At long last, an update! I'm sorry there was such a break in the action. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!
She leaves Weiss staring at a Real Madrid game and makes her way to the lobby. No sign of Vaughn there, nor is he in the hotel bar. She steps out onto the busy street, under the lighted awning over the hotel door, and crosses her arms anxiously. The gnawing at the pit in her stomach is wearing on her, and she wants to find him, to resolve this mess before the mission tomorrow evening. It won't do to go out in the field like this, especially not on this mission.
Reluctantly, she draws her cell phone from her pocket and presses the keys with the edge of her thumbnail. The phone rings twice, three times, four times, and finally a fifth before it cuts over to voicemail.
"Vaughn, it's m--Sydney," she says, and isn't sure how to continue. "Ah, where are you? Call me." She stares at the display for a second or two longer before pressing 'end,' feeling like someone throwing a bottle into the ocean and hoping someone will pick it up and respond. She had always known before where to find him, never had to plead for him to listen to her. Sighing deeply, she heads for the café down the street, one emanating a warm, orange glow into the night. Maybe they have warm milk on the menu.
She sits at a table near the back, the phone in front of her on the table. Patiently, she sips her latte and tries to ignore the minutes, then the half-hour, then the hour that passes without so much as a text message from him.
The barista is making the motions of closing up the place, so she settles her bill and makes her way back to the hotel.
Weiss is already snoring when she slips back into the darkened suite, and she can see instantly that Vaughn's side of the bed is empty. They had decided that the least awkward sleeping arrangement was to put her on the couch and have Weiss and Vaughn share the ridiculously large king-sized bed.
She slowly gets undressed in the bathroom and reluctantly pulls on her pajamas. Stretching out on the couch, she pulls the sheet up to her bellybutton and tucks one elbow behind her head, and waits.
And waits.
Alone in her thoughts in the dark, she tries not to overthink the tenuous pact she has made with Sark. It's hard not to remember the last business transaction she had with him, her naively simple plot to kill Sloane and save Vaughn's life. She scrunches her eyes shut against the embarrassment at the memory; how stupid can you be, she thinks? Her cheeks burn in the darkness when she thinks back on the evening, how easily she gave it up to him, and how she hadn't disliked it. On the contrary. He, who had laughed at her when he'd realized she had no memory of her missing two years. Jerk. She unconsciously strokes the spot on her neck where he bit her, and shivers slightly to imagine his head tucked there, between her ear and her shoulder.
Still, she has as much reason to trust him as anyone. Nothing is the same. Vaughn had become… unreadable. Dixon's easy way with her has stiffened with responsibility and authority, though she senses a slightly apologetic tone when he has to delegate the dirty work to her alone now, without being able to join in on the action. Her mother is missing, Will in Witness Protection, Francie gone for good.
She smiles a little, a wry quirk of her lips, remembering Sark's proclamation: You and I, we're destined to work together—I truly believe that. She has always wondered if Sark hadn't hoped they were destined for a little something more than work.
Just then, she hears the door click open and a shaft of light cuts across the couch. She sits up as Vaughn enters the room and they are enveloped in darkness again when he closes the door behind him.
"Syd," he whispers, "I got your message—are you still awake?"
"Yes," she replies, swinging her legs off the couch and motioning for him to follow her out onto the balcony, away from the sleeping Weiss. She followed him, barefoot, out onto the concrete balcony and shut the sliding door gingerly behind her. "Where were you," she asks, looking out over the city. "We were starting to get worried."
Vaughn shrugs, and she can tell he still feels obstinent. "I went out—Lauren called, I needed to talk to her."
"Listen," she begins, but he interrupts her.
"No, you listen—" Vaughn breaks off, perhaps realizing how harsh his tone is, before continuing. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't let you know where I was going—I know it's not safe. I just had to get out of here for awhile."
She nods and crosses her arms over her stomach.
"I'm concerned, for you—about you," he says, "This is just all so familiar—you wanting to do the right thing, but doing it in a way that's… shady," he shakes his head. "And I just worry that you're going to get hurt, Syd, that's all. You're making a backdoor deal with someone we've known to be untrustworthy in the past, who's double-crossed you before, to double-cross someone who knows you as a different person? This sounds…" he searches for the word, "Crazy. I'm sorry, but it does."
"You're afraid I'm going to get hurt," she repeats, nodding.
"What are you gonna do when Sark finds out Julia Thorne is the one who murdered his father?" Vaughn's tone is gently pleading, for her to come to her senses, she supposes.
"Well, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?" she snaps. "And thank you for your supposed concern, but I think it's misplaced. You're not my handler anymore, Vaughn, it's not your professional ass on the line if this gets screwed up. You know the Agency's waiting for any excuse to take me off active duty, which would put me conveniently out of the way for you to continue on your way up the ladder, where you were headed before I ever messed up your life."
She looks up, finally, chin still down defiantly, and finds him staring at her, one hand on his hip and the other on the balcony railing. "Well?" she asks, daring him to contradict her. "Isn't that right?"
He snorts, a lungful of air rushing through his nostrils. "If you believe that, then you're even more messed up than I thought." At that, he turns on his heel and re-enters the hotel room.
"Sleep tight," she calls sarcastically, turning towards the railing and staring out at the city.