response #3 to challenge "Scarecrow and Mrs. King" titles
Spoilers through Season Five's "Maternal Instinct":
"Playing Possum"
The first packet arrives while Vaughn's still flat on his back, lost in a haze of morphine, and even the fact that it's news from home can force him into wakefulness. His eyes won't focus enough for him to read anyway. Yet when someone tries to draw the packet away, Vaughn hangs on tightly; eventually they compromise by tucking it under his pillow. That night Vaughn rests better.
After a couple of weeks have passed, Vaughn's well enough to read what's been sent. No note from Sydney, not even from Jack: Vaughn knew better than to expect one - if they're going to do this, there's no point in doing it half-assed - but all the same, he's sort of disappointed. However, he is quickly distracted by his own obituary. It makes excellent reading, though it is necessarily brief and dishonest, talking blandly about his career in the State Department and the fact that he was widowed almost a year ago.
Both his photo and Lauren's accompany the obit. Lauren's is captioned, Senator's Daughter. Vaughn lets his head fall back on the pillow and hopes he's due for another morphine shot.
The next packet arrives on the first day Vaughn's sitting up in bed - really sitting up, not propped up. They're slowly cutting back on his painkillers now, and he has realized that apart from the two doctors who treat him, everyone else in this place (wherever it is) is a monk. They shuffle quietly through the hallway opposite his room, and when they see him sitting up, they smile beatifically. Perhaps they've been praying for him. Vaughn's just glad he hadn't hallucinated the chanting.
Again, no note. Instead he finds a CIA memo, a bland "arrivals and departures" form that reveals Eric Weiss has won himself a promotion, a raise and a move to D.C. Vaughn wonders if that means Nadia Santos has died. No other obituaries are in the packet, though. Besides the CIA memo, there's only the latest issue of his hockey magazine, which he greatly enjoys.
For a while, there are no packets to follow. Vaughn tries to resign himself to the silence as a necessary part of their plan. He's staying hidden, as far off the grid as Jack could take him, and that's pretty far. It's for his safety, and Sydney's, and their baby's.
Our baby, he thinks as he struggles to pull himself to his feet for the first time. Vaughn stands, just for a few seconds, before toppling back toward the bed. Two monks in the hallway clap, proud of him. He's starting to feel like the monastery mascot.
Then on a warm morning, as Vaughn is working up to slowly walking a full kilometer on the treadmill, one of the monks brings him another packet. Within is a sonogram, the silhouette of his child with Sydney, curled safely inside her half a world away.
Their child is safe, and growing, and strong. Vaughn knows in that moment that playing dead is worth it.
"Playing Possum"
The first packet arrives while Vaughn's still flat on his back, lost in a haze of morphine, and even the fact that it's news from home can force him into wakefulness. His eyes won't focus enough for him to read anyway. Yet when someone tries to draw the packet away, Vaughn hangs on tightly; eventually they compromise by tucking it under his pillow. That night Vaughn rests better.
After a couple of weeks have passed, Vaughn's well enough to read what's been sent. No note from Sydney, not even from Jack: Vaughn knew better than to expect one - if they're going to do this, there's no point in doing it half-assed - but all the same, he's sort of disappointed. However, he is quickly distracted by his own obituary. It makes excellent reading, though it is necessarily brief and dishonest, talking blandly about his career in the State Department and the fact that he was widowed almost a year ago.
Both his photo and Lauren's accompany the obit. Lauren's is captioned, Senator's Daughter. Vaughn lets his head fall back on the pillow and hopes he's due for another morphine shot.
The next packet arrives on the first day Vaughn's sitting up in bed - really sitting up, not propped up. They're slowly cutting back on his painkillers now, and he has realized that apart from the two doctors who treat him, everyone else in this place (wherever it is) is a monk. They shuffle quietly through the hallway opposite his room, and when they see him sitting up, they smile beatifically. Perhaps they've been praying for him. Vaughn's just glad he hadn't hallucinated the chanting.
Again, no note. Instead he finds a CIA memo, a bland "arrivals and departures" form that reveals Eric Weiss has won himself a promotion, a raise and a move to D.C. Vaughn wonders if that means Nadia Santos has died. No other obituaries are in the packet, though. Besides the CIA memo, there's only the latest issue of his hockey magazine, which he greatly enjoys.
For a while, there are no packets to follow. Vaughn tries to resign himself to the silence as a necessary part of their plan. He's staying hidden, as far off the grid as Jack could take him, and that's pretty far. It's for his safety, and Sydney's, and their baby's.
Our baby, he thinks as he struggles to pull himself to his feet for the first time. Vaughn stands, just for a few seconds, before toppling back toward the bed. Two monks in the hallway clap, proud of him. He's starting to feel like the monastery mascot.
Then on a warm morning, as Vaughn is working up to slowly walking a full kilometer on the treadmill, one of the monks brings him another packet. Within is a sonogram, the silhouette of his child with Sydney, curled safely inside her half a world away.
Their child is safe, and growing, and strong. Vaughn knows in that moment that playing dead is worth it.