art.    fanfiction.    misc.    links.    home.

A Good Man Chapter 1: A tendency to start fires * live it all at your own cost / so many just got lost / leaning for fire / here's tomorrow man * Spending one month in psych evaluation hadn’t been as tough as Vaughn first thought it would be. Or, maybe “tough” wasn’t the right word for it. “Unnecessary” had a better ring to it. He spent days boxing out his anger and frustration, thinking of nothing more than Lauren. When he met with his shrink he often lied, but sometimes the truth sipped out of him in small proportions and afterwards he would feel drained. Contrary to popular belief - or what Vaughn had been trying to tell everybody since he shot her - he really loved Lauren. There was a reason for marrying her in the first place, even though that reason was harder and harder to remember. Still, he could feel it inside of him, that feeling growing and aching and almost burning when her voiced echoed in his thoughts, his dreams. He still loved what they used to be. They used to be happy. A feeling that Vaughn had put aside from the moment he first learnt the truth about her. He had stopped glancing back at memories from the past, memories that could remind him that maybe - just, maybe - Lauren loved him back, too. From the beginning, when they first met…What did she think of him at the first sight? Did she actually get him all the gifts, or were they sent directly from the Covenant, wrapped in colorful paper and a small bow on top? Vaughn found that hard to believe. So what if she did love him; she loved him completely and utterly and he was hers, even if that might just have been during one night, one date, one moment. He was hers, she was his, and they were happy. Happy was the last thing Vaughn was when he burnt down their house. “Hey, man, are you okay?” Weiss interrupted Vaughn's thoughts. It was Vaughn's first day back at the CIA after the psych evaluation. He had been eyeing his friend carefully, as if wondering if Vaughn would all of a sudden torch the desk in a sign of protest. “You’re staring off into space again.” Vaughn shook his head once, twice, and smiled at Weiss. “What case are you working on?” The boredom was clear in his voice, since he’d been stuck with lousy paper work for his first day back. He knew it was for the best, but that didn’t stop him from inquiring about other people's far more interesting assignments. “Uh, just this…” Weiss pointed with his thumb back at his desk ten feet away, tapping his other hand against the surface of Vaughn’s desk. “This case, really, boring case and you wouldn’t want to, uh, so what case are you working on?” Vaughn sighed, looked once over at Weiss’ desk and on the path his eyes caught the cleaned out desk that once belonged to Sydney Bristow. He made a mental note to go and see her, hoping that she wouldn’t be too scared to look him in the eye, like she was before the evaluation. Things had changed, after all. Vaughn just wasn’t sure what. “Why won’t you tell me what case you’re working on?” Vaughn asked with his eyes on Sydney’s desk until he looked up at his friend accusingly. Defeated, Weiss sighed. “It’s just this…the aftermath of the Covenant. I’m just cleaning up the mess really, asking a few questions to sort the rest of the stuff out…” He almost looked apologetic. “Asking stuff…to who?” Vaughn raised an eyebrow. “Sark?” “He isn’t really as chatty as Marshall said he was,” Weiss retorted, hoping it would bring out a smile from Vaughn. It didn’t. “Anyway, you want to have lunch later? We’ll try out the new sandwich place around the corner, all right?” “Yeah, sure.” Weiss smiled unsurely and with a small nod he went back to his desk. Vaughn looked again at Sydney’s desk - it was so empty and bare and he knew someone else was going to start occupying it by the end of the day. He couldn’t feel a thing. * It only took three knocks on the door, and Sydney opened it with a small smile on her face. She looked content; Vaughn managed to figure out, content and maybe even a bit happy. He smiled back, letting his dimples show and raised his eyebrows a bit. “Vaughn,” she said quietly, almost like a whisper, and then her smile grew. “Syd…” He took a deep breath, looked back at her and the way her hand was still resting on the doorframe, as if blocking him from entering the apartment. “I’ve missed you.” The small shock registered at her but she barely showed it; just widened her eyes a bit and bit on her bottom lip. “How was the psych evaluation?” “I’d rather not talk about that.” “I understand.” She nodded and her fingers tightened against the wooden doorframe. “Listen, Vaughn,” “Can I come in?” She finally looked up at him, and now he could hear the distant noise of music playing in the background, maybe from her bedroom. Suddenly, standing in front of his ex-girlfriend, hands in his pockets, wondering what her bedroom looked like now, was quite uncomfortable and he wondered what wrong he’d done. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” She spoke softly, like she always did when they had moments as this, and mustered up a smile. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Vaughn.” * She worked at a bank. Who the hell goes from being one of the most wanted CIA operatives in the world to working at a bank? Vaughn, of course, didn’t believe it for a second but Weiss seemed to. He didn’t want to grumble over the fact anymore, but he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it ever since Syd told him the night before. She worked at a secret CIA branch, that much he had figured out, and he wasn’t a part of it. He was stuck at the CIA office, going through old files that should be rotting in the cabinets and never be touched. He was handling the cases that were dead ends; he was someone the CIA had to make sure to entertain so that he wouldn’t go rogue and start any fucking fires. He didn’t have Sydney anymore; he didn’t have that bond with her. She was at a - rolling eyes - bank and he was handling paperwork for the CIA. She was probably working with new people, exciting people, people who she would teach, and would teach her. He didn’t have her anymore. What he did have was his work and his memories of his wife and what she did to him, what he did to her. “Let me help you, Weiss,” Vaughn asked once. They were sitting down by the sandwich store where they had started to go to lunch together on a daily basis, and Weiss just raised his eyebrows in confusion. “No, this baby is all mine Vaughn, get your own.” And then he continued taking huge bites from his BLT-sandwich. “With the assignment. I want to help you with your assignment,” Vaughn asked again, letting his fingers grip his coffee in front of him. He stared straight into Weiss’ eyes across the table, and hissed, “I know I can help you.” “How? Vaughn, seriously, it’s just cleaning up the mess. Tying up loose, insignificant ends, asking people -“ “Asking Sark questions about my dead wife and what he was doing to her.” Silence. Weiss put down his sandwich and looked oddly at his friend, his mouth slightly gaping. “No,” he then said. “Just let me fucking help! I need to do this, I need to see him.” Vaughn was about to growl, or so Weiss thought, when he leaned closer over the table with a primeval look in his eyes. “I need to be able to see him without…” “Lighting any fires?” “I want to move on, away from this. And if I can’t see Sark, I won’t be able to move on. He’s a part of this, Weiss, you know he is.” Weiss took a moment to register what Vaughn had said, while looking at him seriously. He couldn’t tell what Vaughn’s facial expression was telling him other than raw anger and then he got a bit worried over what Vaughn would do if he didn’t get to see Sark. “Fine,” he finally said, sighing. “You get to see him one time, to ask him some questions.” “Good.” Vaughn leaned back, content, and let out a breath. “Thanks.” “Yeah, we’ll see,” Weiss muttered bitterly and took another bite. * Sark was sitting on his bed in his cell, his head leaning back against the wall and his legs stretched out, and crossed by the ankles. His face was almost fully recovered from the cuts Vaughn had given him so graciously during their last encounter, and he only had one long, though barely noticeable, scar running along his cheek, under his left eye. This was about the first thing Vaughn looked for when he walked up to the cell, with his arms crossed over his chest and his mouth closed in a thin line. Sark noticed him immediately, and stood up with a frown on his face. “Well," he said to break the silence, and offered Vaughn a small grin. “And here I thought I would never see you again.” “Why? Think that she’d actually be able to kill me?” Vaughn spat. “No, just assumed you hated me enough to stay away from me.” Sark approached the glass wall and stared at the man on the other side; Vaughn looked weary, tired and weak. If Sark was still out in the field this would matter to him, he could play it out in his favor, but now he just found himself asking questions as to why Vaughn would allow himself to reach such a weak position. “Let’s get this straight, Sark,” Vaughn said with venom and took one step closer. “I do hate you, never think otherwise, but I’m here for business purposes only.” Sark snorted. “Agent Vaughn, in your case, ‘business purposes’ is the exact same thing as ‘personal purposes’. In case you had forgotten, I was the one fucking your wife while you were out on missions for the CIA.” Vaughn’s hands were now fists, clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. While breathing heavily through his nose, he took one step back to give himself the space and a moment to clear his thoughts and calm down. He couldn’t afford losing it over Sark, not after just returning from the psych evaluation… He might not be trusted enough out on the field again for a while if he did. So he ignored Sark’s comment, which surprised the blonde assassin. He merely raised his eyebrows and turned back to his bed, sat down on his with a content smile on his face, and watched Vaughn intently. “And why are you even here on business purpose? Isn’t this one of Agent Weiss’ assignments?” Vaughn pulled out a chair by the table in front of the cell, sat down, and pulled out the file he had in his briefcase along with a pencil. When the file was opened and the pencil was in his hand, he finally spoke. “How long exactly were you involved with The Covenant?” His voice was cold and straight to the point; something which made the whole thing much more fun, Sark thought. Sark got up from the bed again, and started circling his small cell with crossed arms while chewing on his bottom lip. “Always about the buggering Covenant, isn’t it?” He said quietly. “I don’t see why this is any of your interest considering that The Covenant was destroyed merely two weeks ago.” Vaughn sighed impatiently. “This is the clean-up. Now answer the question.” “You mean you’re cleaning up the mess?” Sark wanted to chuckle at that, staring at Vaughn something he'd much rather do at the moment. “How long exactly were you involved with The Covenant?” Sark paused for a moment. “About nine months, give or take.” “That’s not specific enough.” “I didn’t write it up on my calendar.” Vaughn glared back at Sark and his stone pose; it seemed as if nothing could take the young man off his balance. Vaughn hated him for it. Well, for that and for many other reasons. “And what was the reason for Cole to even consider you as a part of the organization?” he read from the file. “You already knew I funded the whole thing,” Sark chuckled softly. “These questions are a waste of time; why not ask me what you really want to know.” Anger, the anger that had been boiling since the second Vaughn had seen Sark sitting on that bed, rose to a whole new level as Vaughn stared back at him and leaned back in his chair. Sark looked back at him, a part of him in admiration of the man who was so damn good at restraining himself, and almost smiled. “We don’t have questions about Lauren because we have everything we need.” “We?” Sark frowned and walked closer to the glass wall. “No, Agent Vaughn, I’m talking about times like when Lauren asked to extend your honeymoon just so that she’d have more time to look through your baggage and put a camera on your suit when you were in the shower.” Vaughn flinched back at the memory of his and Lauren’s honeymoon together; he momentarily got flooded by images of them laughing in bed and kissing each other, holding each other, taking showers together. “Because I’m fairly certain that before I told you, you didn’t know about that particular Intel.” Sark spoke evenly. “You see, she told me. Every single detail of every single thing you two did.” This caused Vaughn to look up at Sark and frown at the vague comment. But instead of wasting time asking just what he had meant, he felt the urge to take a leap and actually defend what it was the two of them had… Defend the fact that for a moment, Lauren wasn’t a betrayer, but a wife. He was happy sometimes, somewhere, and he had to literally bite his tongue so the words wouldn’t come out. “Agent Vaughn, she truly was a remarkable woman,” Sark then said, but he didn’t look remotely emotional when speaking of a dead lover. “Shut up, Sark,” Vaughn snarled. “Nothing you’ll say about her will make me act any different. Nothing you…” Vaughn sighed, stood up and started to pack his briefcase. “What me and her had wasn’t real, it never was. You’re wasting your fucking breath trying to get me upset by talking about her, and now you’ve wasted my time, too.” “And you’re saying you’re not upset?” Sark noted, amused. “I’m saying that this meeting is over.” Vaughn took a breath, wondering if he should say something else; like that Weiss would be the next one questioning him, that he would never come back, that seeing Sark was a big mistake… But now he just had to get away. He turned around, holding his briefcase so tight that it hurt, and then heard the British accent from behind. “Even though you might not believe this,” Sark paused to see Vaughn stop in his track, back still turned against him, and listened, “Lauren did love you. Why else would she have gotten so jealous over Miss Bristow if she didn’t?” Vaughn grimaced and followed the guard back to the CIA office without looking back. * He hated himself for it, but Sark had gotten under Vaughn’s skin, more than he thought he would. His fingers twitched when he thought of the smirking bastard and every fiber of his being told him to hunt the man down, beat him down, bruise him and hurt him all over again, because visual bruises doesn’t last as long as the mental ones Sark had given him. Vaughn thought of Lauren, but that only lead to thinking about Sark fucking Lauren and smirking at him and being so casual about it - so the thoughts eventually led on to Sydney. Sydney, who had been true and pure and real; so goddamn real that she had stayed by his side all the way, even when he had married a terrorist. Sydney loved Vaughn, and Vaughn thought he loved her too. “Vaughn.” She sounded surprised to see him by her door; his tie was untied and he looked exhausted. He’d been thinking too much, but this time he wasn’t too scared to tell her what he wanted. “Let’s go slow," he told her quietly, his eyes not reaching hers but yet keeping contact. “I miss…” She pulled him in by his tie - a gesture she’d often done after long meetings at the office - and closed the door behind him. “Vaughn.” She repeated, this time more lightly. “I mean it, let’s go slow. Let’s…” She walked into the kitchen with a small smile haunting her face. Vaughn decided to follow her slowly, looking at his shoes while he walked her path into the kitchen. He’d forgotten how things like this went - he never did this with Lauren. He couldn’t play coy; he couldn’t be flirtatious; not after everything. For a moment he hoped he didn’t have to be with Sydney. “I don’t know,” she said after finding a spot by her kitchen island to lean on. “I have so much going on, and, you just got back from…” She looked at him and tilted her head a little. “Don’t you need some time off?” “Time off? I’ve been gone for months, I’ve been thinking about every single detail of my life until it felt like I was going insane.” He spoke so fast that he thought he’d bite his tongue. “I need someone to keep me sane,” he added sweetly and smiled. There was a small pause, a familiar one that they had shared so many times before. All right. Vaughn could get used to this; he could remember this and be who he used to be. Before none of it ever happened. “What’s going on with you that have you so busy? Is everything okay?” “Yeah, it’s just…” She looked troubled for a second before sighing and saying, “Dad.” He took concerned steps towards her until he was almost in her airspace; he noticed the thin layer of clothes she had on, and the way her hair fell on her shoulders. She looked down sadly and touched the front of his jacket; stroking the fabric with her fingers and ignoring everything else. “What about him?” “It’s nothing. There’s nothing,” she quickly said and mustered up a smile. Vaughn felt something in him, something he used to register as “disappointment” but he wasn’t sure what it was now, since everything was so different. He wasn’t sure if he was the same anymore, and he wondered if Sydney had even noticed. He then realized that he didn’t want her to. “Sure everything’s all right?” Trying to coax the answer out of her, he smiled softly and looked at her kindly. She looked back at him, something sparkling behind her eyes and replied with, “Yeah. I’m sure.” She was unable to open up to him, and Vaughn thought back to when she did. A part of him still lived in the past, and that part was desperately trying to compete for the first prize with the realist in him. He just wasn’t sure what the prize was. So instead of staying with the old topic and trying to get an answer out of her that she’d never give out, he did what he knew would let her open up to him in a different way: he kissed her. There was a moment of panic when a quick picture of Lauren flashed in his mind as the wet and soft lips met his, and then the picture led on to Sark, to the man responsible for a lot of things. Vaughn found that the kiss grew deeper instead of coming to an abrupt halt, and suddenly all images just faded away, and he just felt instead of seeing. The kiss progressed and became more heavy and hot, and all of a sudden half their clothes were on the floor and Vaughn lifted Sydney up and guided her to the bed. He laid her down, focusing on the buttons of his shirt, and kissed her everywhere but on her mouth. He heard her giggle when he kissed her bellybutton and he heard her moan when he reached between her legs; his hot breath faintly hovering over her centre. When it was over, he couldn’t remember what she tasted like. He looked over at her right before he fell asleep, and when he woke up it was morning, and Sydney looked at him from the doorway. She didn’t look the same anymore; she’d grown more serious, more adult, more knowing. He propped himself up on his elbows and rubbed the morning out of his eyes. “I made breakfast,” she said calmly and put her hands behind her back, showing that there was no hostility. Vaughn recognized the body language from CIA training and sat up on the bed, gazing up on her momentarily. “We didn’t get to talk last night, did we?” he asked, actually managing to blush at that comment. Sydney did as well and giggled. She stayed by the doorframe, and it framed her so perfectly, Vaughn thought. “No, we didn’t,” she agreed and looked up at him with a big grin on her face. “Everything okay with you?” She nods, still as calm as ever. “Work at the bank is good.” And he still felt disappointed. * He didn’t need anybody - he needed somebody to need him. After getting drunk, sobering up, taking a long shower and a long lunch, he finally figured it out. Things weren’t good, he knew that, and the matter was far from resolved. Why didn’t Sydney need him anymore? His marriage had given him hope that he was a good man, a faithful and trustworthy man that gets married and settles down, but after being proven wrong he felt he still had the right to tell people that the marriage was not all that bad. At first. He played with the idea that Lauren might’ve been happy with him at some point. Maybe he was a good man somewhere in the extremely vast mess they’d created - maybe he was a trustworthy and marriage-type man. It sickened him that the only man beside him that might have a clue what his marriage was like, would be the one man who helped destroy it. If it wasn’t enough, besides being a terrorist who infiltrated the CIA via her husband, Lauren also went and slept with the one man who always had shown a deep - and often twisted - devotion to Sydney. Sark seemed to be everywhere. And if he was everywhere, why not use it? Vaughn thought he found an ounce of logic in there somewhere, but then he stopped thinking altogether when he suddenly was on his way to Sark’s holding cell, again. This time Sark didn’t seem to know what to say when Vaughn sat down by the familiar desk, pulling out the papers he brought with him. “I’m here to continue our questioning about The Covenant, and the CIA is expecting full cooperation or you’ll be sent to Camp Harris immediately.” Sark just looked at Vaughn. He seemed a bit surprised by Vaughn’s behavior, and a small smile was itching to break out on his face. As he sat down on his bed, he just said, “Oh.” During the inquisition, Sark’s gaze was pinpointed at Vaughn more than he’d want to admit. The man was sitting by the desk, carefully and calmly organizing the paperwork as he twirled a pencil between his fingers, asking questions at the same time. Sark wanted to know what changed since the last time they met, because something had obviously happened. He hated not knowing things. “And after you returned from Gai-Li,” Vaughn read automatically from the papers on the table, swallowing the words and not bothering thinking back on the times where he still thought his wife was innocent, “who was your contact man?” Sark stood up to stretch his legs after sitting perfectly still for thirty minutes - and smirked. “I went straight to Cole.” “And he what?” Vaughn looked up at Sark and a brief smile hit his face, disappearing just as fast. “Wanted to thank you for failing the mission and letting the CIA agents slip from between your fingers?” Not grabbing the bait that was dangling in front of him, Sark started to slowly walk closer to the other man. He had his hands tied behind his back and seemed to take absolute pleasure in delivering the next line. “Actually, he told me to go and meet with my new partner. I believe you refer to her as your ‘wife’.” “And where did you two meet and for how long did the meeting last?” Vaughn sounded professional, untouched, and Sark suddenly got an image of a little boy practicing a speech in front of a mirror. “I believe it was the St. Tropez boutique by the corner of Greenhill and Kingston Street. She was trying on a lovely dress when I entered her dressing room.” Vaughn’s face turned red for a second before going back to normal, and he felt the two blue eyes watching him very curiously and carefully. “How long did you two meet? What was the discussion?” “Around 30 minutes.” Sark took a pause to add dramatic effect and started circling his tiny cell slowly. “I brought up the subject about double-crossing Cole in a way that would bring both me and her more respect within the organization.” He looked at him. “After funding the whole damn organization, you’d think I’d be treated better than some errand boy, wouldn’t you?” His stone glare met Sark’s. “No,” he sourly said, and scribbled something down on the papers. The questioning went on for almost an hour before Vaughn decided to call it a day and packed his papers together. He hadn’t said much during the questioning; just what he was obligated to say by the CIA. Lauren’s name had been dragged in more than he would’ve liked - but he had signed up for that when he has asked Weiss to take over the case completely. Sark sat still on the bed as Vaughn rose from his chair and closed the briefcase containing all the papers, and narrowed his eyes. “Did you get what you came for?” he asked him and Vaughn did a half-hearted sneer in Sark’s direction. No. “I don’t want anything.” “I find that very hard to believe.” * Not many days had past, but Vaughn still felt the same. He sat by his desk, watching Charlie Durham settling at Sydney’s old desk; decorating it with stacks of books and a framed picture of his dog. As if Vaughn had been in a trance, he didn’t notice Weiss walking up to him and sitting down on the chair close by. He watched his friend for a few seconds - who seemed far too interested in the way Durham was writing a report on the computer. “Hey, Vaughn,” Weiss said in the same tone as ‘Um, dude?’ Vaughn spun around on his chair and nodded at his friend. “Hey, Weiss. Lunch?” “No, I just wanted to see how you are, man. We haven’t talked. Not since you practically forced me to hand over the Sark case to you.” Weiss paused. “How did that go, by the way?” “As expected.” He frowned. “So he brought out a gun and shot you in the leg while cackling evilly? ‘Cause that’s what I expected he would do.” “I questioned him, end of story.” Vaughn sighed. “I did my job.” “When are you going back?” Vaughn touched his lips for a moment, thinking hard over the question that he’d been focused on the past few days. Did you get what you came for? After a moment, he said, “I’m not sure I’ll stay.” “On the case?” Weiss seemed to breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good, that’s, that’s not as worrisome as it was when you had the case, dude. I’m glad you’re over that now.” “I’m thinking of quitting the agency,” Vaughn said, mostly to himself. Somewhere in the background Weiss said ‘What?!’ but Vaughn heard his own voice instead. “No, I am. I’m not staying here.” “Why the hell not?” Weiss hissed, dragging his chair closer to Vaughn. “Listen, maybe you just need a break, I totally understand that. But you can’t leave. We need you here.” Vaughn looked over at Charlie Durham and then at Lindsey over by the other side of the office, talking to Marshall who was showing him some new invention of his. Weiss looked worried - that was an understatement which Vaughn didn’t want to go deeper into - and so he just shrugged. “Quit making it sound like we’re breaking up.” “Hey, did the CIA ever cheat on you?” Weiss joked, but immediately regretted it when he remembered Vaughn’s situation. It was as if he’d been married to the CIA… “I mean…” “I’m not good for the CIA anymore.” “What do you mean? The agency needs you.” Before opening his mouth to say something, Vaughn paused and considered something. Then he simply said, “Want and need are two separate things.” Weiss has probably never looked more confused in his entire life, and it amused Vaughn a little. “Okay, what the hell does that mean?” * There had been dreams where Vaughn ran down a long hallway and eventually ended up right where he started - which oddly enough seemed to be Sark’s apartment. But he hadn’t seen the place Sark lived, so the place was decorated exactly how Vaughn had wanted it to be: walls filled with weapons - guns, knives, exotic weapons from Africa - and even the door had a picture of some sort of rifle gun on it. In the middle of it all, Sark stood there smirking with his arms crossed. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit and right before Vaughn’s eyes, the whole apartment dissolved and suddenly turned into a prison cell. “Welcome back,” Sark said, approaching Vaughn quickly and smoothly like the predator he was. “Right,” Vaughn replied in the dream and felt a pair of hands strangle his throat, and Sark was smirking, laughing, grinning like an idiot and suddenly the hands were gone, replaced with the feeling of lips against his own. The kiss was soft but rough at the same time and when they broke apart they were standing the kitchen and Sark unbuttoned Vaughn’s shirt; throwing it on the oven and it quickly caught fire. Vaughn woke up. * “Hello?” Sydney knocked on the opened door into Vaughn’s apartment and peeked into the room. There was a packed suitcase by the door, and she could hear some foreign sounds coming from the living room. “Vaughn?” “Hold on a sec.” Vaughn called from the living room and the rustling sound ceased. He then walked up to Sydney with a casual smile on his face - he almost seemed at peace but Sydney thought she found a more stormy emotion hidden behind his eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and his hands quickly found their place in his pockets as he shyly greeted her. “Hey.” “Hi…” Sydney frowned. “What’s going on?” “You haven’t heard? I’d imagine Weiss would’ve told you by now.” Sydney pursed her lips together tightly before releasing them. “I would’ve liked hearing it from you, Vaughn.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter who you hear it from. But, uh, good thing you stopped by. I was planning on calling you otherwise.” “To say what? Just…goodbye? You’d call me?” She sounded surprisingly calm about it all. Vaughn looked around his empty apartment. “I didn’t have much time.” “You could’ve made time.” Vaughn sighed heavily and they both shared an awkward silence, both feeling shame and guilt over their behavior. Truth was, Vaughn hadn’t been able to look Sydney in the eyes and tell her he was moving away because he didn’t just feel hate for his wife - and her lover - anymore. How should one have to live with that? It wasn’t anything he longer could deny; he just felt stupid by trying to. When Vaughn saw Sark he knew there was something else lurking; something other than hate. Fascination, curiosity, who knows. Vaughn hadn’t pinpointed the exact moment where his feelings towards Lauren and Sark had changed, but he knew things weren’t the same once the dream had started. He couldn’t be in the same city as Sark anymore, and if running away would help getting the guilt - and Sark - out of Vaughn’s head; then of course he’d do it. Sydney got tears in her eyes when they said goodbye in a form of a long, warm hug. He told her he’d call; she said she’d visit. “Just give me some time before you do,” Vaughn replied easily and she opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out. “Okay, well…” Sydney walked towards the door and waved at him sadly. “Right.” She left him to pack, and he resumed as if she never stopped by at all. * Seattle. Close to the border, in case he’d ever want to remove himself from the country completely. Vaughn liked the harbor and he liked the city, so it all seemed all right. He got himself an apartment a bit outside of the city, one that had a porch and just one floor - big enough for him and him only. Now he didn’t have to imagine a woman running down his stairs every time he’d pass it, and instead he heard the neighbor’s dog bark every time the mailman came by. He really liked Seattle, but of course things stayed the same. He still thought of Lauren and Sark and his old work, Weiss, Sydney, everybody and everything. He didn’t miss it - but it was still there, constantly nagging on his memory. To cure some of that, he talked to Weiss once a week and Sydney, too. She usually called him, but he welcomed it every time. Weiss updated Vaughn with work news - all coded so only agents would recognize - and one day Weiss found out that Sydney wasn’t really working at a bank. He got a job there too, and Vaughn sent Weiss a six-pack of Canadian beer through the mail as a not-so-serious celebration gift. He didn’t get another job, although the CIA had offered him one in his new city. Instead he went on long walks and he slept many hours of the day and once a week he went to a market selling fresh vegetables a few blocks away from his house. He’d walked there so many times and every time he passed the lemons and the oranges he thought of people he knew - and sometimes he’d even imagine seeing them. Shadows of people he used to know that suddenly appeared around the market, everywhere he went. He saw a coat he recognized, but couldn’t put his finger on from where. He saw blonde hair, dark brown hair, a man with grey hair and a suit. Then he saw a blonde man headed through the aisle with apples and pears and the guilt of imagining Sark among the people overcame Vaughn like a shock. His heart beat faster as he tried to get a better view of the man - Vaughn was standing a few feet behind Imaginary Sark and he hurriedly followed the man to the outskirts of the market, until the blonde with the black coat disappeared into a café. “Get a fucking grip,” Vaughn repeated to himself and stood outside the café fifteen minutes before saying goddamn it and walking in. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He sat down by the same table Sark was sitting at, drinking coffee and reading the paper. It was funny; Vaughn didn’t feel any fear of being with the murderer - this time without bars between them. He still thought it was all a dream. “Agent Vaughn,” Sark purred, not showing any kind of surprise at seeing the man. He put the newspaper down on the table. “Or is it ‘mister’?” “I don’t know how you did it, but you won’t get away this time.” Vaughn leaned over the table so he could speak more quietly. “I don’t see how you could get any vaguer,” he commented. “Escaping prison. I knew that if a person could do it, it’d be you, but the CIA is beyond pathetic if they aren’t even looking for you. I’m taking you back.” “What makes you think they don’t know about my departure?” He breathed heavily through his nostrils, trying to remain calm and not cause a spectacle. “Because I talk to agents several times a week. No one has said anything.” “Should they? You left the agency, Michael. Why should they reveal any information to you? Wouldn’t that make you… a risk for national security?” “Shut up.” “They released me.” Vaughn sat back in his chair, in shock. He stared at Sark - the young, deadly man was free? He could roam the world however he pleased and take and kill until the next time the CIA would catch him? “We had an agreement. I tell them everything I know about the Covenant, and help them by going undercover for a few, very dangerous might I add, missions. I did, and so I’m free.” Vaughn snorted. “Let me guess, Lindsey came up with it?” “Actually, yes.” Sark smiled. “I like that man.” Vaughn muttered "this is so insane" to himself a few times, and then Sark asked him if he would join in for a cup of coffee. Vaughn tried to imagine a scenario where he’d just say no and walk away from the café - but he knew how that would end. But if he stayed and had a cup - then the ending would be something new and surprising, and that’s what he had been looking for ever since he came to Seattle, so why not? When he took the first sip of his hot coffee, Vaughn was already out of small talk. He was exhausted from thinking and imagining - dreaming and not knowing what was real anymore. He watched Sark carefully as the blonde emptied his cup and ordered another. “There is just one thing I’ve been meaning to ask you, Michael,” he said calmly. “Vaughn,” he corrected him but Sark didn’t find the tone in his voice as menacing as it should be. “Do you now have what you want?” Vaughn felt himself blush at the straightforwardness that wasn’t even his and stared down at his coffee cup. The waitress came over with Sark’s cup and Sark paid her no mind at all; he was focusing on Vaughn instead. “I don’t think I’ve been looking in the right places.” As if he knew the answer all along, Sark grinned like the Cheshire cat itself and lifted his cup. “That I can believe.”