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Title: Closure Posted: 10/19/2003 |
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Sydney rolled the stem of the red rose between her thumb and forefinger, watching as the bloom twirled back and forth. The sun warmed her back and she took a deep breath, measuring her own guilt with each stride. On television and in the sales brochure, graveyards were all green lawns and well-tended flowers, the picture of flourishing life when their whole existence relied on death. Vaughn’s grave was anything but vital. She knew where the headstone was without consulting the map. She’d been here before, once alone, once for the funeral, but she kept her distance at the latter. She wondered how many people attended funerals on the sly, hiding behind a tree, and how many had grounds as rational as hers. The soil was disheveled, the grass patchy as if it had been the victim of sloppily-applied fertilizer. There were flowers, some in bouquets, others sprouting from plastic pots, sprigs of green and dirty ribbons strewn about. She set her rose atop the stone. Voices were running through her head. Barnett’s, for one. That was a regular appointment, a ritual to which Sydney had grown accustomed. She often wondered whether the CIA had a manual with an index of unfortunate circumstances that Dixon could consult: come back from the dead, see Barnett; kill your former lover and partner, see Barnett. “Schedule time to grieve,” Barnett had encouraged. Sydney had whipped her date book from her purse and sarcastically scribbled ‘Vaughn’ on her next day off, slowly mumbling his name as she did so. Lips pressed firmly together, Sydney had wanted to point out that this was a gesture, not the creation of a ritual. She watched a stream of cars crawl past, slow and deliberate. 10 mph, posted speed limit in a grieving zone. That’s when she heard the other voice, the one that haunted her dreams. “I’m giving you what you were looking for all along – closure.” She blinked a few times. The thought of closure brought tears to her eyes. “Thought I’d find you here.” She turned to find Weiss standing tall, his hands resting on his hips. “No one blames you.” She leaned forward, running her fingers over the lettering on the stone. “Lauren blames me.” “I don’t,” he said. He walked up behind her and put his arms around her. She leaned her head back into his chest. “If you knew what happened-” “I know what happened,” he said softly, “but maybe you should tell me.” * * * Sydney stood patiently in line, trying to decide between a coffee or something fancier, between spending one dollar or four. “Can I help you?” The young woman’s tone was begrudging. Sydney smiled. The cashier didn’t want to be polite to Sydney any more than Sydney wanted to be polite to Lauren Reed, but neither of them had a choice. “Medium coffee,” she said, surrendering a five. In their weekly meeting, Dr. Barnett had suggested that Sydney establish new rituals. “Ritual is a way of giving meaning to our everyday tasks,” she said. “Don’t think of it as getting coffee, think of it as reaching out to the community.” Sydney brightened her smile as she put a dollar in the tip jar. “Can I help you?” Even the cashier had moved on, even if Sydney couldn’t. “Medium coffee.” The British twang caused Sydney to stop and slowly turn around. “Sark,” she hissed. He tipped his fedora, his eyes hidden behind shiny sunglasses. “Thought we could catch up. Our jailhouse chat was abbreviated by the CIA trading me like common livestock.” Sydney surveyed the coffee house. No agents were following her this morning, unlike most others. She walked to the end of the counter and picked up her coffee. “You think the CIA won’t catch you?” “Now, you mean?” He looked at her quizzically. “On a good day, perhaps,” he said, checking his watch. “Three, two, one,” his lips mouthed, counting the seconds as they ticked by. “Right about now they’re spotting me on the other side of the globe. Trust me.” “Why would I do that?” Sydney elbowed her way to the 2% milk, the tension rising in her voice. Sark followed on her heels. “Because you need to trust someone.” His words surprised her. She offered him the milk. “I take it black, but thank you.” She put the carafe back on the counter. Why she had even offered it to him? He was neither a friend, nor an ally, but she understood one thing: he had grown more audacious since her death. Disturbingly so. “I have something to offer you,” he said in a hushed voice. “It’s not the first time a boy has propositioned me.” She snapped the lid on her coffee. “Get over yourself.” As she pushed past him, he grabbed her by the arm, jerking her back. “I can give you answers. Who you were, where you were, who was responsible.” She held her breath, reassessing the situation. He was there because he needed something from her, not out of a sense of altruism. “What do you want?” “A tape. The CIA has security feed of the murder of a Russian diplomat named Lazarey. I want a copy.” Sydney tensed up at the mention of the footage. “Why do you need it?” “This isn’t a Q & A,” he replied. “What I need and why I need it shouldn’t concern you.” Sydney nonchalantly took a sip of her tepid coffee, determined that not to reveal her guilt. “Even if I could get you a copy, why should I believe that you could produce better intel on the Covenant than my father?” “Because I already have.” He pulled a small envelope from the breast pocket of his suit and handed it to her. She resisted the urge to open it as he walked away. Her finger was toying with the seal when his retreating voice caught her attention. “Your name was Julia.” * * * Whenever she was on a mission, it was crucial that she embody her alias in every way, that she leave behind the concerns that plagued her daily life. Her meeting with Sark earlier in the week was now a discarded memory, conveniently filed under opportunities that she’d rather miss. Music blared, shaking everything from the table to the bar itself. She always did like the club scene in London. People passed by her, carrying drinks of various colors. A red one caught her eye. As much as she enjoyed being not-Sydney, she began to wonder if she was the only female agent at the CIA. At first, she had requested these missions. Working all the time was a convenient way to reintegrate herself into the CIA, while avoiding the loneliness of her sparsely decorated apartment. She owned nothing and saw no one, making her home a place of alienation rather than comfort. She adjusted her corset with an inelegant thrust of the hands, making her assets obvious to every male in the bar. As Sark had indicated, the CIA had received ‘credible’ intel about his whereabouts. While Sydney wanted to catch Sark, she also was itching to let Lauren make a fool of herself. Although no intel would be gained here, Sydney played her part to the hilt, knowing that she had a reluctant, though guilty, spectator sitting at the bar. “Welcome to the CIA, Agent Vaughn,” she thought as she smiled at him and every other man in the joint. As she approached the bar, she eyed the crowd, carefully discerning her mark from the lecherous men. Simon stood out in the crowd, just as his picture had promised. Before Sydney had time to think twice, his lips were locked on hers, his hand groping her firm ass. He broke the kiss and brought his mouth to her ear. “I always loved you in leather, Julia.” Sydney stiffened, then compelled herself to give her best performance yet. She smiled seductively, her eyes a-twinkle. “I love me in leather, too,” she said with a wink. He laughed as if she had reminded him of a torrid memory. “I won’t say that I’ve missed you.” “You don’t have to,” she whispered into her com piece. “You have something for me?” “I do,” he replied. He pulled key from his pocket and pressed it into her palm. “I think this guy wants to be found.” “He’s not a-” He stopped, his eyes articulating the remainder of his question. He knew that Julia was an assassin. “No, he’s a friend. Till we meet again?” “No, I never heard them at all,” he whispered quietly. Sydney nodded, understanding that this word game, this special exchange, had been all their own. She traced his jawline, her finger lingering on his strong chin, her lips mouthing words they had spoken before. “Till there was you.” It was inflected as a question in Sydney’s own mind, but it wasn’t for Julia and this moment was all hers. “You’re an elusive woman.” He rubbed his nose against hers. “Next time?” * * * Julia’s name echoed in Sydney’s thoughts as the jet cruised through the night sky, bound for LA. Sark had been right about one thing and maybe that was the only thing he’d be right about. He was the last person she wanted investigating her past as an assassin, especially when his required payment was evidence of her guilt. Still, Sark had been right. She began to unbutton her corset, anxious to change into something less confining. Weiss cleared his throat. “It’s probably better if you two don’t strip in front of each other.” Sydney glared at Weiss over her shoulder while Vaughn walked into the next cabin. “Feel free to disrobe in front of me.” Weiss shrugged. “I thought, with him being married and all...” His voice trailed off into an awkward pause. Sydney pulled a tank top over her head and finished removing the corset under the nominal cover of the shirt’s thin fabric, the way she used to change in the locker room in middle school. Maybe she did owe Vaughn an apology. She hadn’t full adjusted to the notion that he wasn’t allowed to look at her, to touch her on whim. “You want something to drink? I have a cooler in back,” Weiss said. “Beer? Your friend and mine?” “Nah,” she said. “Fine, I’ll be back.” Sydney quietly slid open the door to the next cabin. She could hear Vaughn’s voice. “Yeah, it was a bust.” It seemed like he was holding his breath. “It was a key. Damned if I know what it opens,” he said, bellowing the air from his lungs. “I know you don’t like it, but I feel better knowing that I’m backing her up.” A long pause again. “She poses no threat to either you or our marriage.” Sydney recoiled, hearing a faint ‘I love you’ as she closed the door. The latch clicked. She turned and found Weiss standing behind her, two beers in hand. The pity in his eyes told her that he wished he had stayed with the cooler. He stretched out his hand. “I got you one anyway.” His head lowered to avoid looking her in the eye. “I thought you might need it.” * * * Sydney peeked into Marshall’s office, giving the door a light rap. He was wearing his headphones, intensely focused on what seemed to be a video game. She knocked again, only more firmly. He dropped his joystick, surprised by the interruption. He pulled off his headphones and sat them on the cluttered desk. “Just taking a break,” he rambled, “ a short, little break. Cause if the big boss ever found out?” He arched his eyebrows dramatically. “I’d be toast!” “I’ll never tell.” “So what can I do for you?” His face grew serious. “Something secret?” he mouthed slowly. Sydney shook her head. “I wanted to thank you for the CD. It was really thoughtful.” Marshall blushed. “Well, working for Uncle Sam, I don’t make the big bucks that I used to make, what with the baby and all, so I have a limited budget for gifts.” He took a breath. “So it was okay?” “Better than okay.” He grabbed his briefcase from his work table. “Well, the only thing better than better than okay,” he said, looking anxiously through its contents, “would be this special thing that I have for you.” Sydney’s smile remained suspended in time as she waited for him. He stopped. “You know what? I was listening to it in the car this morning.” His smile fell. “Guess I gave away that surprise.” “Another mix CD?” she asked, hoping to erase his disappointment. “B-sides. Not that we really have b-sides anymore, but conceptually.” He pointed his finger toward the door. “Why don’t I...” he said, both nodding and gesturing toward the door. “I’ll be back in a minute. Actually, six or seven minutes because I have to wait for the elevator and, well, I have to scan my badge-” “I can wait,” she said. He jogged out the door, leaving her alone in his office. As his door slowly closed, Sydney realized that it wasn’t motive that made the thief, it was opportunity. Her eyes anxiously perused Marshall’s desktop until she saw a pile of jewel cases. She thumbed through them. Mostly bands she’d never heard of, the names scrawled across the CD with a fine-pointed Sharpie. She stopped when she saw one marked ‘Laz’. Her DVD. She turned so that the security camera’s view was obstructed and slipped the case into her purse, then she returned to the rest of the pile. The door burst open. “Six minutes, thirty two seconds. Just like I promised,” he said, resetting the timer on his watch. She chose one of the CD’s at random and held it up. “This any good?” “It’s great. Why don’t I make you a copy?” She nodded. “I’d like that.” He hopped nervously. “Probably should avoid breaking the law at work. I’ll take it home, burn you one there. You could come by and pick it up tomorrow.” “Perfect.” * * * And perfect it was. Sydney had copied the DVD in the comfort of her own home while she nursed a Booker’s. By the next morning, the DVD again sat amid the clutter of Marshall’s desk. Sydney hadn’t planned to steal the disk, but she was quick to rationalize her manipulation. As she splashed water on her face, she reminded herself that strategy involved maintaining one’s options. She patted her face dry with the towels from the dispenser and took a deep breath. Lauren had called yet another meeting. Sydney hated to admit it, but she would rather work for an ass like Lindsay than be condescended to by the woman who shared Vaughn’s bed. She pushed the door open and put on her happy face, which consisted primarily in an alternation of angry and longing stares. She took her seat opposite Lauren and Vaughn. They exchanged tense hellos before Marshall ambled into the room. Sydney was certain this wasn’t mission-related – Dixon had told her that she would have the weekend off, that she needed time away from the CIA, even if it was just a few days. She scrunched her nose, annoyed that she had to end her work day like this. “What’s the occasion, Lauren? Did I miss our anniversary?” “You can dial back your hostility, Sydney,” Lauren replied. “Last I checked, I can summon you here whenever I like.” Lauren opened the folder that lay before her. “As for the meeting, I’ll hand it over to Marshall.” Marshall glistened with uneasy sweat as he stood before them. “You know how technology jumps ahead by leaps and bounds.” He smiled. “Kinda like Superman.” “Marshall.” Lauren sounded like a school marm. “Well, the thing about this security video that we have of Lazarey, well, I’m a geek. I thought I’d test out something new on it, software to track what happens to the disk. Record copies, things like that. Well, I looked at it today, about to make my first test of the software’s capabilities when I get a reading that it’s already been copied.” He pursed his lips as he pondered the punch line. “I haven’t copied it.” Sydney tried not to look as trapped as she felt. “It could be a bug,” she offered. “Until we know that it’s a bug,” Lauren interceded, “I’m assigning you and Vaughn to investigate.” “You honestly think that someone infiltrated the Joint Task Forces to steal that video?” Vaughn’s voice was defensive, as if he somehow knew Sydney had something to hide. “No, I think it was an inside job. The question is who.” As Lauren gathered her papers, she stared Sydney down. “I chose Michael because I trust him. I chose you...because I trust him. I expect daily updates until we know exactly what happened.” * * * Sydney practically ran to her car, fumbling with the keys. They weren’t the same as her old car, different buttons in different places. She halted and scanned the keyless entry for the unlock symbol, then pressed it. The car lights flashed on, revealing that someone was sitting in her car. She opened the driver’s door, took her seat and turned over the ignition. “You don’t lack for guts.” “You lead me on with those innocent eyes,” Sark purred in harmony with the radio. Sydney turned the radio off with the flick of her wrist. She threw the car into reverse. “Get down.” He crouched, acknowledging that neither of them wished to be seen together by the CIA. When several blocks had been put between them and the agency, Sydney reluctantly summoned him from the floor. He dusted the dirt from his pants. “So?” “We have a deal.” “I didn’t think you would accept.” He laughed. “It was a shot in the dark on my part.” “Is it so crazy that I want to know the truth?” “Not crazy, but unusual perhaps.” She jerked the car into the parking lane and slammed on the brakes. “Do you know what it’s like to lose something that matters to you?” She didn’t let him respond. “Because I have nothing in my life but a job, a place where I buy my coffee in the morning, and a bed I sleep in at night. If I’m ever going to move on with my life, I need to know what I was.” “I understand better than you can imagine,” he said, opening the door. “I’ll be in contact.” * * * Several hours had passed, hours Sydney had spent at the ocean, breathing in the salty mist. When she parked in front of her apartment, her lights were already on. She instinctively checked that her gun was loaded. She had come home to an enemy waiting to ambush her once before, and she wasn’t about to let it happen twice. She walked around to the back door and slipped her key into the door, her finger gently gliding it into the lock. She turned the lock and the handle simultaneously. “Where the hell have you been?” Weiss was in her kitchen, hovering over a cutting board and several bowls of chopped vegetables. He was clad it a white t-shirt and jeans, an apron around his neck, tied back firmly enough to reveal the toned chest that his usual attire concealed. Getting to know a different side of an old friend had been the one benefit of her return from the dead. “We work in the same building, darling. What did you take home, the 405?” His eyes returned to the cutting board and she watched as he expertly diced a red bell pepper. “I stopped for groceries,” she lied. She had no bags, paper or plastic. Weiss gave her skeptical glare. “I’m not your boyfriend. There’s no unspoken agreement where I buy your bullshit in exchange for occasional sex.” He returned his gaze to the pepper, his eyes fixed on quick motions of the knife. Sydney slid her the strap of her briefcase from her shoulder and let the bag drop to the floor. “I forgot about dinner. I went to the bluffs instead.” She looked away, penitent. “I’m sorry.” Weiss looked at her, his eyes shifting with guilt. He set the knife on the counter and rinsed his hands under the tap, then dried them. “After what you’ve been through, no one blames you.” “The more accurate statement is that no one blames Vaughn.” She regretted her words. Part of her didn’t want Weiss to know exactly how bitter she felt, while the rest yearned to shout acrimonious jibes from the rooftops. Weiss walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. “I spent a year convincing him that he wasn’t responsible for your death.” “I never said I blamed him for my death.” Sydney huffed and rolled her eyes. “Why did he have to marry Skipper?” “He needed to move on, Syd.” She slid her hands around his waist, one hand grabbing the other as she pulled him close. “You’re getting food stuffs all over yourself. Oil, entrails, stray bits of red pepper.” He was keeping his distance, his hands still awkwardly positioned on her shoulders. “Go ahead, sully me.” He sighed and gave in, his arms yielding and pulling her close. “Do I get credit for not landing myself a Skipper?” She grinned. “What would I do if you had?” He glanced at the counter, surveying the cutting board and the bowls. “Starve.” * * * At first, dinner only meant dinner. Food prepared, always by Weiss, glasses of wine consumed, two by Sydney. Dinner then evolved into dinner and shots, two colleagues testing their mettle against a virulent bottle of tequila, and soon after, dinner meant sleeping over. Not that anything happened, it never had, but there were times when she wished something would happen. Anything, really. That Weiss would lay her down and hover over her, teasing her with his kisses before grabbing her and sliding between her thighs. He was asleep on the couch, a sheet thrown over him, while she sat in a chair, nursing a tall glass of water. Maybe she was cursed, doomed to wreak havoc on any man unfortunate enough to love her. Maybe Weiss was wise to this and knew better than to touch her. The first time he stayed because she had told him that she didn’t want to be alone. It had been an invitation, but he was too chivalrous to read the signs. She didn’t have the heart to tell him that having him sleeping on the couch was worse than being alone, that it only amplified her loneliness. He rolled over, somehow knowing that she was there. “What are you doing up?” “Hydrating.” She took a gulp from the cup. His eyes opened lazily. “You need to sleep. We have a mission tomorrow.” “Excessive amounts of sleep is a sign of depression.” “Fuck Barnett,” he mumbled. “I didn’t say sleep all day, just for a few hours.” “I can’t.” She hoped that he couldn’t see the glassy tears in her eyes. He was weighing his words carefully, she knew it. “I could hold you, if that would help.” She bit her lip. Moments like this could change everything. “I’d like that.” * * * Sydney had slept through the night for the first time in weeks and it showed. Her walk had become a bounce, she dispensed friendly greetings to everyone who crossed her path, even Vaughn, who responded by grabbing her arm and pulling her into a vacant conference room. “You’re in a good mood. I take it you know who copied the disk?” His voice was laden with irony. “I thought we agreed that no one copied it?” “I supported you in there because you were obviously lying, and I don’t think you were covering anyone’s ass other than your own.” He stared at her, as if by looking hard enough, he might understand her motives. “I need to know why you did it.” “Why I did what?” Sydney said, squinting sarcastically. Vaughn shook his head. “It was an inside job, Sydney.” “The software made a mistake,” she replied, pronouncing each word carefully. “Fine, but Lauren won’t let this drop until she knows what happened.” He put his hands in his pockets and pursed his lips. “So what put you into such a good mood?” “Weiss is an amazing...friend.” Her words had their intended effect as Vaughn looked away, stunned. She moved for the door, then looked over her shoulder. “Mission tonight?” He nodded, his eyes avoiding hers. “Yeah.” * * * Sydney stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting one bra strap and then the other so that her breasts spilled just over the edge of the lace cup. “These are the blue-prints of the mansion. You’ll be on the guest list.” The closed door made it sound like Vaughn was miles away. “Got that, Syd?” “Yes, I do, Agent Vaughn.” She slid her dress over her head and threaded her arms through the sleeves. The dress was sheer. It wasn’t skin-tight, but it didn’t need to be. “The key we obtained opens a safe in Bolchazy’s office. Syd, you’ll need to get him alone and get his key card.” “Hence the dress,” she quipped. She dug through her makeup bag, selecting a dark lip liner. She sharpened its tip and outlined her lips. Next, she grabbed a tube of lipstick, a dark red with brown tones. The color of oxidized blood. Hardly a coincidence that it flattered her. “I need you to look at this, Syd.” “Coming!” She opened the bathroom door, causing both men to swoon or whatever it’s called when men stare at a woman, slack-jawed. She dropped her eyes, evaluating her outfit. Perhaps she had overestimated the dress’s opacity. Weiss nodded appreciatively. “You look amazing.” “The word ‘amazing’ gets tossed around a lot between you two,” Vaughn said, closing his folder hastily. Weiss knitted his brows. Clearly he had no idea what Vaughn was talking about and Sydney thought it best to let Vaughn stew in his jealousy. “We’re not done reviewing the mission specs.” Vaughn shoved the folder at her. “Review away. I’ll be in the surveillance truck.” He practically ran for the door, leaving Sydney and Weiss in the wake of the slam. “You had to say something to him.” Weiss rolled his eyes. She smiled sheepishly. “You look handsome in that tux,” she said, as if one compliment could erase what had just transpired. “I know I do,” he said, arching his eyebrows. “What did you say to him?” “That you were an amazing friend,” she said. She was incapable of making it sound anything other than suggestive. Weiss shrugged, his innate curiosity shining through. “Emphasis on ‘amazing’?” “On ‘friend’.” Sydney walked over the night stand and picked up her clutch. “But by ‘friend’, he may have understood something else.” “You know that you’re wrong. I intend to correct his misimpression just as soon as the fat kid inside me is done enjoying this.” Weiss offered her his arm. “You’re evil, Syd. Remind me never to dump you.” Her arm slid through his. “Consider yourself reminded.” * * * Sydney’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as she moved through the maze of hallways to the office. Days like today, she wondered if this was how it felt to be superhuman. She had gotten the key card in under four minutes, beating her personal best for stealing something from the pocket of a complete stranger. Weiss had tried not to stare, but she felt his eyes drawn to her again and again. On her way out of the party, she had responded to his admiration with a wink aimed at the guard who stood between the two of them. The guard had winked back. She swiped the key card and moved into the office. The safe sat in the wall, hidden by an ugly abstract painting. She lifted the painting from the wall to find what looked more like a locked cabinet than a safe. “Boy scout, this is Mountaineer. It’s a mini-file cabinet. There appear to be no other security devices.” “Mountaineer, we show no other alarms.” She used to love the intimacy of Vaughn’s voice in her ear, the feeling of a connection that no one else shared, the promise that he looked out for her alone. “Go ahead.” Fitting the key into the lock, she gave it a turn, releasing the tension that held the drawer in place. She pulled it open. “There are a million files here. Any idea what I’m looking for or should I check under ‘S’ for Sark?” “Check everything, Mountaineer.” She thumbed through the file tabs until a colored folder in a sea of manila caught her eye. She pulled it out and found two envelopes – one marked ‘something for them,’ the other marked ‘something for you.’ She held her breath, knowing that if she sighed, Vaughn would know she had found something. The one intended for the CIA contained a disk, which she tucked away in her clutch. The other envelope was stiff. She tore open the flap and slid the contents onto the desk. She ripped off the note that Sark had clipped to the stack of photos and stuck it in her purse. She perused the pictures. Her and Sark facing each other at the coffee shop, Sark handing her an envelope, her taking said envelope. Frame after frame of her collaborating with Sark. “You need to get out of there, Mountaineer.” She shoved the pictures back in the envelope. “Leaving as we speak.” * * * When Sydney finally got home, there were no lights to greet her, no fake boyfriend in the kitchen making her dinner. Weiss was still working on the disk that they had brought back. He had promised to drop by and check on her later, but he couldn’t say when later would be. Maybe Barnett did have a point about ritual. Sydney turned on the kitchen light and poured herself a glass of wine. Taking a seat on the couch, she pulled Sark’s note from her purse. S- Was going to use these, but they weren’t necessary. We’ll talk. -S She crumpled up the paper and shoved it back into her purse. “You’re going to throw out my first hand-written note to you?” Sark’s voice made her jump. She cringed as his fingers traced her collarbone. “The landfill will cherish it for...how long does it take paper to biodegrade again?” “Probably less time than it will take the photos.” He let go of her shoulders. “I always took you for an easy mark, an old-fashioned sentimental type.” She turned around and eyed him. “You gave me reprints out of the kindness of your frosty heart?” “My heart’s not frosty,” he said, his fingers tracing the edge of the framed picture of her and her father that sat on a dustless shelf. “It’s warm and it beats just like yours.” Facing forward again, she raised her knees to her chest and crossed her arms over them. “I have the video.” “I will tip off the CIA about an arms operation in Buenos Aires,” he revealed. “They’ll be sending in a team. We can make the trade there.” “If you’re able to make the trade, then you know what happened to me.” She sat perfectly still. He wouldn’t give her the answers she was looking for, she knew that. The whole point of a trade was that they both got something. He had no reason to tip his hand, but she pressed on anyway. “You could tell me how they did it, right?” “You weren’t unique. They used torture, brainwashing, the like.” “Worked like a charm.” She felt tears pooling in her eyes. There was a time when she could control her reactions, a time which had long since passed. “I have documentation – how they acquired you, how you became Julia, where you were, what missions they sent you on.” Sydney focused on a small picture of a fly caught in a spider’s web that Weiss had helped her hang, anything to avoid looking at Sark again. “What if having the answers doesn’t make a difference?” “Knowledge gives you control. You need that,” he said in a quiet voice. “It’s like me and the video. Lazarey was my father. I want to know who he was so that I can understand why we never knew each other. Trust me, it is about control.” “I need closure, I need to get on with my life.” Sark didn’t respond, nor did she ask anything else of him. She sat, gripping her legs, chin pressed against her knees, sharing this silence. When at last she turned around, he was gone. * * * Weeks had passed since Sydney’s conversation with Sark. He had been right about a few more things, but she wrote that off as a byproduct of him feeding intel to the CIA. She was relieved that the investigation into the video had ground to a halt. Marshall’s software tracked only what had been done with the file, not by whom and on what machine, and Vaughn couldn’t bring himself to turn in Sydney on the basis of an intuition he had. Intuitions sounded dangerously like feelings, and he couldn’t admit those to Lauren. She smiled at the feel of Weiss’ arm pulling her closer. The embrace and the erection pressed against the small of her back were chaste. Even in his dreams, he didn’t try to cop a feel of her breast. He nuzzled her neck. “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. She swore that she felt his lips brush her skin, but she imagined such affection every time he slept next to her. “Can’t.” “I talked to Vaughn. Told him to either deal with his jealousy or to bail on this next op, that I didn’t want him backing you up if he had any hidden agendas.” “So he was jealous.” Her lips curled. “Wipe that grin off your face, missy.” When his cheek was pressed against hers, she could feel his muscles creating a smile. She laughed and rolled over so that they were face to face. His hand held her waist firmly in its grasp, his thumb pressing against her hipbone. She held her breath, the heat building between her legs. Neither of them moved an inch. She reached beneath the covers, reached for him. “You’re hard.” “I’m always hard when I sleep next to you.” He pushed down the covers between them, creating a cotton barrier. “Do you know what it’s like to ache to be touched?” “Said the gorgeous woman to average Joe. I’m not going there, Syd, not until I know that you’re not going to scream his name.” She sat up, grabbed the hem of her tank top and pulled it over her head. His eyes shifted between her breasts and her eyes, then looked away. “Put that back on.” “I’ll meet you half way,” she said. She ducked under the covers and tugged at the elastic on his boxers. “Syd,” he mumbled. “This is-” She drew her wet lips across his cock in a sloppy kiss. “I forgot that you were Jewish,” she said, lifting her head. She caught a glimpse of his worried expression as she peered out from the tent-like duvet. “Is that going to be a problem?” Weiss rolled his eyes. “How exactly is this half way?” “It’s not,” she replied. “I was just trying to get into your pants and this seemed like a good place to start. Now aside from moaning my name, shush.” * * * Sydney woke up alone, but she could smell Weiss’ cooking. She stumbled around, looking for her robe, and then she ambled into the kitchen and she took a seat at the breakfast bar. “Hey, you’re awake,” he said. She couldn’t tell from his tone whether that was a good thing, but his treatment of the frying pan suggested it wasn’t. He was scrambling the eggs with an unnatural intensity, chopping at them the way he diced a pepper. “Do you usually purée eggs via spatula?” He stopped his frenetic motion, drawing in a deep breath. “I don’t make the best decisions when I’ve got a naked woman in front of me. We really shouldn’t have-” “But aren’t you kinda glad we did?” Something about getting laid made her want to sing like she was in the movies. “Sure, Ginger, but leaving you so out of breath that you couldn’t say Vaughn’s name or mine?” He shook his head. “That’s not a real solution to my paranoia that I’m a replacement for him.” She stood up and grabbed a coffee cup from the drying rack. “Seemed to work fine last night.” “Coffee’s fresh,” he said, nodding toward the shiny white pot. “All I’m saying is that I don’t want to be played.” He resumed his work with the spatula. “Just wanna get that out there.” “Before?” “Before you rip my heart into little shreds.” He rolled his eyes. “Like carne asada.” She wanted to respond, to reassure him of her pure motives, but saying nothing was better than lying. “So,” he said, drawing it out to accentuate the awkwardness. Nature abhors a vacuum. “Thought I’d make salmon on Friday.” “Salmon sounds great.” * * * Sydney sat in a van, huddled with Weiss and Vaughn, poring over another set of plans, making the final adjustments. Weiss wished her luck, told her to be careful. She saw Vaughn look away. That had been his line. She and Vaughn were entering the building as elevator technicians. Weiss had arranged for the elevators to stop working earlier in the day, then rerouted the repair call. As they approached the office building, Vaughn pulled her aside, opening his toolbox, pretending to check that he had everything he needed. “I’m sorry about before. When you said that it was hard getting used to the way thing are...I agree. I’m glad that he can be there for you, even if it’s hard to get used to.” “Vaughn-” “No, I didn’t know what it was like for you,” he said, shrugging uncomfortably. “Working with Lauren, seeing us together.” He shut the toolbox and snapped the latches closed. “It’s not easy.” “No,” she whispered, but he had already set off walking down the street. * * * As they entered the building, Sydney wondered when Sark would approach her. The disk was safely tucked away in her work suit, hidden beneath the baggy exterior, taped to her abdomen. The promise of answers put her on edge. Their aliases would get them into the basement, exactly where they needed to be. Vaughn would disable the security feed while Sydney made her way into the subbasement. Lauren told them that they would find the weapons-making equipment there and that there mission was to photograph the lab, not to destroy it. Sydney had held her tongue. Lauren knew that Sydney disapproved of Lauren’s ‘wait and see’ policy regarding known criminals. The CIA deserved to have Sark toying with them and leading them on. Sydney and Vaughn went their separate ways without so much as a ‘good luck’ or a perfunctory ‘be careful.’ They could communicate via their com link, but otherwise, she and Vaughn were on their own. She waited in the lobby, flirting with the doorman, giving Vaughn a head start on the security system. She waited patiently until she heard him whisper her name. “Mountaineer, you’re clear to enter the subbasement.” There was a marked pause, during which she heard him draw his breath. “Be careful.” “Roger that, Boy Scout.” She exhaled. Maybe she did need to hear it from him. The lobby guard directed her to the stairwell that would take her to the subbasement and they exchanged a joke about the elevators. “Let them stay broken,” the man in blue said. “Like I care.” She laughed with him. Sydney ran down the stairs, taking two, sometimes three steps at a time. When she reached the bottom, she opened the door, checking for guards in either direction. The intel had been specific, telling them exactly what room to look for. Sydney knew that it was a set up, but Skipper didn’t have Sydney’s intuition for such things. When she reached the room, she found the door ajar and Sark waiting for her. She turned off her com piece. “Beautiful facility, is it not?” The room shined with chrome and new equipment. Sydney reached inside her work overalls and pulled the disk out, the tape making her skin raw as it she ripped the jewel case away. “You have my intel?” As she listened to herself, she almost laughed at her distance from the whole god damn thing. It wasn’t her intel that she wanted, it was her life back. Sark popped the lock and removed a file from his silver briefcase. He laid it on the table. “Even exchange?” She nodded, setting the disk on the table. She picked up the folder, but didn’t open it. She placed the folder in her toolbox and backed away. She was ready to turn and walk out the door when Sark drew his gun, causing Sydney instinctively to draw hers. “Put it down, Sark.” Vaughn wasn’t in her ear, he was right behind her and Sark’s gun was aimed at Vaughn, not her. “What are you doing here?” she asked. Vaughn glanced at her, confused. “You weren’t answering your com. When I toss my gun...” he said in a hushed voice. “Enough,” Sark yelled. “Guns on the ground.” Vaughn tossed his so that Sark would have to reach for it, giving Sydney the opportunity to shoot. At least that’s how it was supposed to play out. Sark gave his order and her finger lingered on the trigger, the time passing, exaggerated and slow. She looked into Sark’s eyes, trying to ascertain his next move, then turned her head as she heard Vaughn’s gun hit the ground. He was her partner and it was her move. A shot rang out, but Sydney didn’t fire it. She watched as Vaughn recoiled, thrown both forward and back by the impact of the bullet. He fell to the floor, but she didn’t move, her finger still fondling the trigger. In a flash, real time returned, the blood spurting from Vaughn’s chest. There were bullets designed to make a holes and there were those that did real damage, that hit their mark and then gorged its insides. His insides. She looked up as Sark gathered the disk and his briefcase. “Can’t you do something?” she asked, the lines between friend and enemy dissolved by her state of panic. “Me?” He laughed mockingly. “You got the better end of this deal. All I get is the video, whereas you? I’m giving you what you were looking for all along – closure.” -fin-
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