Fic: That I'd Find My Place 3/?

[agentamy47]

Author: Ames
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Forget what you know. Irina took Sydney when she was extracted, and she has been training her daughter to follow in her footsteps. Seventeen years later, Sydney meets someone who should be her enemy, and their meeting will change everything.
Spoilers: None. AU.
Disclaimer: Alias is not mine. It belongs to JJ Abrams, Touchstone, Bad Robot, and ABC.


Prologue Chapter One

Chapter Two

When Vaughn woke up again later that evening, he felt infintely better, his temperature approaching normal again and the chills no longer racking his body. While he was asleep, Sydney sent her maid to buy clothes for him since all he had was his bloody tuxedo, which she planned on burning later. He didn't know what he'd done to earn this much kindness from this woman who should be his enemy, but she gave him sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt along with socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a few other necessities he might need. She promised they were safe in her guest house, so she left him alone to change and told him to join her downstairs. He stood slowly and managed to get changed, cautiously making his way into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Thanks to his bandage he couldn’t really take a shower yet, but just brushing his teeth and changing his clothes made him feel a little more human. As he walked carefully down the hallway, however, he realised he wasn’t quite as recovered as he’d hoped. He started down the stairs and held tight to the railing as his body still protested so much movement, his muscles crying out in pain. He didn't make it more than three stairs before dizziness assailed him, and he grabbed the railing even tighter as he felt his legs weaken. "Um, Sydney?" he called uncertainly.

"Yes?" she asked, appearing at the bottom of the stairs.

"I think I might need some help," he admitted. He hated feeling this helpless, but there was no way he could make it the rest of the way by himself.

"Of course. Sorry, I didn't think of that," she apologised, hurrying back to him. "Okay, keep holding onto the rail, and I'll help you," she promised, wrapping an arm around his waist and helping him stay steady. He felt another chill run through him as their bodies touched, but he focused on making it down the stairs in hopes of distracting himself from the electric spark. They staggered slowly down the stairs, stopping every few steps when he needed to close his eyes and fight the dizziness again. He was exhausted again by the time he got downstairs so she guided him into the living area and got him settled on the couch with a blanket and the remote control for her rather large television. “I’ll be right back. I’m finishing dinner,” she explained, leaving him with the TV while she returned to the kitchen.

He flipped through the channels, trying to find something to watch, but everything was in Russian. With his mind still fuzzy from the pain and medication she gave him, he could only pick up on a few words and abandoned the futile quest. “You know, you should have satellite,” he suggested when she returned. “American channels. Or at least something in English.”

“Oh, right. Sorry I didn't think of that the last time I had a half-dead CIA agent in my house,” she said dryly.

“You mean you don't do this often?” he teased.

“Funny,” she shot back, cracking a smile. “Now try to eat,” she instructed, handing him a bowl of soup.

“I’m not very hungry,” he said, wrinkling his nose a little as he accepted the bowl.

“I know, but you haven't eaten in days. I got you to drink some water, but there was no way I could get you to eat. Try to get at least half of it down,” she encouraged.

“Yes Ma'am,” he agreed. He wasn't hungry, and it made him a little queasy, but he ate the whole bowl, not wanting her to think he wasn't grateful for what she’d done for him. She so unselfishly saved his life and poured all her time into helping him recover despite the obvious risks to her own safety in doing son.

When they finished eating, she cleaned the kitchen and washed their dishes, leaving him alone with her movie collection. Thankfully she had several American movies in English, and he found one he wanted to see. They spent the rest of the evening on the sofa, laughing and chatting pleasantly, getting to know one another despite the crazy circumstances. “So Michael Vaughn, what do you do when you’re not getting shot in foreign countries?”

“Hey,” he said defensively. “I’ll have you know this is the first time I’ve been shot before.”

“Mmhmm. And how long have you been doing this?” she asked pointedly.

“A year,” he admitted with a little laugh. “I guess this isn’t a good way to start my career, huh?”

“No offense, but what are you even doing here? A year? You know how insane security is in the main house? I’ve seen older and much more experienced agents killed trying to get in here,” she said honestly.

“This little incident will probably put a blemish on my record, but so far I’ve been rising throught he ranks pretty quickly,” he answered, trying not to sound conceited about it.

“Oh, so you’re a hot shot, huh?”

“No,” he laughed. “Hardly. I’ll admit I was terrified the other night. Dylan was the calm one.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of in this business. Fear keeps you alive,” she said seriously. “But anyway, you didn’t answer my question. What do you do when you’re not doing...this?”

“Not a whole lot, honestly. The job takes up most of my time, but I love hockey. My mom used to say I started skating before I started walking. It was my dad’s favourite sport, so it was something we shared. After he died, I guess it just made me feel close to him again.” He shrugged and looked at her with a slightly sheepish expression. “Sorry,” he apologised.

“No, it’s fascinating. I’m not close to my mom and I don’t remember my dad. It’s nice that you have something like that.”

He frowned as he saw the pain clouding her eyes again, coupled with a sense of longing. “Surely you and your mom have had some good times,” he said quietly. “Isn’t there anything you did together when you were younger?”

“We did read together a lot,” she admitted. “I guess that’s why I love reading so much. That was the one time I really felt like my mother loved me. She would read with me and then tuck me in. But that was only when she was in town, which wasn’t very often.”

He thought for a moment, wanting to make her feel better but not sure how. Finally, he went with his first instinct and reached over to take her hand in his. She stiffened at first, looking down at their joined hands in surprise and a little uncertainty, but slowly relaxed and managed a small smile. He squeezed tightly and tugged a little until she moved closer. “I’m sorry, Sydney,” he said softly. “You don’t know me and I know that doesn’t really do anything for you, but I am sorry you haven’t had the life you deserved.”

“And how do you know what I deserve?” she asked quietly, gazing into his eyes with unabashed scrutiny. “You don’t know me, either.”

“I know you had no reason to save me and every reason not to,” he said meaningfully. “I know you could have left me for dead, but you didn’t because you’re a good person.”

She laughed ruefully and shook her head. “That’s the pain medicine talking,” she quipped.

“No, don’t do that. Don’t try to joke your way out of a compliment. I’m serious,” he insisted.

“Mr. Vaughn-”

“Michael,” he corrected. “Call me Michael.”

She lowered her eyes and scrutinised him again. “Vaughn,” she addressed him pointedly, dropping the formal title but still keeping it from being too personal. “I work for my mother. Do you know what that means? If I hadn’t saved your life, you would take me into custody and forget all about me. One good deed....”

“But why did you do it, Sydney?” he asked. “Just tell me the truth. If you did this for your own personal gain, fine. But for some crazy reason, despite all of this, I trust you, and I believe you. I don’t think you’re getting anything out of this, and you’re risking a hell of a lot.”

She was silent for a moment, just staring at him and searching for truth behind his words. Then, in a bold and completely unexpected move, she dropped her head to his uninjured shoulder and leaned heavily against him. Just as she had been shocked when he picked up her hand, so he was shocked to find her suddenly halfway into his arms. But he quickly discovered he didn’t mind at all. “You’re wrong,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m getting everything out of this.”

“You’re not a bad person, Sydney. I just can’t believe there’s any part of you that wants this life you’re living.”

“There’s not,” she agreed.

“Then you have nothing to worry about. Not when it comes to me, anyway. You’re only doing what you have to do. Maybe we don’t really know each other, but I know there’s a lot more to you than anyone sees,” he said seriously.

“I think saving you was a good idea.”

“Well, I can’t argue with you there,” he laughed softly. “But I’m glad it was you who saved me.”

This earned him a smile - a real, actual smile that reached her eyes. He smiled back, and in that moment, they they transcended their natural role as enemies and became something more, something diferent, something that had absolutely nothing to do with the world of espionage. In a few days he would leave here and maybe never see her again - already a sad thought - but she was now permanently etched in his mind and heart. Since he first joined the CIA he saw everything in black and white. There was good and there was bad, and there was no in between. But she was right earlier; in different circumstances, he would almost certainly take her into custody. He wouldn’t be able to forget her, but if he wasn’t forced into a situation that allowed him to see her for who she truly was, he would probably see her as a beautiful devil. Now he could see she was really a haunted angel.

They didn’t speak anymore, but she cuddled a little closer as they started another movie. Despite the current danger to his life just being on this property, he felt amazingly normal with her, like they were just a regular couple spending a boring night together on the couch. Thirty minutes into the movie, his exhaustion and his comfort finally won out over his desire to stay awake with her a little longer. “Hey,” she whispered, noticing his eyes beginning to close again.

“Hmm?” he mumbled sleepily.

“You can’t sleep down here,” she informed him sadly. “I really don’t want to make you move, but it’s not safe. If someone walked in...”

He was almost too tired to care. “I can’t get up,” he moaned.

“You have to, Vaughn. Come on, I’ll help you. You can sleep as long as you want as soon as you’re upstairs, but it’s too risky staying down here,” she explained. “Besides, if you sleep here you’re going to hurt like hell in the morning.”

“Fine,” he mumbled, sitting up and trying to stretch his stiff arm a little. She helped him up off the couch and slowly escorted him back upstairs where he nearly collapsed on the bed.

“I think your fever’s gone,” she noted, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

“Yeah, it feels like it,” he agreed.

“You can have the blankets then. Are you warm enough?” she asked in concern as she covered him up.

“Yes, Mom,” he couldn’t help teasing.

“Cute,” she shot back.

“I try.”

“Go to sleep, hot shot,” she laughed.

He started to obey but then thought of something. “Wait. Where have you been sleeping while I’ve been in your bed?” he asked.

“Uh, the floor,” she admitted sheepishly, pointing to the pillow and spare blanket a few feet away from the bed.

“You’ve been sleeping on the floor?” he asked incredulously. “No. No no. You cannot do that.”

“I needed to be close so I could check on you. I guess I’ll sleep on the couch now,” she shrugged.

“Won’t people think it’s weird if they find you sleeping on your own couch?” he asked sceptically.

“It happens,” she shrugged. “If anyone comes in, I’ll just tell them I fell asleep watching TV. I’ll leave it on so they won’t suspect anything. It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, it is. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor or the couch in your own house. This bed is huge,” he reasoned. “Just sleep in here.”

“You want me to sleep in the bed?” she asked in surprise.

“I’m going to pass out in like, one minute. I’m not going to try anything,” he assured her with a little grin.

“I’d kick your ass anyway,” she teased.

“Then it’s settled,” he laughed. “You can sleep here.”

“Okay,” she agreed hesitantly. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he nodded.

She suddenly turned shy and gestured towards her closet. “I’ll um....I’m just going to get changed. You go ahead and go to sleep. Get some more rest.”

He closed his eyes and pretended to obey, but he didn’t fall asleep just yet, listening as she moved about the room to get ready for bed. After about ten minutes, she turned off the light and climbed into the bed as far away from him as she could possibly get while still on the same bed. Trying not to think about her sleeping just a few feet away, he allowed himself to succumb to his fatigue and fell asleep knowing he was safe with her.

For three more days, he stayed with her in the guest house. The awkwardness quickly faded away, and he found himself strangely enjoying his exile. She opened up a little more and talked about her life, but her gaze always grew distant as she talked about growing up being trained for her future life as her mother’s employee and isolated from other children her age. She never went to school and studied only with private tutors, her training considered more important than her education, but he could tell she somehow found her own way around that. She was truly one of the smartest people he’d ever met. And every hour he spent with her, he saw a little more of the woman desperately trying to emerge from behind a shell of loneliness and distrust. She was nothing like her mother, full of life and personality, opinionated and stubborn but also sweet and caring and gentle. If they lived another life in another world, he would probably ask her out for coffee, then maybe dinner and a movie. Every time she laughed or smiled, he was painfully aware that they didn’t live in another world. They lived in this one, and in this one, they could have only these few days together.

By his third day of consciousness in Sydney’s house, Vaughn was clearly on the mend. Sydney was an excellent nurse, making sure he got enough sleep, drank enough water, and ate enough, and though he almost hated to admit it, there was no reason for him to stay anymore. He was still a little weak from both the gunshot and the infection, but he could move around as usual, and though he wouldn’t be running any marathons in the near future, it was more than safe for him to fly home. He could tell she didn’t want to bring it up, so he finally acknowledged it over breakfast. It was time for him to go, whether they wanted to part ways or not. They were tempting the fates anyway, and if they kept pushing it, they were bound to get burned. So he reluctantly allowed her to make the plans, pretending to read a book in her room while she made the necessary calls.

“Eight this evening,” she said quietly as she returned to the room.

“That gives us a while,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I guess,” she agreed listlessly. It broke his heart to go and leave her here all alone again, but imagining her getting hurt was worse. At least when he was gone she would be safe, even if they could never see each other again.

“We could watch more movies,” he suggested.

“Yeah, that would be nice.”

He gave her an encouraging smile and followed her downstairs again. They had watched nearly half her collection over the last few days, and after sticking the movie in the DVD player, she got comfortable on the couch as had become their custom, her head on his good shoulder or in his lap and his hand in her hair.

That evening, she helped him out to her car, carefully making sure no one saw them. Neither spoke on the way to the airport, but when she turned off the engine, he saw the tears glimmering in her eyes. “Syd,” he whispered, not sure what to say.

“I don’t want you to go,” she admitted quietly.

“I don't want to go, either,” he agreed, reaching up to play with a piece of stray hair that fell from her ponytail. “But you know I have to. I don't want you getting hurt because of me. I would hate that, Sydney,” he said sincerely.

“I know,” she acknowledged. “It was stupid to think...I knew you had to go back...but...” she trailed off, dissolving into quiet sobs as her despair took over.

“Sydney,” he breathed in pain, scooting closer to pull her into his arms and allow her to cry against his shoulder. “I wish there was something I could do for you,” he whispered. “I wish I could just take you away from here. But just know you're not alone. Know that there's someone who cares.”

She nodded against his chest, still clinging to him in desperation. “Be careful,” she murmured, trailing her fingers over the bandage peeking out beneath his shirt. “Try not to get shot again.”

“I will,” he laughed. “Next time I probably won’t have my beautiful guardian angel there to save me.”

She laughed along with him, but the tears still flowed from her eyes. “I’m anything but an angel, Vaughn,” she whispered.

“No,” he shook his head. “That's not true. Listen to me,” he insisted. “You're a good person, Sydney. This life you live is not your choice. You are an angel, at least to me. I don't care who your mother is. You're not her. You're not. Please, remember that,” he pleaded. If there was nothing else he could do for her, maybe he could at least convince her she deserved so much more. “I've seen the real you, Sydney, and I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

“I wish that, too,” she answered tearfully. He squeezed her a little tighter, trying to commit these last few seconds together to his memory forever in case he never saw her again. “You need to go,” she whispered.

He nodded painfully and pulled away, gently wiping the tears from her face. He started to get out of the car, but then he thought of something. “Paper,” he demanded. “Give me paper and a pen.”

“What for?” she asked in confusion.

“You'll see,” he answered. She found some in her purse and handed it to him. He quickly scribbled down his cell phone number and handed it to her. “Keep this,” he instructed. “Don't ever lose it. If you ever need anything, I want you to call me. If there's anything I can do for you, even if you just need someone to listen to you, call me, okay?”

“Vaughn, no, I can’t,” she shook her head, trying to hand it back to him.

“No, keep it,” he insisted. “Please. Maybe someday I can help you.”

“You already have,” she whispered.

He pulled her into one last hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Goodbye, Sydney,” he breathed. “Thank you for saving me. Please be safe, and don't forget I’ll be thinking about you.”

“Goodbye,” she managed, pulling away and covering her mouth with her hand to keep from sobbing. He felt like someone was thrusting a dagger through his heart, but he forced himself to get out of the car, knowing his presence would always put her in danger. It took every bit of strength left in him to walk away from her, but he did, and he didn't look back.