alain: Flynn has discovered the SD-6 mole. Fortunately for us, she's in London at the moment.
Edward: How can I help? (shuffling papers in the background)
Alain: Have three of your best agents intercept at the airport tomorrow morning at 0930. The C.I.A. bonafides, cover story, and Agent Bristow's psychological profile have been uploaded to the server for your access. Analysis indicates that she will be unlikely to put up a fight in a crowded place, but if she does, the best subdue methods would be to aim for civilians. Her weakness is the threat to innocent life, and we shall take full advantage of that.
At the time, she'd thought nothing of it and filed it with others where her work had been discussed. If anything, it boosted her confidence that so many Alliance higher-ups had panicked conversations about her and her father's assignments.
Digging through, she found three more documents referencing 47, or server, or even server 47.
"What did you find?" Vaughn pulled her back to the present and she realized she'd been leaning against the desk on her right palm, the left clutching half a dozen papers as her eyes stared blankly ahead at the powered-down computer monitor.
"There are 47 servers."
Michael frowned. "No, there are 46 servers. Every piece of intelligence we have is from those 46 servers." Deciding against sleep, not that she was going to let that happen anyway, he rose from the bed and pulled pajamas up over his boxers.
"I'll bet that every piece of intelligence Sloane has been giving us has been from Server 47. That's why it runs the gamut. It," she paused as realization hit her face, "there's a hidden Alliance server."
"What?" He made his way to her side and reached for the papers she was clutching. Skimming, he spotted several of the references she'd found for the server name and number. "What...why would Sloane keep us in the dark on this?"
Sydney scoffed. "Because he's not finished with his endgame. If he doesn't know that we know this, we can take him down along with everything else."
Michael shook his head. "We have an agreement with him. The deal the agency wrote guarantees witness protection once the Alliance is brought down. He's going to a government paid-for house on some beach in the tropics." He couldn't hide the growl in his voice as he flipped through the other documents Sydney had uncovered.
"Yeah, well, so will we," she groused, pulling a grin from him.
"Okay, let's keep looking. We can take it to Jack and Kendall in the morning," he grabbed a full folder from the box before moving back to the bed.
"This...this could be it, huh?" He looked back over and saw the watery hope in her eyes.
With a wink and a grin, he opened the file.
…
"Sir, as soon as the Alliance realizes that this information was compromised, it won't be valid," Vaughn argued as the four of them stood the next morning in the conference room.
Jack was still pouring over the documents the two had linked together the night before, and Kendal was standing with his arms crossed over his chest wearing a hard cynical look.
"We don't know when this code cycles; it may have already. If we act on this information and it's wrong, they'll know someone has access to their hidden server. We don't get two chances at a global takedown, so let's not rush through this."
Sydney didn't want to sound desperate, but they hadn't been this close to the silver bullet before. "Isn't it worth the risk?"
Kendall sighed, "Miss. Bristow, I know you want to get out of this basement, but if we do this wrong it'll burn Sloane as an asset and dismantle everything we've been preparing for the last five and a half months."
"Then he'll know what it feels like," she clapped back with fire in her eyes. Leaning over the table she stuck a pointed finger into the stack of papers. "This is the best lead we've had in months. If this week goes by and we don't act, who knows how many weeks it'll be before he gives us the current code."
"Are we all forgetting the hundreds of pounds of C-4 in the sub-basements of SD-6 and probably every other SD cell? We can't risk that without knowing when the code cycles."
Sydney scoffed and inhaled to fire back, Jack interrupting from the table. "The answer's in the document." Once his eyes looked up, he saw that everyone had stopped and was waiting impatiently for his input.
"The current code is listed here as of four days ago. We should be able to match it in the SD-6 system."
Vaughn laughed, "it's not like you can head over there and verify. We need to get Sloane to give us the current code."
Kendall nodded while Jack shook his head. "He hasn't mentioned where this has been coming from for a reason. Maybe it's to see if we'll figure it out, maybe it's to buy himself time to finish his plans, either way, we shouldn't tip our hand."
Kendall looked at his watch. "If we can verify this, I could go to Langley about raiding Alliance facilities."
"How are you going to verify the intel?" Sydney's question was hard to answer, and the silence that followed made her sigh and lean on the table.
Vaughn chimed in after a moment of thought, "directors - partners - have access to this information. Is there...another person we could get this from?"
Kendall shook his head. "We're not going to kidnap and interrogate an Alliance partner if that's what you're suggesting."
The room fell silent as the four tried to sort their thoughts. Vaughn looked to his watch and sighed, "I have to meet Sloane in an hour. Am I asking him about this code or not?"
The answer from both senior officers was a negative shake of the head, and Sydney quickly left the room. With shoulders slumped, Michael tossed the papers he'd had in his hand to the table and followed her to the bedroom. Closing the door behind them he could hear the shaking anger behind her panting breaths and was sorting through what to say when she spoke.
"Nothing in my life...is real right now."
Michael kept his distance despite wanting to rush forward and pull her into a comforting hug. "Just because we aren't raiding them tonight doesn't mean it won't happen soon, Sydney. What we're doing is still real."
Spinning to face him, "I don't even exist, Vaughn. Our marriage isn't real beyond this basement, and the one thing I can do to fix it; the one thing that will make it all go back to normal has to wait. I am tired of waiting."
Her anger dissipated and was back-filled by sadness as she crossed her arms defensively over her stomach, tears falling down her cheeks. "I don't want to do this anymore."
Vaughn reached out to clasp her elbows and pull her against his chest. She didn't return the hug, but he felt her lean into him as she tucked her forehead against his throat.
"I'll see what I can get from Sloane without giving it all away. This is the last thing we have to do, Syd. Once this is done, all the other plans fall into place," he paused for a moment, "and we can get a house that doesn't have a basement."
She let out a strangled laugh against the collar of his shirt and sniffled before pulling back. "You go meet with the devil and I'll...I'll keep working here."
Michael cupped her cheek, his face a soft smile with warm green eyes. "Take a break. Have Francie come down and do a day of movies and cooking and whatever else will take your mind off things."
While she felt the crippling need to hurry and get enough information for Kendall and her father to set up an operation, she also felt the want to toss everything in the air, lock the door, and hide under a blanket with a tub of coffee ice cream. His idea wasn't a bad one.
"That does sound nice."
"Yeah?"
She sniffled and nodded in response, Vaughn leaning in to press a kiss to her lips. "You do that and let me focus on this for a bit. Trust that I want to get out of here as much as you do, okay?"
"I know you do," she whispered.
Vaughn left, though before the door closed he stuck his head back in, "beach houses can't have basements. Just...throwing that out there."
…
Jack sighed and squinted behind his glasses into the bright computer screen to read the tiny scanned font. A loud thump against his door made him jump, his heart leaping with a start against his ribs, and he heard another muffled thud followed by a low curse.
Stalking to the door he yanked it open to see Vaughn on his knees amidst a pile of papers and folders scattered in the hallway due to the weak and now torn side of a file box. "Sorry, Jack, I was just bringing this for you to look at and the whole damn thing fell apart."
"I think you gave me a heart attack," he growled with a smirk and leaned down to help. Though everything was mostly where it started, there was enough now out of place that Michael would spend a good long while reorganizing everything.
Once it was piled up, Jack retrieving an empty box, they moved inside and Vaughn hurriedly shut the door behind him, a tremor of excitement in his voice. "This is what Sloane gave me today."
Realizing that he'd not actually looked at any one piece of intelligence close enough to discern major or even minor details while cleaning the mess up, the senior agent reached back in and pulled out a file, flipping it open. His eyes went wide as he read, Michael nodding and beginning to pace.
Jack started, "Is this-" Vaughn interrupted.
"Yes."
"I mean is it all-"
"Yes."
"All of it?"
Michael nodded and held out a file that had been separated from the rest. Jack took it and, with shaking hands, opened the top and flinched at the contents. The first page was a bold header that read: SYDNEY BRISTOW - AGENT, SD-6, all covered by a big red stamp that said ELIMINATED. The photo was a screenshot of her in the chair before the camera feed went down and the rescue team had entered. Even after seeing her this morning, he felt that loss come roaring back.
Quickly flipping to the next page, a packet of emails stapled together, Jack read the top seeing it start with a message from Alain Christophe to Flynn titled Job Opening. Every piece of the conversation was there, from request to acceptance to updates, finalized by that grisly piece of evidence on the first page. Even the bank account information from Alain to Flynn was included, and Jack's eyes moved back and forth between the single file in his hand to the box where more were waiting.
"This...this is…"
Vaughn pressed a pointed finger into the lid, "this is physical evidence for every single assassination Flynn did for the Alliance. This is enough for the F.B.I. to put him away for hundreds of lifetimes."
"Good work."
"I want to tell Sydney."
"No," the father barked, upset that the young man was bringing it up again.
"Jack, she deserves to know that we caught him. You think I don't see her searching through the information and trying to find a location? The one thing she's entitled to, and she hasn't even asked. She genuinely thinks that we all let her killer get away."
The father sighed. "Nothing good can come of her knowing he's in our custody, not to mention sitting in a cell beside her mother. Do you think anyone would stop her from going up and slitting his throat?"
"She's more rational than that and you know it."
"Vaughn," Jack sighed. "What good would it do?"
"How about give her some closure?"
The elder balked as he rose and tossed the file onto the top of the pile, "you actually think we can ask Kendall for permission to torture a prisoner?"
Vaughn's laugh was harsh. "Jesus, Jack, No! I want to make a proposal from this office to the F.B.I."
Wide-eyed, Jack pushed, "and would that proposal be?"
"That the trial is streamed live, worldwide."
…
The entire floor smelled like a pastry shop, and feminine laughter made him smile the moment he lugged the heavy box of paperwork off the elevator. Peeking into the rec room, the floor was littered with blankets and pillows, the Breakfast Club was playing, and the two ladies were in pajamas in the middle of it all. The coffee table was off to the side and covered with cookies, cake, two melting tubs of ice cream, and a mostly empty bottle of wine.
He tried to sneak by to leave them blissfully unaware of his presence, but Sydney's voice calling his name made him poke his head back through the doorway.
"Hi," she smiled. "Want a cookie?"
She looked so relaxed compared to the last time he'd seen her, and he knew that half the news he had to share would make her happy while the other half would likely put him on that very couch until tomorrow, so he opted to let his last meal be one of Francie's delicious chocolate, chocolate chip cookies.
"Sure," he grinned and moved closer, the chef grabbing one and setting it on top of the box since his hands were full.
"What's in the box?" Of course she'd ask.
"Nuthin'," he mumbled with a wink and turned away. "Finish your movie and have fun," he ordered and left.
Two hours later she made her way in as he sat at the desk in comfortable cotton pajama pants and a plain white tee looking through another file. "You're still up? It's like, two in the morning," she chided.
He set the papers down and smiled, leaning back in the chair. She walked to his side and Vaughn wrapped an arm around her waist, tipping his forehead to rest against her hip. He relaxed as her fingers dove into his hair, her other hand reaching for a file in the box.
"What have you been working on?"
He moved quickly and pressed down keeping her from lifting the papers, spotting the surprise on her face. "It's two in the morning. Let's just sleep and then I can show you what tomorrow's project will be."
"But now I'm curious." She reached again.
"You won't sleep afterward. Let's just do it tomorrow."
He stood and redirected her toward the bed, feeling her resistance. "You know I'll just wait for you to fall asleep and get up, right?"
Vaughn let out an exasperated sigh. "Curiosity killed the cat, does that phrase mean nothing to you?"
She shrugged and flashed a bright dimpled smile, "the cat's got a few lives left, Vaughn."
Hanging his head and knowing there wasn't a way out of it, and he didn't much feel like taking a hit to the stomach mid-sleep once she realized the box's contents on her own, he nodded and grabbed her file from the top of the left pile.
She reached for it eagerly, but his grip kept it locked between them. "This is...shocking, okay? Like...if you want me to take out the first page I will, kind of shocking."
Her bravado began to falter at the sudden seriousness on his face. "What is it?"
"It's your file."
"From where?"
"Server 47."
"Where did you get it?"
"Sloane gave me this box today and...it's a lot."
Sydney had never wanted anything more in the whole world than to open that box. No Christmas on record had balled up the amount of nervous energy she suddenly had coursing through her veins and settling low in her stomach, the sugar high from the junk food not helping.
"I can handle it," she said quietly, though she wasn't sure what she was supposed to handle and if that statement was true.
Her file? Which one? She had probably a dozen files on missions, training, seminars, paperwork, physicals, and more, but she'd read those already. Nothing in any of those files could be considered 'shocking'.
He loosened his grip enough for her to take it into her hands, and she lifted the top slowly but confidently. At the picture, her eyes closed and her breath slammed into the bottom of her lungs for a moment, and she barely felt his hand on her shoulder, his voice telling her to take it easy and that everything was okay.
After a few deep breaths, she refocused, her eyes looking around the picture to read the text quickly before flipping it out of the way. She had much the same reaction as her father as she realized that in her hand were the pieces of the puzzle that would put Flynn away. She too looked to the box and the scattered stacks of files across the desk knowing what they were without reading anything.
"Is this all-"
"Yes."
Tears filled her eyes as she met his steady green gaze. "All of it?"
"Every single murder across fifteen countries, yours included. It's...it's enough to give the F.B.I. all they'd need to send him to hell."
Sydney scoffed, "if they could find him."
The moment she saw the guilty look on his face he knew he'd be spending the night on the couch. "Syd," he started but she held up a hand to silence him.
"Vaughn," she gasped.
"I...hold on," he stuttered.
She gasped as her lips formed a nearly perfect 'o'. "You know where he is."
"Yes." He reached for her but she stepped back, her legs wobbling. Her eyes were suddenly deep pools of tears, the saline brimming against her lashes as she searched his eyes for the truth.
"Don't. Please..don't say it."
"He's upstairs." The confession came spilling out, his tongue unable to hold it back, and the crushing hurt that contorted her face hit him in the gut.
The air was sucked from her already shocked and starved lungs, the right side pinching as she folded in the middle and ended up with her hands on her knees taking deep shaking breaths. Tears fell from her downward-facing eyes to the floor in large plops, but the moment his hands went to steady what he thought was her frail frame, the forceful way she yanked herself from his touch reminded him that she was almost back to where she'd been before this whole thing had started.
He kept his distance as regret filled his soul. Her chin trembled as she tried to find the words, wet trails on her cheeks belying the anger he knew she felt, the vein on her forehead prominent as well as the tensing of the muscles in her jaw.
"Out of everything," swallow, "of a-all the things," sniffle, "you...that's what," she sobbed, "this whole time?"
He nodded and took a step forward, both of them startled by the slap that stung his cheek, the sound a sharp crack in their ears. The silence afterward felt like a crushing weight, but what he didn't expect was the apology that left her lips or the way her hands folded to fidget with the engagement ring on her left hand.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again.
"I deserved it."
"No...I," she swallowed the rising lump of emotion strangling the back of her throat. "I'm sorry."
Rushing forward, she threw her arms around him. He caught her as one arm circled and splayed a hand between her shoulder blades, the other cupping the back of her head to hold her against his chest. Her fists bunched the fabric of his shirt as she sobbed into the cotton.
His knees ached and his back was tight by the time she loosened her grip and pulled away, his hands catching and cupping her red, tear-stained face as thumbs wiped at her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly and leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead.
She stepped away, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand before releasing a heavy sigh and closing her eyes tight against the headache that was beginning to pound in her temples.
"The whole time, huh?"
"We grabbed him that night, just like you said we would."
She nodded and he could tell she was thinking. He was desperately curious to know what about but wasn't brave enough to ask. That and his cheek still stung from the last attempt, so he thought it pertinent to keep quiet and let her take the lead.
"If we're turning this over to the F.B.I., I get to tell him."
Vaughn's eyes went wide but he kept his mouth shut.
"I'm serious. I get to be the one that tells him he's going down for it. For all of it," she growled and met his surprised stare.
"I have a plan if you want to hear it," he suggested quietly, holding his breath and waiting for her answer.
...
The late morning was cool and comfortable, the waiter bringing him another glass of iced tea as he relaxed. Sydney had been pulled into a meeting in the secret lower conference room by Kendall and her father, so he decided to get out of the proverbial house and beat his mom to their semi-weekly lunch.
They met at the same place each week when possible and had for years. It was a small, French-style cafe that served some of the best artisanal bread, cheese and wine that either of them had ever had, so it quickly became a favorite.
"Anything else, Mr. Vaughn?" Their usual waiter asked as he topped off the glass.
"Thanks, Ethan, I'll wait."
The bronze coin spun in his fingers as he sipped the tea and enjoyed the warmer weather of late morning early afternoon. He still felt guilty that over the last few months he was able to enjoy moments like this while Sydney was literally trapped in a basement with no ability to leave, but she'd been assuring him time and time again that it was okay, and the fact that things would be changing very soon put him at ease.
The outdoor patio was behind the cafe and hidden from the noise of passing traffic, and his eyes followed the strings of small round lights festooned along the wooden frame of the gazebo. This place brought back a lot of memories and he found himself following the rabbit trail.
"Bonsoir, maman," Michael greeted in French, their custom as he joined his mother's table on the patio, the overhead light strings casting a pale ambient glow. A lamp flickering with candlelight illuminated the flatware from the center of the table as well as the tray of bread and cheese his mother had ordered while she waited.
"Hello, dear," Deloreme Vaughn said sweetly, her son pressing a kiss to her cheek before taking up his seat.
"I'm sorry for being late, my meeting ran a little long."
She waved him off, "it's perfectly alright, I was enjoying the night. Is everything alright?"
Vaughn sighed and nodded, though his smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Michael, my boy, you know I can always tell when something is amiss. Tell me."
He resisted. "No, mama; I want to let the day go so I can be here with you."
She tsked behind her teeth and pursed her lips, Vaughn sighing again and trying to work through what he could and couldn't say.
"I've been working with another agent, someone new the last month or so, but today I got reassigned." A third sigh left his lips, this one angrier than the other two, "replaced."
"Why?"
"Because this agent is...really good and they don't think I'm senior enough to handle her case."
A glint flitted across his mother's eye at the anger in his voice, and the fact that he'd said 'her'. There was a certain...longing behind his words. "Upset at losing the girl, are we?" she said and took a sip of wine.
"No," he backpedaled quickly. "No, no, that's not it. She just...the guy they picked is an ass. I'm worried he's not going to take the job as seriously as he should."
"If she is as good as you say, why worry?"
Michael looked lost for a moment. Sydney was an impressive agent, but she was spending a lot of time recently in the unknown, and that forced her into a cycle of reaction. Double agent life was still so new that she was relying on the C.I.A. for direction, and he didn't entirely trust Lambert to give her that.
"Is she nicer than Alice?"
"Mama," he warned as he poured himself a glass of wine from the waiting carafe.
She scoffed, "she's not good enough for you, Michael. Tell me about this new girl."
"Mama, there's nothing to tell. She works for the C.I.A. and, until today, I was working with her. I barely know her," he lied.
Another scoff, "well then don't be so worried about her well being. Another agent can handle things if they come up, you're not the only person that works there. I'm sorry, I'll be nicer about Alice. Are you still dating?"
Mulling the question over with a mouthful of wine, Michael rocked his head back and forth in a semi-serious nod. "Sure. I don't know. We had an argument a few days ago and I haven't talked to her since, but...things will come around."
"It sounds to me like you should ask this new girl out for coffee."
'If only,' he thought and shook his head.
"Michael, you must be honest. In everything you do, always be honest." Being chided by his mother always made him smile. Unlike others, her chiding always had a way of pulling him out of his funk, and this time was no different.
"Yes, mama," he promised. He cut a slice of cheese and placed it on the small piece of bread, chewing as his eyes focused on the miniature overhead hanging bulbs. This offered her a chance to focus on her son and take stock of his body language.
Everything about Michael Vaughn screamed 'tense and worried'. He reminded her so much of his father when he worried, which lately seemed to be all the time. His brow would wrinkle up, same as Bill's; his green eyes would dull, just like Bill's.
"Michael, things happen for a reason, you know this. Perhaps you and this other agent weren't meant to be." It was her turn to backpedal at the annoyed glare he tossed her direction. "Not like that, you know what I mean. Maybe you and this other agent aren't the team you thought?"
Vaughn rattled her words around his brain, but her last sentence unnerved him. He found himself lost in thought for a moment and she let him dwell as the waiter came by to take their order.
She ordered for him and sipped at her wine as he fidgeted with his coin, another Bill Vaughn habit her son had picked up.
"Tell me what you're thinking, my boy."
Michael stayed quiet for a few more seconds until he met her eyes with an unexpected smile. "Do you remember the day dad gave me his watch?"
A wistful and longing look flickered across her face. "Of course."
"I didn't want him to leave. He'd been gone so much already and he was going to miss my hockey game, but he said it was an important work mission. He handed me his watch so I could count the seconds until he came home because I could 'set my heart by it', and it would never give me the wrong time."
The pair shared a soft pause. "What I never told you...when I woke up the next morning, it had stopped. It wasn't working."
Deloreme's brows lifted in surprise. "Really?" She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the grey locks swept into a bun at the back of her head as wisps hung down around her shoulders. Michael found it endearing that both Sydney and his mother shared the habit, something he wouldn't say to either of them any time soon.
His smile turned sad. "I was so worried. The one thing dad had told me to do was count the seconds until he came home. If I couldn't count how would I ever know when he'd be back? I didn't tell anyone until the day of the funeral."
"Darling, why not?"
Vaughn shrugged. "I thought it was my fault. I broke dad's watch, so he couldn't come home. Uncle Tony set me straight and explained that sometimes watches like those have to be wound to keep going, and it had probably been a while. He showed me the knob and sure enough - with one twist the damn thing started ticking, but I never forgot that feeling. I think of it every time I pull it out," he admitted, reaching into his jacket and extracting the shiny silver and glass bound by worn leather bands.
He set it on the table and slid it over, Deloreme smiling and pulling it into her hands. "I'll never forget what he said. I could set my heart by that watch, and it stopped when he died."
"Michael," her voice was emotional.
"I know, I know. Superstition isn't reliable; it's silly, but...it was so visceral. The timing was so...permanent."
Turning the watch over she looked at the front and noticed that the second hand was still. Holding it to her ear, she frowned. "It's...stopped." Michael nodded and saw her fingers twist the tiny knob a few times before returning it to her ear, though no tick could be heard.
"It ticked its last on October first," he admitted and she handed it dejectedly back to her son, lifting her wine glass to take a sip. He took it into his hands lovingly as a crooked smile hit his face. "It stopped the day I met that new agent."
Sputtering on her wine, Deloreme placed her napkin against her lips. "What," cough, "what does that mean?"
Vaughn laughed, "I have no clue, but that's why I'm worried. We're a good team, mama. On missions we're in tune and when I'm not there she...she's really good at what she does, but...she has a habit of getting emotional. All of this is so new. The wrong person giving the wrong order could get her killed. People have already tried, and if I wasn't there to correct their mistakes, she'd be dead."
Finally telling someone what he thought and how he felt made it all a little better. "The last time this watch stopped," he held it up with a small shake, "someone I cared about died. I just...I don't want it to happen again, you know? Superstition or not."
Someone across the patio dropped something, the tinkling glass pulling him from his reverie as the waitstaff rushed to clean everything up. A hand tapped his shoulder and made him jump, his eyes whipping up to see his mother's laughing face.
"Did I startle you, Michael?" She leaned in with a chuckle and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. Vaughn laughed and squeezed her fingers as she slipped past and into the opposite chair. "Have you been waiting long?"
"I got here early, mama, it's okay. How are you?" The lilting, anything but foreign words rolled off his tongue and he felt most at home when they were speaking her first language.
She was excited to see the jovial attitude and how youthful he looked, much more so than their previous lunches the last few months.
"I'm well, darling. You seem in a good mood, is there anything you can share?"
"I'm just having a good week,"
"That's nice," she said as she took a drink from the ice water. "Tell me about your good week if you can."
Vaughn smiled, "we have an operation coming up that will...right a lot of wrongs."
Deloreme scanned his relaxed pose. His shoulders were loose and he was sitting in a white button-up shirt with no tie or jacket, informal for him during a workday. Her eyes caught a few extra details, however, that belied the announcement of his good mood being solely work-related. Those eyes that had swept him from head to stomach, all she could see from her vantage at the table, went wide. "You're seeing someone."
'Shit.'
"No I'm not," he said quickly, but the higher pitch and his defensive tone made her eyebrows rise in excitement.
"You are! Tell me!" Her mood floundered as she sent a quick frown, "wait; it isn't Alice, is it?"
Michael laughed and shook his head. "No, mama. If I was seeing someone, it wouldn't be Alice. Just for you," he promised.
The waiter came by and took their orders, Michael seeing that she wasn't going to back down. "I'm not lying to you," he lied.
She scoffed. "I think I know you well enough to see the signs. Are you finally over having your heart broken?"
He sighed and hung his head, though a reminiscent smile still played on his lips as his shoulders dropped. He'd almost forgotten that he'd given her a lying excuse during the first two weeks after Sydney's supposed death in an attempt to explain his depression. The story was that he'd been seeing someone who, right before he started working on the rescue efforts for their captured agent, had dumped him out of the blue.
In those days, it wasn't hard for him to cry at the drop of a hat. Though Sydney had survived, she was still unconscious and critical in the medical ward. Small improvements each day were too small to bring him out of the constant state of dread, so he'd made her up: Lauren. Some NSA liaison with his field office that he'd met a few months before the whole "website incident". He fabricated what he needed in order to justify how broken his heart had been, and his mother had left him alone about the topic until now.
'Screw it,' he thought.
Looking left and right, his mother following his gaze despite the fact that she had no idea what he was looking for, he seemed content with their surroundings and reconnected with her confused blue eyes.
"I lied to you, mama."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Lied? When? About what?"
"I...I wasn't dating someone, and they didn't break my heart. I made her up."
Deloreme frowned as the lightness of her features dropped to that of a stern mother staring down a disobedient child. "Why?"
"Because I had been dating someone at the agency against the rules, and it ended...very badly." Vaughn's voice was a low whisper and his mother followed his lead.
"Someone you've told me about?"
His nod was slow, and he hadn't thought more surprise could hit her face. "Who?!"
She wasn't prepared for his smile. "Do you remember that agent? The one I met the day dad's watch stopped?" At his mother's avid nod he looked around once more, the closest party to them several tables away and nary a waiter in sight.
His mother smirked, speaking before he could continue. "I knew there was more about her than you had let on. You said it ended badly; did the company find out?"
"It was Sydney Bristow."
Deloreme fell back against the metal-backed chair with mouth agape. Michael chuckled at her reaction. "So yeah, you can say that four and a half months has been long enough to mend my broken heart."
She stuttered half words several times and he patiently let her find the right thing to say while sipping his iced tea.
"Wh-why didn't you tell me?"
"Mama, we saw what happened when the wrong people found out who she was. I wasn't about to do it for them."
"Michael, I can't even...I mean, how did-" her eyes were unfocused and her hands moved as if she was talking, though no actual sentences were uttered.
Vaughn reached out and set a hand to her wrist to catch her attention. "Mama, it's okay. Really. I just...now you understand why I've been working so hard the last few months."
"Was...it worth it?"
Michael thought about that question.
Was what worth it? Which part?
He knew his mother wasn't aware of the full story. She was, for now, under the assumption that Sydney Bristow was dead, as was the rest of the planet. Even if she had died, the answer he kept coming back to was...
"Absolutely."
Deloreme saw the conflict in his eyes, though his answer soothed her soul.
"Well, I'm so very sorry, my boy. If things had ended differently, I have a feeling I would have liked her."
Vaugh grinned, "you would have loved her. She was a great cook and drank really good wine, and I think she read a crazy thick book once a week."
The food arrived and changed the subject for them, though as they talked about other things the revelation still hung in the air and she found herself shaking her head from time to time as she ate.
"What?" He asked, finally calling her out.
"I just...that...did you watch? While it was happening?" The darkening of his eyes was her answer.
She huffed, "why? How could you watch something like that done to someone you love?"
Sydney had asked him the same thing, and he'd asked himself that a million times.
"Not knowing was harder than knowing, but only just. If they gave some clue I wanted to know that."
"Did they?"
Michael nodded and she frowned, perking up and tilting her head. "Did...is there more than what was said on the news about this, Michael?"
He nodded again. "We found her. I mean...it was too late, but...we found her. They had been three blocks away." He was still mad about that fact and was fairly sure it wasn't ever going to go away.
He finally looked back up and saw wet trails down her cheeks. He decided to change the subject.
"Tomorrow is a big operation. Tomorrow...I get to make them pay."
…
