The Perfect Weapon - Epilogue 1
Ending 1: Epilogue 1: Some time later.....
(I’ll leave the exact time frame up to your own personal notions of how much time is appropriate, necessary and/or sufficient.)
“The package for which we have been waiting has arrived.”
“Really? Finally. You were correct in your suppositions. Good job at analysis. What were the contents? Typical or....unique?”
“Definitely unique. Special. A significant amount of time and effort went into the selection of the contents of said package. As well as the creative recycling involved of a certain item.”
“Really? That’s interesting....Did the package have the...desired effect?”
“If by that you mean shock, a peel of laughter, and a slammed door when I pointed out the...information packet, then yes.”
“Really! That’s very interesting.”
“The contents of said packet were even more interesting.”
“Really? How did you come to possess that information?” Vaughn asked.
“I steamed it open,” Susan said. “How else?”
“How else indeed?” Vaughn said, biting his lip to keep from laughing aloud. She really needed to meet Eric. “Well, what did it say?”
“I’m not sure I’m prepared to take my life in my hands by divulging the contents.“
“You made that decision when you heated the water.”
Susan sighed. “Good point. It said, ‘Thank you for everything. I could not have done it without you. And your faith. It made all the difference.’”
“Really! That’s very interesting...”
“It had that distinctive left-ward slant, but the bad news is that there was no signature-“
“Of course not.” He sighed deeply. “It couldn’t be that easy.”
“So you’ll need to verify. There can be no room for error on this op.” Vaughn rolled his eyes at her words. She continued, “Marshall can hack in, I’m sure. Here is the name of the florist-“
“Wait, he actually allowed the florist to use a card with identifying information on it?”
“No, of course not. I had to chase the delivery person down and bribe him for the name of the shop. You owe me.”
“I’ll buy you some jello at lunch one day,” Vaughn offered with a smile he suppressed when he saw Jack glancing casually around the Op Center. As if Jack did anything casually. What was he looking for, no, for what was he looking? Then he rolled his eyes, he could dangle a preposition in his own mind if he wanted, thank you very much!
“Better have whipped cream on it. I’d like something sweet before I meet my untimely end.”
Vaughn looked over at Weiss, who was staring at him curiously. “I think I can arrange that. Gotta go.”
“Roger that.”
She really needed to meet Weiss, Vaughn thought as he hung up and leaned back in his chair. Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth to hide his grin, he looked up suddenly. Weiss was staring at him. Uh-oh.
“‘Really?’ ‘That’s interesting’? What’s so interesting, Mike?” Eric asked suspiciously.
“I’m not sure you really want to know.”
“Why not?”
Vaughn sighed, then firmed his lips trying not to grin. “It’s a little....personal...game I’m running on Jack.”
“Good joke, but seriously....Oh. My. God.” Eric just stared at Vaughn. “He’s gonna shoot you in the face. No, the nuts. He’s gonna shoot you in the nuts. Doubleplay. Keep them away from his daughter and payback for whatever the hell you think you’re doing. Your days as a man are over,” Eric moaned, covering his face with his hands and rocking back and forth in his chair. “No warnings this time. Boom. You’re dead. So dead.”
“Nah. He’ll thank me. Eventually,” Vaughn said firmly, wondering just whom he was trying to convince, Weiss or himself.
“Th----! You really need to resume your sessions with Dr. Barnett, my friend.”
“Why?”
“Because...Clearly you are INSANE!” Weiss exclaimed.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. What had those two been discussing over there ever since Vaughn had hung up the phone? What was Weiss so upset about? Why did Vaughn look so smug? Vaughn and smug were never a good combination. This situation required investigation. He slid out of his chair and sauntered over.
“So,” he said, putting a heavy hand on Weiss’ shoulder, picking the weak link in the pairing of this Gruesome Twosome. Absently feeling a sense of satisfaction when he saw the pulse in Weiss’ neck speed up, he asked ominously, “What are you two planning over here? Anything I should know?” He leveled his trademark glare on Weiss. Vaughn was proving increasingly, annoyingly immune to it.
Eric stood up abruptly, loosening the grip Jack had on him and shook his head. “I know nothink! Nothink, Colonel Klink.”
Both Vaughn and Jack stared at him. Looking at each other, they repeated, “Colonel Klink?"
Vaughn asked, "Hogan's Heroes?"
Jack shook his head, "But Weiss, Kendall is the bald one. Not me."
"Yeah, Eric," Vaughn said warming to the topic. "Jack would probably be Hogan. Kendall would be Colonel Klink. Actually, can't you just see him with a monocle? Standing off to the side, raising it up, peering at us, like he's doing right now, wondering what the prisoners are planning?"
"I guess that would make you the little French guy, Louis LeBeau, Vaughn," Jack said with a smirk.
"Well, it's a better option than being Sargeant Schulzie, the role Weiss seems to be have assigned for himself, don't you think?"
"I agree---" Jack began, keeping a careful eye on the amount of red in Weiss' face. Any moment now....
"Enough!" Weiss exclaimed. "You two are so weird lately. Why are we discussing Hogan's Heroes?"
"You brought it up," Vaughn said patiently.
"Yes, you did, Eric. Why is that?" Jack pressed, noting the panicked look Vaughn sent in his friend's direction.
Weiss began walking away. Jack called out, “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“I need to buy a suit. Black. For a funeral,” Weiss said with a heavy look at Vaughn.
“What is he talking about?” Jack asked suspiciously, staring at Vaughn.
“I’m amazed, you just dangled a preposition. And Weiss? Oh, he’s just being funny.”
“I’m not laughing,” Jack said, sticking his hands in his pants pockets.
“You seldom do,” Vaughn sighed. “It’s a shame.” It's also a lie, lately anyway, he thought as he stood up and looked around, wondering where Sydney was, then nodded at her when he saw her watching them curiously. He might need her for protection, he thought, as he suggested brightly, “The lack of laughter? Perhaps you should talk to Dr. Barnett about that?” He took a quick step backward. He was not a fool. Foolhardy perhaps, but not a fool. “Is there anything else, Jack?”
“No...”
“Well. Okay. Then.” Stop it, you’re about to stutter. Just shut up. Look away, look down. Look anywhere but into his eyes. Sit down. There’s another good idea. He sat.
Jack stared at him. Coming to a decision, he walked away, sat down at his own desk and stared at Vaughn, who was rearranging the items on his desk. Pretty Boy bore watching, but sometimes it was best to let the hand play out.
But...then again. Foreknowledge was power. Jack skewed his eyes toward Sydney. When she caught his glance, he looked at Weiss briefly, than back again. She nodded. Heading quickly toward Weiss, she grabbed his arm. “So, Eric, tell me---”
“Oh, no. I’m not getting involved. Ignorance is my friend. Nope. Not gonna happen. No. Aw... c’mon, Sydney...Don’t....”
Turning around in his chair quickly, Jack glared at Vaughn to misdirect him from Sydney’s activities and smiled slightly, that smile he knew still caused Vaughn to shudder. Ah, there it was. He still had it. Maybe it was time to bring out the pencils again.
Vaughn watched Jack who was watching him. He shuddered at that smile, then sighed. Oh no, was Jack taking out a pencil again? This was ridiculous. He was an agent, a spy, and he couldn’t even run a game, a little, tiny game on Jack? It was no big deal, Jack wouldn’t be angry. He might even thank him.... After he got done killing him, of course, for meddling. But he was meddling for a good cause, he told himself firmly, even as he sighed with deep relief when Jack finally got up and went to lunch. He was meeting, Vaughn knew thanks to Sydney’s offhand comment, some archivist. No doubt, Vaughn thought with an inner smile, trying to find a way to eradicate from the Archives’ holdings a certain manual bound in bright blue. Interesting, even enlightening reading, but not perhaps something he wanted the world to know. Or more specifically, his daughter to know. Ha. So, even if he screwed this up, Vaughn decided, he still had that piece of information to hold over Jack’s head. So, yes, this was okay. It would work out. He had a good plan for a good reason and even if Jack were angry about the meddling he couldn’t do too much about it because he knew something Jack would not want Sydney to know.
So. It was going to be okay, he decided, as he stood and straightened his suit jacket and walked over into Marshall’s area. “Marshall,” Vaughn began. “I need you to do me a favor. But you’ll need to keep it quiet.”
“I know,” Marshall whispered, looking from side to side. “You’re running a game on Jack. Mr. Bristow. Sydney’s dad. Hey, what do you call him?”
“The grim reaper, if I screw this up,” Vaughn muttered. “But how did you know?”
“I have this parabolic listening device I’m working on. It allows me to----“
“Jack doesn’t have one, does he?” Vaughn asked sharply.
“Nah. He never wants to play with my gadgets before they’re fully functional.” Vaughn bit his lip. Marshall continued, “Neither does Carrie, for that matter and you would think she would--.”
Vaughn burst out laughing, “Most women don’t, Marshall.” When Marshall stared at him blankly, Vaughn commented, “Most women don’t necessarily want to play with a man’s gadgets before they are fully functional. I cannot of course comment on Jack, but I don’t think he----“
“I...Oh! Ew! Jack...no, no, not like that. I mean, I don’t swing that way, if you know what I mean. Not that I’ve had much opportunity to swing any way with anyone, but I’m pretty sure, completely sure, I mean, that I’d rather swing in the direction of someone like....” He stopped, swallowed and blushed.
“Carrie, right?” Vaughn asked quietly, with a smile.
“Yeah. I just can’t seem to... I mean, she’s been so patient, but--- Can you give me some advice?”
“Well, first off? When there’s a choice between being with your girlfriend and watching a MacGyver rerun? C’mon!”
“Uh-oh. Do I make the wrong choice on those nights? I do, I do,” Marshall moaned. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with an equally clammy hand, then reaching for a tissue and blotting his skin, he whined, “But she never said anything! How am I supposed to know what she’s thinking if she won’t just tell me? Am I supposed to be a mind reader?”
“Short answer? Yes. Long answer? Yes.”
“You know what I think about Rambaldi, Vaughn? If he had been such a freakin’ genius, he would have applied his talents to understanding the way a woman’s mind works. That’s the greatest secret in the universe, not time travel or immortality.”
“Marshall, you’re a genius yourself---”
“Vaughn, I may have a ridiculously-high IQ, but when it comes to social interactions, particularly with women, well, it may have escaped your notice... Not that I think it could escape your notice. I mean you’re a trained agent, trained to notice details. And this isn’t really a detail, it’s more like the big picture, the whole enchilada---”
“Marshall! Focus,” Vaughn snapped. Then winced, and wiped his hand across his forehead. His damn furrowed forehead, he realized, knowing he had just sounded like Jack Bristow. ‘Focus?’ “I’m sorry. I mean, what are you trying to say about yourself? I’m listening.”
“Okay. For a moment there you kinda scared me. I mean, you sounded like Jack. Mr. Bristow. Sydney’s dad.”
“I scared myself. But... let’s return to the main point,” Vaughn suggested, thinking he needed to spend less time with Jack.
“Oh. Me. And my complete inability to understand what women want. It’s probably obvious to you that I’m a total geek and unless there’s a manual I could memorize on how to handle oneself in these situations---”
“There is,” Vaughn blurted out, then looked around furtively.
“There is?” Marshall whispered. “Tell me where it is, what it is, and I’ll hack into anything you want. Is it the NSC? The White House? The Kremlin?”
“No. It’s a florist shop downtown.”
“It is I.”
“Yes? I assume you’re calling in for a report?”
“Did you acquire any significant intel?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“And the reason for your failure would be....”
“Subject was ignorant of the details of the op.”
“Ignorant? Willful ignorance?”
“Yes. Subject expressed fear that acquiring prior knowledge of the op would result in his mutilation, dismemberment and/or death by the intended object of the op when the truth is revealed, whatever that is.”
“And the intended object of the op would be?”
“You.”
“Ah, as I suspected.”
“Subject did indicate that there are two co-conspirators.”
“Color me unsurprised.”
“I see. You have the same supposition as to the identity of the second conspirator as I do. What is the next step? I would recommend pretending ignorance yourself.”
“Will the subject comply with that game plan?”
“Subject wishes to remain completely outside the parameters of this op and will maintain ignorance of any knowledge of our knowledge. Subject feels that course of action, or inaction as the case may be, is in his best interests.”
“I would agree with your assessment. Given the nature of the two co-conspirators, it is highly unlikely that there is any malice intended. Rather, these two...individuals no doubt feel that they are engaged in something... helpful. Moreover, if we perform an end run on this op, the dogged persistence of the co-conspirators, their general do-gooder mentality will merely delay the inevitable. In the interest of flushing these.... snipes from the woods we will ---”
“Let the hand play out?”
“Yes. For now.”
‘Copy that. This should be interesting.”
“Interesting? Like a root canal is interesting?”
“Ha, ha. Well, that’s all I have to report. I think I’m just going to read until Ken comes home. Hmm, he’s late. Wonder where he is,” she mused. “Well, good night, Dad. Love you.”
“Good night, sweetheart. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you too,” Jack flipped his phone closed with a smile. Then frowning, he began to wonder himself about the whereabouts of a certain conspirator.
Vaughn put his chin into his palm and sighed. How long would it take for Marshall to overcome his shock? Maybe this had not been the best idea. Marshall had been staring and sweating for the longest time as he was speedreading the research portion of the dissertation and muttering.
“I... Jack... No, that can’t be, he wouldn’t have written his dissertation on... No. This is a joke. Not that Jack makes that many jokes. But that’s not true. Lately, for a while, he’s had a sense of humor, not a slap-your-knees kind of sense of humor, no. He likes to tease, especially you, Vaughn. Don’t be shocked, but I think Jack actually likes you. A little. He’d like you more if you proposed to Sydney, but... This, this I just don’t see... I don’t want to see. Oh, no, when I see him again. I will not look into his eyes. But if I don’t look into his eyes, he’ll know something’s wrong. But if I do look into his eyes, he’ll know something’s wrong. There has to be a way out of this.... I still can’t believe he wrote a game theory piece on ... But then again, human psychology is the most interesting game of all, so... But still...” He looked from side to side and whispered, “This is about sex. Although I guess most of sex is psychology. Or maybe that’s just how I think about it because I can’t get up the nerve.... Not that I can’t get up other things, that’s-“
“Too much information, Marshall.”
“Sorry, just thinking aloud. But the psychology of it - that’s what this work is about, isn’t it? That I think it’s all a head game? Oooh, that didn’t sound right. Sorry. But... No. Wait. Doesn’t this research tell you a lot about what Jack thinks about sex?”
“In the field, anyway,” Vaughn shrugged. “Doesn’t necessarily have much to do with him personally, I would-“
“I don’t know about that. He had to devise the initial idea, after all,” Marshall interrupted to say. “And there’s compartmentalization and then there’s stupidity. If this technique works on women in the field - and isn’t that why you are showing it to me - why wouldn’t it work at home? Vaughn... It can’t be this simple. Can it? But then again, Jack is always saying how the best ideas are the simplest ones. And in computer programming for example, the simplest programs are the most elegant, the ones least likely to lead to endless loops and... But then again, sometimes when something is too simple, it’s boring. Like a lot of modern architecture? All those clean lines, white walls, glass. Boring. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I wonder if Jack ever got bored with this technique? Not that I’m equating women with modern architecture, mind you. I mean women don’t have straight lines. And they’re not boring. Nor clear, not like glass at all, of course. In fact, I think they’re pretty opaque, don’t you?”
“I---”
“Probably not. Have you ever asked him?” Marshall inquired, looking up, his eyes still wide with shock.
“Asked him what?” Vaughn rubbed his forehead. He was lost.
“About the technique? If he got bored using it? If there are any permutations on it he discovered after finishing the manual? I notice there are no updates on file.”
“Are you insane? I’m not supposed to even know about this!” Vaughn told him urgently.
“Then what are we doing here?” Marshall asked the obvious question.
“Showing it to you!” Vaughn hissed, looking around, belatedly realizing that Jack might have spies here.
“Have you tried this out yourself?” Marshall asked.
“Well, no. I’ve been with Sydney and this is for women you’re just picking up-“
“No, it’s not. Extrapolate. Besides, Vaughn. Basic scientific method indicates that one must be able to replicate the results of the experiment. And if you haven’t even tried to replicate it, you can’t truly assert the veracity of the results.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, why haven’t you really tried it out? Are you afraid you’d fail? I would be. It seems fool proof, but if you fail, is it a personal failure or a failure of the technique? It’s difficult to ascertain how to set up a control and an experiment.... I guess Jack could be the control group and anyone else who ever tried it would be the experiment. But... who else knows about this?”
“I don’t know how many others do. I do know Kendall---”
Marshall rolled his eyes, “Even I know he would not constitute a good candidate for replicating the results. The guy... has issues. Do you think it’s the lack of hair? Does he have self esteem problems?”
“Kendall? He has too much self esteem. I think the real problem is that he’s just a jerk. Jack told me that Kendall actually referred to women as chicklets until Jack told him to stop. Wait. How come you’re talking like this? No tangents?” Vaughn said slowly.
“I’m in shock. Or going in and out of shock, rather, if you want to be perfectly accurate.”
“So, when you’re in shock, your brain just works in straight path?”
“Sure. Doesn’t yours?” Marshall asked and then looking at Vaughn shook his head. Sometimes he wondered whether or not Vaughn’s mind actually took any logical paths, he seemed to have trouble anticipating outcomes or at least anticipating what he, Marshall, was talking about. And wasn’t he perfectly clear, accurate at all times? Marshall sighed. “Well, we know Jack’s techniques, now... But wait, isn’t this too much information on someone we know? ... I don’t think I should know this.... Oh, boy, how am I going to look at him tomorrow? At that lunch we’re all having? I’ll choke. I’ll need to choose soft foods. Yogurt, jello. Yogurt is good for you, you know. Jello isn’t, but it tastes good, especially with whipped cream. Epecially the kind that comes from a can, don't you think? Sometimes my mom puts the little plastic preprepared cups of jello in my lunch, you know. No whipped cream then. Did you ever think about the meaning of the colors of jello? I mean, when I get purple I know my mom’s mad at me for something, but when I-“
“The shock is wearing off, Marshall?” Vaughn sighed.
“Yes. How could you tell? But then again, if he’s an expert, he would want to share.... But wait, Sydney, Sydney doesn’t know, does she?”
At that Vaughn had sat up straight and hissed, “Of course not! That’s the whole point.”
“The whole point of what? Forget it, I don’t want to know. But back to the scientific method-“
“Must we? I thought you could just read this and-“
Marshall sighed, “This is a dissertation on a theory, research and outcomes of the research. Basic scientific method. How can you recommend this as a technique if you haven’t experimented with it yourself?”
“Well, it seems obvious once you think about it. And if you ever saw the contents of Jack’s duty files, you’d know that his success rate was phenomenal.”
“But he has the hair, too,” Marshall noted, remembering that conversation in the Op Center. Oh, no wonder Vaughn had forgotten that. He had been traumatized by the dolls at the time.
“The what?”
“The hair. Women like his hair. Remember that conversation about Hot Look Ken’s hair? It all started when Carrie brought up the subject of Jack’s hair.”
“For the love of god, not the Barbies again,” Vaughn moaned. “I just can’t take the Barbie business.”
Marshall shook his head, “You know, I think I should stick to what I know best. Making that hair gel for Hot Look Ken netted me a kiss from both Sydney and Carrie. And last time Nia was here, I got a kiss from her too for sending her a package of the stuff. Yup, I think I’ll just stick with what I know. But... I will use this idea. I’ll ask Carrie to tell me the truth. Does she want me to be with her or... maybe she’d want to watch MacGyver with me? Or maybe... She’ll tell me if I ask. Maybe Jack had the right idea....” Marshall said, shoving the bright blue book at Vaughn and walking away. “Maybe, I should call her and ask her point blank what she wants. Maybe...I should do it in person. Maybe I should call first. No, maybe I should just go to her house? So many permutations on the basic theory. Maybe I should ask Jack for advice, not you,” Marshall nodded firmly. “Yes, that’s the ticket. Maybe I need to buy more tickets, not parking tickets of course, that’s illogical. I mean, tickets to shows. Women like going to shows. I guess. Don’t they? Wonder if she’d like a drama or a musical? It doesn’t matter to me as long as I’m with her. I mean I’d prefer going to a scientific implements convention, but she wants to see Annie Get Your Gun, I’m there! Hey! Wait a minute, this is how he inserted that passive transmitter, isn’t it? But how, exactly? I’ll have to ask...”
“Marshall!” Vaughn ran after him and grabbing him by the arm hissed, “You cannot tell Jack you know about the manual. You cannot....”
“Get a grip on reality, Vaughn. Jack knows everything. And everyone,” Marshall commented, noting absently to himself that the archivist on duty was the same one with whom Jack had had lunch that day. He shook his head. Poor Vaughn. “Jack will know. Sooner or later.”
“It needs to be later. After lunch tomorrow. Jack can’t know anything until after that.”
And it would be, Jack would not know anything until after that lunch, Vaughn thought with certainty, as he inserted his key into the lock of his and Sydney’s apartment, feeling pleased with himself. It had been a good day; the set up had been so simple. Jack would be proud of him once he got over wanting to commit murder. A long day though, once he’d taken Marshall to the Archives and shown him the manual. Marshall’s shock had been profound. Never had he heard such gibberish come from a seemingly-intelligent man’s mouth before. Well, that wasn’t true. Any man in the throes of love and lust could sound, and be, an idiot. But not him, not tonight. Tonight had been Marshall’s night to be confused about women. Not his. Nope, he had a perfect game plan, courtesy of Jack, the expert. Nothing would go wrong.
Jack had hung up the phone and sat there a moment in his office at home, pondering just what game Vaughn and Susan might be running. His imagination was failing him this time; he just could not imagine what Vaughn, of all people, might think a worthwhile game to run on Jack Bristow. What were his own blind spots? Well, that was an idiotic question, if he knew his own blind spots, they wouldn’t be blind spots, now would they? So, move along, he told himself. What did Vaughn think he could gain from running a game? Jack sat there, tapping a pencil while he allowed his mind to wander. What did Vaughn want in life? An unwrinkled forehead? A best friend who had interests other than eclairs and long-defunct television shows? A girlfriend with a decent French accent? A girlfriend who didn’t spend seemingly every Sunday afternoon hounding her father into looking at houses for sale or pacing the floor....
Wait, Jack thought, pausing in tapping the pencil. A while back, Vaughn had made a remark... Correction, he had whined to Jack that, “I wish you would just get a girlfriend, a steady girlfriend already. Every time you go out--”
“I barely go out, Michael. I can’t figure out what I wa....It’s not fair... Anyway, what’s your point?”Jack had asked, picking up a pencil while wondering what the hell this conversation, this bizarre personal conversation at work, at his own desk...
“If you’d let me finish, I’d explain! Every time you go out---” Vaughn grabbed the pencil out of Jack’s hands and broke it in half himself and tossed it on the desk.
“Every time! I’ve been on two or is it three dates!” Okay, Jack admitted it, he was confused as he stared at Vaughn’s tight face. How many wrinkles were on that forehead? One, two, three, four---
“Whatever. Sydney paces the floor until you make your requisite call-in at the end of the night.”
“And so?” So, he used to pace behind the locked doors of his office every time she had gone out with some slacker boy in high school. And all boys were slackers and not good enough for Sydney. Then. Now. He glared at Michael.
Michael glared back and asked tightly, “Why do you call in, anyway?”
“Because she makes me!” Jack explained.
“She makes you? Sydney makes you, Jack Bristow, call in at the end of a date?”
“Because, Barbie Boy, I’m not Jack Bristow to her, I’m her father. To you, however, I am Jack Bristow, who knows more ways to use my elbow than you have forehead wrinkles, so-“
“You’re not Jack Bristow to her, just her father? Ha. This call-in business makes no sense. You want to explain to me how that is? How she makes you do something?”
“Nope.”
“She’s afraid of you being alone, you know. She paces back and forth, back and forth...” Vaughn snarled, making his fingers walk back and forth across his desk. Jack raised his eyebrows at the sight. He hadn’t known Sydney did that.
“Meaning what? That she’s not paying attention to you? Oh, grow up. Sydney is not there for your entertainment. Get a hobby. Watch a hockey game or--” Jack gasped melodramatically, “Read a book.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“Or wait. I know. Why don’t you pull out that box of Barbies from under the bed and play with them? That might get Sydney’s attention if your presence isn’t enough---”
Vaughn had turned on his heel and walked away. Jack had sighed happily. The Barbie game always worked. But then again, misdirection almost always worked on Michael Vaughn.
But...Was Vaughn jealous of the time he spent with his daughter? Between helping him look for a house and...Vaughn was right, he realized. Sydney was like a mother hen with her sole chick with him sometimes. Worrying about his making friends, having hobbies... She needed children of her own, he decided, giving a photo of Sydney and Michael, a gift from Sydney for his birthday along with a photo of father and daughter, on the shelf in his room a glare. So, if Vaughn were jealous, wanted more time with Sydney.... how would he go about achieving that? Well, he couldn’t force Jack to buy a house. And even if he did, Sydney would no doubt want to help decorate it, so that wouldn’t gain Vaughn any time. So...what was left? It must be some way to find something to occupy his time so that Sydney would have more time for her little boyfriend. Wait. Boyfriend, girlfriend... 'Steady girlfriend... Why don't you get a steady girlfriend'? No, it couldn't be. But still... Were Vaughn and Susan trying to set him up? No. They wouldn’t do that. And who with, anyway? But...hmm. Maybe he should nip this in the bud after all.
He flipped open his phone and began to dial Susan’s number when he realized that it was her book group night. Besides, she would never crack under pressure anyway. She was from the Bronx. So, the weak link in that pairing would be Vaughn. He opened his phone. Time to track down Pretty Boy.
He dialed the duty desk and after identifying himself inquired, “Where is Agent Michael Vaughn right now, if he’s still on duty?.... The Archives?” Jack ground his teeth together and muttered to himself, ‘Damn that Kendall, he is dead. Dead.’ But wait, he should check. Dialing the archivist with whom he’d had lunch that day, he inquired this time, “Is Agent Michael Vaughn still in the Archives and if so, with whom? ... You must be joking.... No, I know he’s unmistakable. .... He looks shocked? I bet he does .... Yes, that is the item I wanted removed. It may not matter any more,” Jack sighed and hung up.
Sitting back he pondered his options. Well, beating Vaughn to a pulp wasn’t really one of them. Sydney might not like it if Pretty Boy’s face was messed up. But then again, he thought happily, he didn’t have to use the elbow to the face technique. There were others. Many other ways to torture someone. Sighing, he let his mind wander as he tried to decide what option to use. What had Vaughn been thinking to show that manual to Marshall! The boy was so naive, that section on his research methods alone would be enough to... Wait. Research methods. If Marshall was shocked he would revert to a comfort zone. He would want proof of the reproducibility of the results. He would ask Vaughn... And Vaughn would have no proof. Then Vaughn would begin to wonder why he had never tried some of those methods on the woman in his life. Jack thought that way deliberately, if he had to think about his daughter, he would have to find bleach for his brain, as he’d had to after seeing those few seconds of the tape.
He shuddered, sent his thoughts back to a safe place. Payback on Vaughn.
So Vaughn, who was feeling pretty smug these days, believing that his knowledge of that manual was his ace in the hole, his protection, would put two and two together and... Jack smiled. Come up with five. Because he didn’t know that Sydney knew. Ha. Life was good. He put his pencil down and left the office. Time to work on that project that was proving a little more difficult than he expected. But that was good, working with his hands had been a surprisingly-effective way of both relaxing and focusing his brain, as Judy, that annoyingly--too-often-correct woman, had told him it would be. As he opened up his tool box in the second bedroom, he looked at his watch, wondering just how long it would take Vaughn to screw up.
As Vaughn closed and locked the door behind him, he decided again that Marshall had been right. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? There was no reason not to use that technique. Sydney would never know the origin of the idea and it was a good one as long as he forgot that the Jonathan Donahue Bristow whose name was on title page, whose leftward-slanting scrawl of a signature below his name, was his girlfriend’s father. Yup, as long as he forgot all about that, he’d be fine. Better than fine. Who was he to ignore the advice of an expert?
And with an anticipatory smile, he went looking for Sydney, assuming that his day was about to get better. Perhaps, he thought, seeing that Sydney was already in bed, it might become even better than he had imagined. Maybe she had the same idea. Well, not the same idea. But..... A good day, he decided again. He was sure he and Susan were on the right track. Jack had no real way of knowing what lay ahead. Marshall had successfully hacked into the florist’s shop and confirmed the identity of the sender, not that there had been any doubt, but...knowledge was power, after all. Like his knowledge of Jack’s dissertation was power. In more than way, he thought, as he entered their bedroom and saw Sydney smiling as she saw him. What kind of smile, was that anyway? He wondered as he moved toward her. Gleeful? Mischievous? Well, well, looked like she’d had as good a day as he had.
And so, he had thought, he’d put the knowledge is power game into play. He had thought he was so...slick, when he had murmured shortly, his lips against her neck, “So, Sydney, tell me what you want.”
“What did you say?” she had said after a moment of silence, pulling back to look at him with an indecipherable look on her face.
“I just said, tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”
“Tell you? Oh my god.”
Now he could read that look. Somewhere between shock and horror. Then she cleared her face so quickly he thought he’d only imagined that look as she began to laugh. Hysterically he thought. He stared at her perplexed. “All I did was ask what you wanted. I thought you’d like that. I mean,” he coughed, “Someone told me that women---”
She had nearly fallen out of the bed then from another onslaught of maniacal laughter, then righting herself, had gotten up and stared at him like he was...well, he didn’t know what she saw when she looked at him, but clearly it was not good. Putting her hand over her mouth, she began laughing again. He quickly threw the covers over himself, she was making him nervous.
“I think....” She choked out. “I think I’ll go take a shower. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Take a nice long, hot shower.” And she had turned and nearly run from the room. He thought he had heard her murmur, “Scrub myself with a Brillo pad maybe. Or perhaps, bleach.”
But that made no sense. Why would she be washing dishes or doing laundry in the shower? He must have misheard, he decided, shaking his head.
He could hear her talking, muttering, but could make out no words other than, “Tell me!” After a long time, so long he was beginning to wonder just what she was doing in there, eventually, she emerged, covered head to toe in her winter bathrobe, her warm, flannel bathrobe. In July. Without saying a word, she went over to her dresser and began pulling out nightgowns and pajamas.
“Um, Syd, honey. May I ask what you’re doing?”
“Looking for these old pajamas of mine. I haven’t worn them in ten-twelve years, but I knew I saved them for a reason....Where are they? Oh! Here!” And she snapped the pajamas out of the very back of the drawer. He stared at them, in shock. Pink footie pajamas?
“Um, Syd, honey. It’s July. And you are a grown woman.”
“And your point is what, exactly?”
Okay, he was not that dumb. He could see the warning signs now that they were in bright flashing red, no pink, neon. He watched as she wiggled into the pajamas without removing the bathrobe first. Clearly, he had done something wrong and if he were wise-
“You know, Vaughn, I’m feeling a little stressed tonight. Maybe it would be best if you went...somewhere, did...something,” Sydney said as she zipped up the front of the pajamas and tossed the robe aside.
“But, if you’re feeling stressed, maybe I can help.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Is it that time of the month?” Vaughn asked solicitously.
“Is it WHAT?” Sydney forced herself to snarl so she would not once again break into hysterical laughter. She was sure she was holding onto sanity by a very thin thread.
“Uh-oh.”
“You know,” Sydney suggested with a pained smile, “Vaughn, why don’t you go somewhere and....fire your gun by yourself?”
“I BEG your pardon?” Vaughn asked incredulously, his mouth agape.
“I mean, why don’t you go to the gun range and do some target practice?”
“It’s closed now. It’s too late,” Vaughn said in confusion. This entire scene had become totally confusing. He was missing something, something important he could tell as he stared at his beautiful, sexy, dangerous girlfriend... in pink footie pajamas.
“Nah. My father has twenty-four access from the days when he had no other hobbies. Call him,” Sydney said, her lips firmed into a straight line, pointing toward the door, tapping her foot - her pink, fuzzy foot - in impatience.
When he pulled on his clothes and came over to give her a kiss, she turned her head at the last minute and all he got for his troubles was her cheekbone. Staring at her in surprise, he finally shook his head and left the room.
As he began to leave her heard her dial the phone. Decided he might as well put that spy training to some good use for once and ascertain what in hell the problem was, he paused. Then he heard, “Well, Midge, this is Barbie. You’ll never guess what Hot Look Ken said to me tonight.”
“I”m outta here!” Vaughn said and slammed the door behind him to a peel of laughter. Slamming his car door, he paused for a moment sitting there, then shook his head. Jack had once again ruined his sex life without even trying. Honestly, he had thought Jack’s manual was fool proof himself. And given that Sydney was his daughter, Vaughn had thought the plan would be perfect, absolutely perfect. Jack liked it, as Marshall pointed out, so he'd assumed Sydney, his daughter would like it too, genetics, after all. And all those women seemed to have liked it. But sigh. Women! That was the problem. You could never figure them out, no matter what Dr. Bristow thought. He almost wished he could throw this failure into Jack’s face. But, he sighed, talking with Jack about his daughter’s sex life - or lack thereof - would be one quick way to die.
And, he sighed again, he hadn’t even proposed yet. He really needed to do that, but no matter how many rings he and Weiss looked at it, he still couldn’t find the perfect one. Maybe he should ask Jack’s advice, the guy knew everything there was to know about jewelry. But right now, he’d settle for the access pass to the target range. Maybe Jack would go with him, the man was probably up late anyway. He started up his car and dialed his phone.
“Bristow,” Jack said into the phone for his personal line, cradling it on his shoulder as he struggled with this project.
“It’s me, Jack,” Vaughn sighed.
“What’s up, Michael?”
Looking down into his lap, Vaughn shrugged and muttered, “Not much anymore.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh nothing.”
“Okaay. Is Sydney alright?”
“The last I saw her, she was laughing her head off. Playing with her Barbies. Again. If anyone can explain to me why grown women find it a stress reliever to play with dolls, I’d really like to hear it and you know what else I’d like to know---” He bit his words off, he couldn’t after all ask Jack why using his own techniques on his daughter had not worked. Yuck. “Never mind.”
“Okaaay. So why are you calling?”
“Sydney said you had twenty-four access to the gun range and I---”
“Ah. Well, I do. But, why don’t you come on over and help me with a project I’m working on. I could use another pair of hands.”
“Is it a bomb or something destructive? I could get into that right now. I mean, I could really get into blowing something up.”
Jack laughed. Then laughed again, making Vaughn’s brow wrinkle in confusion. What was so funny? Was he missing something? Vaughn sighed, probably. He was clearly missing all sorts of Bristow family cues tonight. Jack sighed. “Vaughn, are you there?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m here. So, can we make incendiary devices? Destroy something with a lot of noise, smoke?”
“No. This hobby is not destructive. The opposite. You know, it’s far easier to destroy than create, so come on over and I’ll give you something that will take your mind off your troubles with a certain woman.”
Well, Vaughn sighed, that had actually worked out. Jack had greeted him with an oddly-smug smile, then he had cleared his face and gone straight to the refrigerator and handed out a beer for each of them. He had stood there in Jack’s kitchen and chugged the bottle and asked for another. Jack, who had taken just one sip and then had stared at Vaughn, had shaken his head and shoved the younger man in the direction of the tool box. That night, he and Jack had begun working on a new project and one day soon, it would be done. If Jack didn’t kill him first for his indecisiveness, that is. Or...he began to realize, for telling Marshall about that manual. Uh-oh.
Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea, he thought, waking up from a terrifying dream about the potential results of that error when Jack shook his shoulder. Vaulting up from Jack’s couch, where he had spent the night, Vaughn rubbed his face.
“Are you okay? Bad dream?” Jack asked as he stepped back, giving what in someone else, Vaughn thought, might be a look of concern. But...there was a certain gleam in the back of Jack’s eyes....
“Yeah. Nightmare. I was running away from... Never mind,” Vaughn said, frowning as he sat up on the couch. Rubbing his hands across his face, he felt the furrows on his forehead and immediately forced himself to relax.
“Running away from what, Michael? Errors in a game plan? Misjudging your target?” Jack asked with a ...was it a mischievous note in his voice?
Looking up sharply, Vaughn caught that same gleeful look that he had seen on Sydney’s face last night before the debacle of the manual. Well, he didn’t think this interaction was going to end with Jack Bristow in pink footie pajamas, but perhaps it would be best to leave. Now. That look in Jack’s eyes was starting to worry him. He stood up and looked at Jack warily.
“You know, a little word of advice,” Jack said softly. “If you don’t mind. Or even if you do. As I’ve said to Sydney on occasion, you have potential. You just need some work on anticipating outcomes.”
“Anticipating outcomes? What the hell does that mean?” Vaughn asked, bristling. He had been told the same thing ever since his first training program.
“Clearly last night, you did not anticipate that the outcome of your .... choices, shall we say, would lead you to spending the night sleeping on my couch, instead of in your own.... bed,” Jack said, with a barely discernable curl to his lip. “So... I’m thinking that you might want to reevaluate your game plans in general.”
“My game plans are... I have no game plans in motion,” Vaughn corrected himself quickly. Jack couldn’t know. Could he? No, no. He was just being over sensitive because of the failure with Sydney last night and his belated regrets over telling Marshall about the manual. Okay, that had been a bad idea. But.... No, his game plan was good. He needed.... He needed to talk to Susan. Step one was just hours away, after all. “I need to go!”
“Well, the bathroom is right down the hall,” Jack said, biting his own lip to keep from smiling.
“I don’t mean that! I mean I need to go home, shower, get dressed, get to work. Big day ahead, big day.”
“Big day? Today is a slow day unless something unexpected comes up. Isn’t that why you suggested everyone meet at noon for a group lunch in the cafeteria? Because it’s going to be a slow day and we can all relax together for once? Isn’t that why you suggested that, Michael? Or am I mistaken?”Jack asked in that soft voice that made Vaughn’s heart race, once Sydney had told him the softer the voice the bigger the trouble.
Did Jack have to stare at him like that too, Vaughn thought in a panic. Look away, look away, he told himself. “Um, no, you’re not mistaken, Jack, “Vaughn said, looking down, hoping Jack would ignore the ‘um.’ He spoke up quickly. “Of course not. You’re never wrong, are you?”
“Oh, I’ve had my moments of mistakes. Don’t make my decision to trust you one of them,” Jack said softly, hiding his smile. If Vaughn didn’t leave soon, he was going to start laughing in front of him.
Vaughn picked up the blanket he had tossed to the floor in the throes of his dream of Jack finding ways to torture him. “I need to go,” he said again, grabbing his shirt from the chair and buttoning it up. I... Besides," Vaughn said as he put on his shoes and stood up. "I'm hungry and all you have in your fridge is left-over Chinese. I mean, really, Jack. What do you eat? You don't even have a stinkin' toaster! Who doesn't own a toaster! That's just not normal," Vaughn muttered as he began to go out the door.
"Boy, someone's knickers are in a twist this morning. Poor Ken must miss his Barbie," Jack said with a smile.
As the door slammed, Jack said to himself, "I guess I should buy a toaster," and picking up a pencil added it to the ever-growing list on his refrigerator.
“You know, a little word of advice,” Jack said softly. “If you don’t mind. Or even if you do. As I’ve said to Sydney on occasion, you have potential. You just need some work on anticipating outcomes.”
“Anticipating outcomes? What the hell does that mean?” Vaughn asked, bristling. He had been told the same thing ever since his first training program.
“Clearly last night, you did not anticipate that the outcome of your .... choices, shall we say, would lead you to spending the night sleeping on my couch, instead of in your own.... bed,” Jack said, with a barely discernable curl to his lip. “So... I’m thinking that you might want to reevaluate your game plans in general.”
“My game plans are... I have no game plans in motion,” Vaughn corrected himself quickly. Jack couldn’t know. Could he? No, no. He was just being over sensitive because of the failure with Sydney last night and his belated regrets over telling Marshall about the manual. Okay, that had been a bad idea. But.... No, his game plan was good. He needed.... He needed to talk to Susan. Step one was just hours away, after all. “I need to go!”
“Well, the bathroom is right down the hall,” Jack said, biting his own lip to keep from smiling.
“I don’t mean that! I mean I need to go home, shower, get dressed, get to work. Big day ahead, big day.”
“Big day? Today is a slow day unless something unexpected comes up. Isn’t that why you suggested everyone meet at noon for a group lunch in the cafeteria? Because it’s going to be a slow day and we can all relax together for once? Isn’t that why you suggested that, Michael? Or am I mistaken?”Jack asked in that soft voice that made Vaughn’s heart race, once Sydney had told him the softer the voice the bigger the trouble.
Did Jack have to stare at him like that too, Vaughn thought in a panic. Look away, look away, he told himself. “Um, no, you’re not mistaken, Jack, “Vaughn said, looking down, hoping Jack would ignore the ‘um.’ He spoke up quickly. “Of course not. You’re never wrong, are you?”
“Oh, I’ve had my moments of mistakes. Don’t make my decision to trust you one of them,” Jack said softly, hiding his smile. If Vaughn didn’t leave soon, he was going to start laughing in front of him.
Vaughn picked up the blanket he had tossed to the floor in the throes of his dream of Jack finding ways to torture him. “I need to go,” he said again, grabbing his shirt from the chair and buttoning it up. I... Besides," Vaughn said as he put on his shoes and stood up. "I'm hungry and all you have in your fridge is left over Chinese. I mean, really, Jack. What do you eat? You don't even have a stinkin' toaster! Who doesn't own a toaster! That's just not normal," Vaughn muttered as he began to go out the door.
"Boy, someone's knickers are in a twist this morning. Poor Ken must miss his Barbie," Jack said with a smile. As the door slammed, Jack said to himself, "I guess I should buy a toaster," and picking up a pencil added it to his ever-growing list on his refrigerator.
Part 2
(I’ll leave the exact time frame up to your own personal notions of how much time is appropriate, necessary and/or sufficient.)
“The package for which we have been waiting has arrived.”
“Really? Finally. You were correct in your suppositions. Good job at analysis. What were the contents? Typical or....unique?”
“Definitely unique. Special. A significant amount of time and effort went into the selection of the contents of said package. As well as the creative recycling involved of a certain item.”
“Really? That’s interesting....Did the package have the...desired effect?”
“If by that you mean shock, a peel of laughter, and a slammed door when I pointed out the...information packet, then yes.”
“Really! That’s very interesting.”
“The contents of said packet were even more interesting.”
“Really? How did you come to possess that information?” Vaughn asked.
“I steamed it open,” Susan said. “How else?”
“How else indeed?” Vaughn said, biting his lip to keep from laughing aloud. She really needed to meet Eric. “Well, what did it say?”
“I’m not sure I’m prepared to take my life in my hands by divulging the contents.“
“You made that decision when you heated the water.”
Susan sighed. “Good point. It said, ‘Thank you for everything. I could not have done it without you. And your faith. It made all the difference.’”
“Really! That’s very interesting...”
“It had that distinctive left-ward slant, but the bad news is that there was no signature-“
“Of course not.” He sighed deeply. “It couldn’t be that easy.”
“So you’ll need to verify. There can be no room for error on this op.” Vaughn rolled his eyes at her words. She continued, “Marshall can hack in, I’m sure. Here is the name of the florist-“
“Wait, he actually allowed the florist to use a card with identifying information on it?”
“No, of course not. I had to chase the delivery person down and bribe him for the name of the shop. You owe me.”
“I’ll buy you some jello at lunch one day,” Vaughn offered with a smile he suppressed when he saw Jack glancing casually around the Op Center. As if Jack did anything casually. What was he looking for, no, for what was he looking? Then he rolled his eyes, he could dangle a preposition in his own mind if he wanted, thank you very much!
“Better have whipped cream on it. I’d like something sweet before I meet my untimely end.”
Vaughn looked over at Weiss, who was staring at him curiously. “I think I can arrange that. Gotta go.”
“Roger that.”
She really needed to meet Weiss, Vaughn thought as he hung up and leaned back in his chair. Steepling his fingers in front of his mouth to hide his grin, he looked up suddenly. Weiss was staring at him. Uh-oh.
“‘Really?’ ‘That’s interesting’? What’s so interesting, Mike?” Eric asked suspiciously.
“I’m not sure you really want to know.”
“Why not?”
Vaughn sighed, then firmed his lips trying not to grin. “It’s a little....personal...game I’m running on Jack.”
“Good joke, but seriously....Oh. My. God.” Eric just stared at Vaughn. “He’s gonna shoot you in the face. No, the nuts. He’s gonna shoot you in the nuts. Doubleplay. Keep them away from his daughter and payback for whatever the hell you think you’re doing. Your days as a man are over,” Eric moaned, covering his face with his hands and rocking back and forth in his chair. “No warnings this time. Boom. You’re dead. So dead.”
“Nah. He’ll thank me. Eventually,” Vaughn said firmly, wondering just whom he was trying to convince, Weiss or himself.
“Th----! You really need to resume your sessions with Dr. Barnett, my friend.”
“Why?”
“Because...Clearly you are INSANE!” Weiss exclaimed.
Jack’s eyes narrowed. What had those two been discussing over there ever since Vaughn had hung up the phone? What was Weiss so upset about? Why did Vaughn look so smug? Vaughn and smug were never a good combination. This situation required investigation. He slid out of his chair and sauntered over.
“So,” he said, putting a heavy hand on Weiss’ shoulder, picking the weak link in the pairing of this Gruesome Twosome. Absently feeling a sense of satisfaction when he saw the pulse in Weiss’ neck speed up, he asked ominously, “What are you two planning over here? Anything I should know?” He leveled his trademark glare on Weiss. Vaughn was proving increasingly, annoyingly immune to it.
Eric stood up abruptly, loosening the grip Jack had on him and shook his head. “I know nothink! Nothink, Colonel Klink.”
Both Vaughn and Jack stared at him. Looking at each other, they repeated, “Colonel Klink?"
Vaughn asked, "Hogan's Heroes?"
Jack shook his head, "But Weiss, Kendall is the bald one. Not me."
"Yeah, Eric," Vaughn said warming to the topic. "Jack would probably be Hogan. Kendall would be Colonel Klink. Actually, can't you just see him with a monocle? Standing off to the side, raising it up, peering at us, like he's doing right now, wondering what the prisoners are planning?"
"I guess that would make you the little French guy, Louis LeBeau, Vaughn," Jack said with a smirk.
"Well, it's a better option than being Sargeant Schulzie, the role Weiss seems to be have assigned for himself, don't you think?"
"I agree---" Jack began, keeping a careful eye on the amount of red in Weiss' face. Any moment now....
"Enough!" Weiss exclaimed. "You two are so weird lately. Why are we discussing Hogan's Heroes?"
"You brought it up," Vaughn said patiently.
"Yes, you did, Eric. Why is that?" Jack pressed, noting the panicked look Vaughn sent in his friend's direction.
Weiss began walking away. Jack called out, “Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“I need to buy a suit. Black. For a funeral,” Weiss said with a heavy look at Vaughn.
“What is he talking about?” Jack asked suspiciously, staring at Vaughn.
“I’m amazed, you just dangled a preposition. And Weiss? Oh, he’s just being funny.”
“I’m not laughing,” Jack said, sticking his hands in his pants pockets.
“You seldom do,” Vaughn sighed. “It’s a shame.” It's also a lie, lately anyway, he thought as he stood up and looked around, wondering where Sydney was, then nodded at her when he saw her watching them curiously. He might need her for protection, he thought, as he suggested brightly, “The lack of laughter? Perhaps you should talk to Dr. Barnett about that?” He took a quick step backward. He was not a fool. Foolhardy perhaps, but not a fool. “Is there anything else, Jack?”
“No...”
“Well. Okay. Then.” Stop it, you’re about to stutter. Just shut up. Look away, look down. Look anywhere but into his eyes. Sit down. There’s another good idea. He sat.
Jack stared at him. Coming to a decision, he walked away, sat down at his own desk and stared at Vaughn, who was rearranging the items on his desk. Pretty Boy bore watching, but sometimes it was best to let the hand play out.
But...then again. Foreknowledge was power. Jack skewed his eyes toward Sydney. When she caught his glance, he looked at Weiss briefly, than back again. She nodded. Heading quickly toward Weiss, she grabbed his arm. “So, Eric, tell me---”
“Oh, no. I’m not getting involved. Ignorance is my friend. Nope. Not gonna happen. No. Aw... c’mon, Sydney...Don’t....”
Turning around in his chair quickly, Jack glared at Vaughn to misdirect him from Sydney’s activities and smiled slightly, that smile he knew still caused Vaughn to shudder. Ah, there it was. He still had it. Maybe it was time to bring out the pencils again.
Vaughn watched Jack who was watching him. He shuddered at that smile, then sighed. Oh no, was Jack taking out a pencil again? This was ridiculous. He was an agent, a spy, and he couldn’t even run a game, a little, tiny game on Jack? It was no big deal, Jack wouldn’t be angry. He might even thank him.... After he got done killing him, of course, for meddling. But he was meddling for a good cause, he told himself firmly, even as he sighed with deep relief when Jack finally got up and went to lunch. He was meeting, Vaughn knew thanks to Sydney’s offhand comment, some archivist. No doubt, Vaughn thought with an inner smile, trying to find a way to eradicate from the Archives’ holdings a certain manual bound in bright blue. Interesting, even enlightening reading, but not perhaps something he wanted the world to know. Or more specifically, his daughter to know. Ha. So, even if he screwed this up, Vaughn decided, he still had that piece of information to hold over Jack’s head. So, yes, this was okay. It would work out. He had a good plan for a good reason and even if Jack were angry about the meddling he couldn’t do too much about it because he knew something Jack would not want Sydney to know.
So. It was going to be okay, he decided, as he stood and straightened his suit jacket and walked over into Marshall’s area. “Marshall,” Vaughn began. “I need you to do me a favor. But you’ll need to keep it quiet.”
“I know,” Marshall whispered, looking from side to side. “You’re running a game on Jack. Mr. Bristow. Sydney’s dad. Hey, what do you call him?”
“The grim reaper, if I screw this up,” Vaughn muttered. “But how did you know?”
“I have this parabolic listening device I’m working on. It allows me to----“
“Jack doesn’t have one, does he?” Vaughn asked sharply.
“Nah. He never wants to play with my gadgets before they’re fully functional.” Vaughn bit his lip. Marshall continued, “Neither does Carrie, for that matter and you would think she would--.”
Vaughn burst out laughing, “Most women don’t, Marshall.” When Marshall stared at him blankly, Vaughn commented, “Most women don’t necessarily want to play with a man’s gadgets before they are fully functional. I cannot of course comment on Jack, but I don’t think he----“
“I...Oh! Ew! Jack...no, no, not like that. I mean, I don’t swing that way, if you know what I mean. Not that I’ve had much opportunity to swing any way with anyone, but I’m pretty sure, completely sure, I mean, that I’d rather swing in the direction of someone like....” He stopped, swallowed and blushed.
“Carrie, right?” Vaughn asked quietly, with a smile.
“Yeah. I just can’t seem to... I mean, she’s been so patient, but--- Can you give me some advice?”
“Well, first off? When there’s a choice between being with your girlfriend and watching a MacGyver rerun? C’mon!”
“Uh-oh. Do I make the wrong choice on those nights? I do, I do,” Marshall moaned. Wiping the sweat from his forehead with an equally clammy hand, then reaching for a tissue and blotting his skin, he whined, “But she never said anything! How am I supposed to know what she’s thinking if she won’t just tell me? Am I supposed to be a mind reader?”
“Short answer? Yes. Long answer? Yes.”
“You know what I think about Rambaldi, Vaughn? If he had been such a freakin’ genius, he would have applied his talents to understanding the way a woman’s mind works. That’s the greatest secret in the universe, not time travel or immortality.”
“Marshall, you’re a genius yourself---”
“Vaughn, I may have a ridiculously-high IQ, but when it comes to social interactions, particularly with women, well, it may have escaped your notice... Not that I think it could escape your notice. I mean you’re a trained agent, trained to notice details. And this isn’t really a detail, it’s more like the big picture, the whole enchilada---”
“Marshall! Focus,” Vaughn snapped. Then winced, and wiped his hand across his forehead. His damn furrowed forehead, he realized, knowing he had just sounded like Jack Bristow. ‘Focus?’ “I’m sorry. I mean, what are you trying to say about yourself? I’m listening.”
“Okay. For a moment there you kinda scared me. I mean, you sounded like Jack. Mr. Bristow. Sydney’s dad.”
“I scared myself. But... let’s return to the main point,” Vaughn suggested, thinking he needed to spend less time with Jack.
“Oh. Me. And my complete inability to understand what women want. It’s probably obvious to you that I’m a total geek and unless there’s a manual I could memorize on how to handle oneself in these situations---”
“There is,” Vaughn blurted out, then looked around furtively.
“There is?” Marshall whispered. “Tell me where it is, what it is, and I’ll hack into anything you want. Is it the NSC? The White House? The Kremlin?”
“No. It’s a florist shop downtown.”
“It is I.”
“Yes? I assume you’re calling in for a report?”
“Did you acquire any significant intel?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“And the reason for your failure would be....”
“Subject was ignorant of the details of the op.”
“Ignorant? Willful ignorance?”
“Yes. Subject expressed fear that acquiring prior knowledge of the op would result in his mutilation, dismemberment and/or death by the intended object of the op when the truth is revealed, whatever that is.”
“And the intended object of the op would be?”
“You.”
“Ah, as I suspected.”
“Subject did indicate that there are two co-conspirators.”
“Color me unsurprised.”
“I see. You have the same supposition as to the identity of the second conspirator as I do. What is the next step? I would recommend pretending ignorance yourself.”
“Will the subject comply with that game plan?”
“Subject wishes to remain completely outside the parameters of this op and will maintain ignorance of any knowledge of our knowledge. Subject feels that course of action, or inaction as the case may be, is in his best interests.”
“I would agree with your assessment. Given the nature of the two co-conspirators, it is highly unlikely that there is any malice intended. Rather, these two...individuals no doubt feel that they are engaged in something... helpful. Moreover, if we perform an end run on this op, the dogged persistence of the co-conspirators, their general do-gooder mentality will merely delay the inevitable. In the interest of flushing these.... snipes from the woods we will ---”
“Let the hand play out?”
“Yes. For now.”
‘Copy that. This should be interesting.”
“Interesting? Like a root canal is interesting?”
“Ha, ha. Well, that’s all I have to report. I think I’m just going to read until Ken comes home. Hmm, he’s late. Wonder where he is,” she mused. “Well, good night, Dad. Love you.”
“Good night, sweetheart. We’ll talk tomorrow. Love you too,” Jack flipped his phone closed with a smile. Then frowning, he began to wonder himself about the whereabouts of a certain conspirator.
Vaughn put his chin into his palm and sighed. How long would it take for Marshall to overcome his shock? Maybe this had not been the best idea. Marshall had been staring and sweating for the longest time as he was speedreading the research portion of the dissertation and muttering.
“I... Jack... No, that can’t be, he wouldn’t have written his dissertation on... No. This is a joke. Not that Jack makes that many jokes. But that’s not true. Lately, for a while, he’s had a sense of humor, not a slap-your-knees kind of sense of humor, no. He likes to tease, especially you, Vaughn. Don’t be shocked, but I think Jack actually likes you. A little. He’d like you more if you proposed to Sydney, but... This, this I just don’t see... I don’t want to see. Oh, no, when I see him again. I will not look into his eyes. But if I don’t look into his eyes, he’ll know something’s wrong. But if I do look into his eyes, he’ll know something’s wrong. There has to be a way out of this.... I still can’t believe he wrote a game theory piece on ... But then again, human psychology is the most interesting game of all, so... But still...” He looked from side to side and whispered, “This is about sex. Although I guess most of sex is psychology. Or maybe that’s just how I think about it because I can’t get up the nerve.... Not that I can’t get up other things, that’s-“
“Too much information, Marshall.”
“Sorry, just thinking aloud. But the psychology of it - that’s what this work is about, isn’t it? That I think it’s all a head game? Oooh, that didn’t sound right. Sorry. But... No. Wait. Doesn’t this research tell you a lot about what Jack thinks about sex?”
“In the field, anyway,” Vaughn shrugged. “Doesn’t necessarily have much to do with him personally, I would-“
“I don’t know about that. He had to devise the initial idea, after all,” Marshall interrupted to say. “And there’s compartmentalization and then there’s stupidity. If this technique works on women in the field - and isn’t that why you are showing it to me - why wouldn’t it work at home? Vaughn... It can’t be this simple. Can it? But then again, Jack is always saying how the best ideas are the simplest ones. And in computer programming for example, the simplest programs are the most elegant, the ones least likely to lead to endless loops and... But then again, sometimes when something is too simple, it’s boring. Like a lot of modern architecture? All those clean lines, white walls, glass. Boring. You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. I wonder if Jack ever got bored with this technique? Not that I’m equating women with modern architecture, mind you. I mean women don’t have straight lines. And they’re not boring. Nor clear, not like glass at all, of course. In fact, I think they’re pretty opaque, don’t you?”
“I---”
“Probably not. Have you ever asked him?” Marshall inquired, looking up, his eyes still wide with shock.
“Asked him what?” Vaughn rubbed his forehead. He was lost.
“About the technique? If he got bored using it? If there are any permutations on it he discovered after finishing the manual? I notice there are no updates on file.”
“Are you insane? I’m not supposed to even know about this!” Vaughn told him urgently.
“Then what are we doing here?” Marshall asked the obvious question.
“Showing it to you!” Vaughn hissed, looking around, belatedly realizing that Jack might have spies here.
“Have you tried this out yourself?” Marshall asked.
“Well, no. I’ve been with Sydney and this is for women you’re just picking up-“
“No, it’s not. Extrapolate. Besides, Vaughn. Basic scientific method indicates that one must be able to replicate the results of the experiment. And if you haven’t even tried to replicate it, you can’t truly assert the veracity of the results.”
“Huh?”
“I mean, why haven’t you really tried it out? Are you afraid you’d fail? I would be. It seems fool proof, but if you fail, is it a personal failure or a failure of the technique? It’s difficult to ascertain how to set up a control and an experiment.... I guess Jack could be the control group and anyone else who ever tried it would be the experiment. But... who else knows about this?”
“I don’t know how many others do. I do know Kendall---”
Marshall rolled his eyes, “Even I know he would not constitute a good candidate for replicating the results. The guy... has issues. Do you think it’s the lack of hair? Does he have self esteem problems?”
“Kendall? He has too much self esteem. I think the real problem is that he’s just a jerk. Jack told me that Kendall actually referred to women as chicklets until Jack told him to stop. Wait. How come you’re talking like this? No tangents?” Vaughn said slowly.
“I’m in shock. Or going in and out of shock, rather, if you want to be perfectly accurate.”
“So, when you’re in shock, your brain just works in straight path?”
“Sure. Doesn’t yours?” Marshall asked and then looking at Vaughn shook his head. Sometimes he wondered whether or not Vaughn’s mind actually took any logical paths, he seemed to have trouble anticipating outcomes or at least anticipating what he, Marshall, was talking about. And wasn’t he perfectly clear, accurate at all times? Marshall sighed. “Well, we know Jack’s techniques, now... But wait, isn’t this too much information on someone we know? ... I don’t think I should know this.... Oh, boy, how am I going to look at him tomorrow? At that lunch we’re all having? I’ll choke. I’ll need to choose soft foods. Yogurt, jello. Yogurt is good for you, you know. Jello isn’t, but it tastes good, especially with whipped cream. Epecially the kind that comes from a can, don't you think? Sometimes my mom puts the little plastic preprepared cups of jello in my lunch, you know. No whipped cream then. Did you ever think about the meaning of the colors of jello? I mean, when I get purple I know my mom’s mad at me for something, but when I-“
“The shock is wearing off, Marshall?” Vaughn sighed.
“Yes. How could you tell? But then again, if he’s an expert, he would want to share.... But wait, Sydney, Sydney doesn’t know, does she?”
At that Vaughn had sat up straight and hissed, “Of course not! That’s the whole point.”
“The whole point of what? Forget it, I don’t want to know. But back to the scientific method-“
“Must we? I thought you could just read this and-“
Marshall sighed, “This is a dissertation on a theory, research and outcomes of the research. Basic scientific method. How can you recommend this as a technique if you haven’t experimented with it yourself?”
“Well, it seems obvious once you think about it. And if you ever saw the contents of Jack’s duty files, you’d know that his success rate was phenomenal.”
“But he has the hair, too,” Marshall noted, remembering that conversation in the Op Center. Oh, no wonder Vaughn had forgotten that. He had been traumatized by the dolls at the time.
“The what?”
“The hair. Women like his hair. Remember that conversation about Hot Look Ken’s hair? It all started when Carrie brought up the subject of Jack’s hair.”
“For the love of god, not the Barbies again,” Vaughn moaned. “I just can’t take the Barbie business.”
Marshall shook his head, “You know, I think I should stick to what I know best. Making that hair gel for Hot Look Ken netted me a kiss from both Sydney and Carrie. And last time Nia was here, I got a kiss from her too for sending her a package of the stuff. Yup, I think I’ll just stick with what I know. But... I will use this idea. I’ll ask Carrie to tell me the truth. Does she want me to be with her or... maybe she’d want to watch MacGyver with me? Or maybe... She’ll tell me if I ask. Maybe Jack had the right idea....” Marshall said, shoving the bright blue book at Vaughn and walking away. “Maybe, I should call her and ask her point blank what she wants. Maybe...I should do it in person. Maybe I should call first. No, maybe I should just go to her house? So many permutations on the basic theory. Maybe I should ask Jack for advice, not you,” Marshall nodded firmly. “Yes, that’s the ticket. Maybe I need to buy more tickets, not parking tickets of course, that’s illogical. I mean, tickets to shows. Women like going to shows. I guess. Don’t they? Wonder if she’d like a drama or a musical? It doesn’t matter to me as long as I’m with her. I mean I’d prefer going to a scientific implements convention, but she wants to see Annie Get Your Gun, I’m there! Hey! Wait a minute, this is how he inserted that passive transmitter, isn’t it? But how, exactly? I’ll have to ask...”
“Marshall!” Vaughn ran after him and grabbing him by the arm hissed, “You cannot tell Jack you know about the manual. You cannot....”
“Get a grip on reality, Vaughn. Jack knows everything. And everyone,” Marshall commented, noting absently to himself that the archivist on duty was the same one with whom Jack had had lunch that day. He shook his head. Poor Vaughn. “Jack will know. Sooner or later.”
“It needs to be later. After lunch tomorrow. Jack can’t know anything until after that.”
And it would be, Jack would not know anything until after that lunch, Vaughn thought with certainty, as he inserted his key into the lock of his and Sydney’s apartment, feeling pleased with himself. It had been a good day; the set up had been so simple. Jack would be proud of him once he got over wanting to commit murder. A long day though, once he’d taken Marshall to the Archives and shown him the manual. Marshall’s shock had been profound. Never had he heard such gibberish come from a seemingly-intelligent man’s mouth before. Well, that wasn’t true. Any man in the throes of love and lust could sound, and be, an idiot. But not him, not tonight. Tonight had been Marshall’s night to be confused about women. Not his. Nope, he had a perfect game plan, courtesy of Jack, the expert. Nothing would go wrong.
Jack had hung up the phone and sat there a moment in his office at home, pondering just what game Vaughn and Susan might be running. His imagination was failing him this time; he just could not imagine what Vaughn, of all people, might think a worthwhile game to run on Jack Bristow. What were his own blind spots? Well, that was an idiotic question, if he knew his own blind spots, they wouldn’t be blind spots, now would they? So, move along, he told himself. What did Vaughn think he could gain from running a game? Jack sat there, tapping a pencil while he allowed his mind to wander. What did Vaughn want in life? An unwrinkled forehead? A best friend who had interests other than eclairs and long-defunct television shows? A girlfriend with a decent French accent? A girlfriend who didn’t spend seemingly every Sunday afternoon hounding her father into looking at houses for sale or pacing the floor....
Wait, Jack thought, pausing in tapping the pencil. A while back, Vaughn had made a remark... Correction, he had whined to Jack that, “I wish you would just get a girlfriend, a steady girlfriend already. Every time you go out--”
“I barely go out, Michael. I can’t figure out what I wa....It’s not fair... Anyway, what’s your point?”Jack had asked, picking up a pencil while wondering what the hell this conversation, this bizarre personal conversation at work, at his own desk...
“If you’d let me finish, I’d explain! Every time you go out---” Vaughn grabbed the pencil out of Jack’s hands and broke it in half himself and tossed it on the desk.
“Every time! I’ve been on two or is it three dates!” Okay, Jack admitted it, he was confused as he stared at Vaughn’s tight face. How many wrinkles were on that forehead? One, two, three, four---
“Whatever. Sydney paces the floor until you make your requisite call-in at the end of the night.”
“And so?” So, he used to pace behind the locked doors of his office every time she had gone out with some slacker boy in high school. And all boys were slackers and not good enough for Sydney. Then. Now. He glared at Michael.
Michael glared back and asked tightly, “Why do you call in, anyway?”
“Because she makes me!” Jack explained.
“She makes you? Sydney makes you, Jack Bristow, call in at the end of a date?”
“Because, Barbie Boy, I’m not Jack Bristow to her, I’m her father. To you, however, I am Jack Bristow, who knows more ways to use my elbow than you have forehead wrinkles, so-“
“You’re not Jack Bristow to her, just her father? Ha. This call-in business makes no sense. You want to explain to me how that is? How she makes you do something?”
“Nope.”
“She’s afraid of you being alone, you know. She paces back and forth, back and forth...” Vaughn snarled, making his fingers walk back and forth across his desk. Jack raised his eyebrows at the sight. He hadn’t known Sydney did that.
“Meaning what? That she’s not paying attention to you? Oh, grow up. Sydney is not there for your entertainment. Get a hobby. Watch a hockey game or--” Jack gasped melodramatically, “Read a book.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“Or wait. I know. Why don’t you pull out that box of Barbies from under the bed and play with them? That might get Sydney’s attention if your presence isn’t enough---”
Vaughn had turned on his heel and walked away. Jack had sighed happily. The Barbie game always worked. But then again, misdirection almost always worked on Michael Vaughn.
But...Was Vaughn jealous of the time he spent with his daughter? Between helping him look for a house and...Vaughn was right, he realized. Sydney was like a mother hen with her sole chick with him sometimes. Worrying about his making friends, having hobbies... She needed children of her own, he decided, giving a photo of Sydney and Michael, a gift from Sydney for his birthday along with a photo of father and daughter, on the shelf in his room a glare. So, if Vaughn were jealous, wanted more time with Sydney.... how would he go about achieving that? Well, he couldn’t force Jack to buy a house. And even if he did, Sydney would no doubt want to help decorate it, so that wouldn’t gain Vaughn any time. So...what was left? It must be some way to find something to occupy his time so that Sydney would have more time for her little boyfriend. Wait. Boyfriend, girlfriend... 'Steady girlfriend... Why don't you get a steady girlfriend'? No, it couldn't be. But still... Were Vaughn and Susan trying to set him up? No. They wouldn’t do that. And who with, anyway? But...hmm. Maybe he should nip this in the bud after all.
He flipped open his phone and began to dial Susan’s number when he realized that it was her book group night. Besides, she would never crack under pressure anyway. She was from the Bronx. So, the weak link in that pairing would be Vaughn. He opened his phone. Time to track down Pretty Boy.
He dialed the duty desk and after identifying himself inquired, “Where is Agent Michael Vaughn right now, if he’s still on duty?.... The Archives?” Jack ground his teeth together and muttered to himself, ‘Damn that Kendall, he is dead. Dead.’ But wait, he should check. Dialing the archivist with whom he’d had lunch that day, he inquired this time, “Is Agent Michael Vaughn still in the Archives and if so, with whom? ... You must be joking.... No, I know he’s unmistakable. .... He looks shocked? I bet he does .... Yes, that is the item I wanted removed. It may not matter any more,” Jack sighed and hung up.
Sitting back he pondered his options. Well, beating Vaughn to a pulp wasn’t really one of them. Sydney might not like it if Pretty Boy’s face was messed up. But then again, he thought happily, he didn’t have to use the elbow to the face technique. There were others. Many other ways to torture someone. Sighing, he let his mind wander as he tried to decide what option to use. What had Vaughn been thinking to show that manual to Marshall! The boy was so naive, that section on his research methods alone would be enough to... Wait. Research methods. If Marshall was shocked he would revert to a comfort zone. He would want proof of the reproducibility of the results. He would ask Vaughn... And Vaughn would have no proof. Then Vaughn would begin to wonder why he had never tried some of those methods on the woman in his life. Jack thought that way deliberately, if he had to think about his daughter, he would have to find bleach for his brain, as he’d had to after seeing those few seconds of the tape.
He shuddered, sent his thoughts back to a safe place. Payback on Vaughn.
So Vaughn, who was feeling pretty smug these days, believing that his knowledge of that manual was his ace in the hole, his protection, would put two and two together and... Jack smiled. Come up with five. Because he didn’t know that Sydney knew. Ha. Life was good. He put his pencil down and left the office. Time to work on that project that was proving a little more difficult than he expected. But that was good, working with his hands had been a surprisingly-effective way of both relaxing and focusing his brain, as Judy, that annoyingly--too-often-correct woman, had told him it would be. As he opened up his tool box in the second bedroom, he looked at his watch, wondering just how long it would take Vaughn to screw up.
As Vaughn closed and locked the door behind him, he decided again that Marshall had been right. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? There was no reason not to use that technique. Sydney would never know the origin of the idea and it was a good one as long as he forgot that the Jonathan Donahue Bristow whose name was on title page, whose leftward-slanting scrawl of a signature below his name, was his girlfriend’s father. Yup, as long as he forgot all about that, he’d be fine. Better than fine. Who was he to ignore the advice of an expert?
And with an anticipatory smile, he went looking for Sydney, assuming that his day was about to get better. Perhaps, he thought, seeing that Sydney was already in bed, it might become even better than he had imagined. Maybe she had the same idea. Well, not the same idea. But..... A good day, he decided again. He was sure he and Susan were on the right track. Jack had no real way of knowing what lay ahead. Marshall had successfully hacked into the florist’s shop and confirmed the identity of the sender, not that there had been any doubt, but...knowledge was power, after all. Like his knowledge of Jack’s dissertation was power. In more than way, he thought, as he entered their bedroom and saw Sydney smiling as she saw him. What kind of smile, was that anyway? He wondered as he moved toward her. Gleeful? Mischievous? Well, well, looked like she’d had as good a day as he had.
And so, he had thought, he’d put the knowledge is power game into play. He had thought he was so...slick, when he had murmured shortly, his lips against her neck, “So, Sydney, tell me what you want.”
“What did you say?” she had said after a moment of silence, pulling back to look at him with an indecipherable look on her face.
“I just said, tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”
“Tell you? Oh my god.”
Now he could read that look. Somewhere between shock and horror. Then she cleared her face so quickly he thought he’d only imagined that look as she began to laugh. Hysterically he thought. He stared at her perplexed. “All I did was ask what you wanted. I thought you’d like that. I mean,” he coughed, “Someone told me that women---”
She had nearly fallen out of the bed then from another onslaught of maniacal laughter, then righting herself, had gotten up and stared at him like he was...well, he didn’t know what she saw when she looked at him, but clearly it was not good. Putting her hand over her mouth, she began laughing again. He quickly threw the covers over himself, she was making him nervous.
“I think....” She choked out. “I think I’ll go take a shower. Yes, that’s what I’ll do. Take a nice long, hot shower.” And she had turned and nearly run from the room. He thought he had heard her murmur, “Scrub myself with a Brillo pad maybe. Or perhaps, bleach.”
But that made no sense. Why would she be washing dishes or doing laundry in the shower? He must have misheard, he decided, shaking his head.
He could hear her talking, muttering, but could make out no words other than, “Tell me!” After a long time, so long he was beginning to wonder just what she was doing in there, eventually, she emerged, covered head to toe in her winter bathrobe, her warm, flannel bathrobe. In July. Without saying a word, she went over to her dresser and began pulling out nightgowns and pajamas.
“Um, Syd, honey. May I ask what you’re doing?”
“Looking for these old pajamas of mine. I haven’t worn them in ten-twelve years, but I knew I saved them for a reason....Where are they? Oh! Here!” And she snapped the pajamas out of the very back of the drawer. He stared at them, in shock. Pink footie pajamas?
“Um, Syd, honey. It’s July. And you are a grown woman.”
“And your point is what, exactly?”
Okay, he was not that dumb. He could see the warning signs now that they were in bright flashing red, no pink, neon. He watched as she wiggled into the pajamas without removing the bathrobe first. Clearly, he had done something wrong and if he were wise-
“You know, Vaughn, I’m feeling a little stressed tonight. Maybe it would be best if you went...somewhere, did...something,” Sydney said as she zipped up the front of the pajamas and tossed the robe aside.
“But, if you’re feeling stressed, maybe I can help.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Is it that time of the month?” Vaughn asked solicitously.
“Is it WHAT?” Sydney forced herself to snarl so she would not once again break into hysterical laughter. She was sure she was holding onto sanity by a very thin thread.
“Uh-oh.”
“You know,” Sydney suggested with a pained smile, “Vaughn, why don’t you go somewhere and....fire your gun by yourself?”
“I BEG your pardon?” Vaughn asked incredulously, his mouth agape.
“I mean, why don’t you go to the gun range and do some target practice?”
“It’s closed now. It’s too late,” Vaughn said in confusion. This entire scene had become totally confusing. He was missing something, something important he could tell as he stared at his beautiful, sexy, dangerous girlfriend... in pink footie pajamas.
“Nah. My father has twenty-four access from the days when he had no other hobbies. Call him,” Sydney said, her lips firmed into a straight line, pointing toward the door, tapping her foot - her pink, fuzzy foot - in impatience.
When he pulled on his clothes and came over to give her a kiss, she turned her head at the last minute and all he got for his troubles was her cheekbone. Staring at her in surprise, he finally shook his head and left the room.
As he began to leave her heard her dial the phone. Decided he might as well put that spy training to some good use for once and ascertain what in hell the problem was, he paused. Then he heard, “Well, Midge, this is Barbie. You’ll never guess what Hot Look Ken said to me tonight.”
“I”m outta here!” Vaughn said and slammed the door behind him to a peel of laughter. Slamming his car door, he paused for a moment sitting there, then shook his head. Jack had once again ruined his sex life without even trying. Honestly, he had thought Jack’s manual was fool proof himself. And given that Sydney was his daughter, Vaughn had thought the plan would be perfect, absolutely perfect. Jack liked it, as Marshall pointed out, so he'd assumed Sydney, his daughter would like it too, genetics, after all. And all those women seemed to have liked it. But sigh. Women! That was the problem. You could never figure them out, no matter what Dr. Bristow thought. He almost wished he could throw this failure into Jack’s face. But, he sighed, talking with Jack about his daughter’s sex life - or lack thereof - would be one quick way to die.
And, he sighed again, he hadn’t even proposed yet. He really needed to do that, but no matter how many rings he and Weiss looked at it, he still couldn’t find the perfect one. Maybe he should ask Jack’s advice, the guy knew everything there was to know about jewelry. But right now, he’d settle for the access pass to the target range. Maybe Jack would go with him, the man was probably up late anyway. He started up his car and dialed his phone.
“Bristow,” Jack said into the phone for his personal line, cradling it on his shoulder as he struggled with this project.
“It’s me, Jack,” Vaughn sighed.
“What’s up, Michael?”
Looking down into his lap, Vaughn shrugged and muttered, “Not much anymore.”
“What did you say?”
“Oh nothing.”
“Okaay. Is Sydney alright?”
“The last I saw her, she was laughing her head off. Playing with her Barbies. Again. If anyone can explain to me why grown women find it a stress reliever to play with dolls, I’d really like to hear it and you know what else I’d like to know---” He bit his words off, he couldn’t after all ask Jack why using his own techniques on his daughter had not worked. Yuck. “Never mind.”
“Okaaay. So why are you calling?”
“Sydney said you had twenty-four access to the gun range and I---”
“Ah. Well, I do. But, why don’t you come on over and help me with a project I’m working on. I could use another pair of hands.”
“Is it a bomb or something destructive? I could get into that right now. I mean, I could really get into blowing something up.”
Jack laughed. Then laughed again, making Vaughn’s brow wrinkle in confusion. What was so funny? Was he missing something? Vaughn sighed, probably. He was clearly missing all sorts of Bristow family cues tonight. Jack sighed. “Vaughn, are you there?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m here. So, can we make incendiary devices? Destroy something with a lot of noise, smoke?”
“No. This hobby is not destructive. The opposite. You know, it’s far easier to destroy than create, so come on over and I’ll give you something that will take your mind off your troubles with a certain woman.”
Well, Vaughn sighed, that had actually worked out. Jack had greeted him with an oddly-smug smile, then he had cleared his face and gone straight to the refrigerator and handed out a beer for each of them. He had stood there in Jack’s kitchen and chugged the bottle and asked for another. Jack, who had taken just one sip and then had stared at Vaughn, had shaken his head and shoved the younger man in the direction of the tool box. That night, he and Jack had begun working on a new project and one day soon, it would be done. If Jack didn’t kill him first for his indecisiveness, that is. Or...he began to realize, for telling Marshall about that manual. Uh-oh.
Maybe that hadn’t been such a good idea, he thought, waking up from a terrifying dream about the potential results of that error when Jack shook his shoulder. Vaulting up from Jack’s couch, where he had spent the night, Vaughn rubbed his face.
“Are you okay? Bad dream?” Jack asked as he stepped back, giving what in someone else, Vaughn thought, might be a look of concern. But...there was a certain gleam in the back of Jack’s eyes....
“Yeah. Nightmare. I was running away from... Never mind,” Vaughn said, frowning as he sat up on the couch. Rubbing his hands across his face, he felt the furrows on his forehead and immediately forced himself to relax.
“Running away from what, Michael? Errors in a game plan? Misjudging your target?” Jack asked with a ...was it a mischievous note in his voice?
Looking up sharply, Vaughn caught that same gleeful look that he had seen on Sydney’s face last night before the debacle of the manual. Well, he didn’t think this interaction was going to end with Jack Bristow in pink footie pajamas, but perhaps it would be best to leave. Now. That look in Jack’s eyes was starting to worry him. He stood up and looked at Jack warily.
“You know, a little word of advice,” Jack said softly. “If you don’t mind. Or even if you do. As I’ve said to Sydney on occasion, you have potential. You just need some work on anticipating outcomes.”
“Anticipating outcomes? What the hell does that mean?” Vaughn asked, bristling. He had been told the same thing ever since his first training program.
“Clearly last night, you did not anticipate that the outcome of your .... choices, shall we say, would lead you to spending the night sleeping on my couch, instead of in your own.... bed,” Jack said, with a barely discernable curl to his lip. “So... I’m thinking that you might want to reevaluate your game plans in general.”
“My game plans are... I have no game plans in motion,” Vaughn corrected himself quickly. Jack couldn’t know. Could he? No, no. He was just being over sensitive because of the failure with Sydney last night and his belated regrets over telling Marshall about the manual. Okay, that had been a bad idea. But.... No, his game plan was good. He needed.... He needed to talk to Susan. Step one was just hours away, after all. “I need to go!”
“Well, the bathroom is right down the hall,” Jack said, biting his own lip to keep from smiling.
“I don’t mean that! I mean I need to go home, shower, get dressed, get to work. Big day ahead, big day.”
“Big day? Today is a slow day unless something unexpected comes up. Isn’t that why you suggested everyone meet at noon for a group lunch in the cafeteria? Because it’s going to be a slow day and we can all relax together for once? Isn’t that why you suggested that, Michael? Or am I mistaken?”Jack asked in that soft voice that made Vaughn’s heart race, once Sydney had told him the softer the voice the bigger the trouble.
Did Jack have to stare at him like that too, Vaughn thought in a panic. Look away, look away, he told himself. “Um, no, you’re not mistaken, Jack, “Vaughn said, looking down, hoping Jack would ignore the ‘um.’ He spoke up quickly. “Of course not. You’re never wrong, are you?”
“Oh, I’ve had my moments of mistakes. Don’t make my decision to trust you one of them,” Jack said softly, hiding his smile. If Vaughn didn’t leave soon, he was going to start laughing in front of him.
Vaughn picked up the blanket he had tossed to the floor in the throes of his dream of Jack finding ways to torture him. “I need to go,” he said again, grabbing his shirt from the chair and buttoning it up. I... Besides," Vaughn said as he put on his shoes and stood up. "I'm hungry and all you have in your fridge is left-over Chinese. I mean, really, Jack. What do you eat? You don't even have a stinkin' toaster! Who doesn't own a toaster! That's just not normal," Vaughn muttered as he began to go out the door.
"Boy, someone's knickers are in a twist this morning. Poor Ken must miss his Barbie," Jack said with a smile.
As the door slammed, Jack said to himself, "I guess I should buy a toaster," and picking up a pencil added it to the ever-growing list on his refrigerator.
“You know, a little word of advice,” Jack said softly. “If you don’t mind. Or even if you do. As I’ve said to Sydney on occasion, you have potential. You just need some work on anticipating outcomes.”
“Anticipating outcomes? What the hell does that mean?” Vaughn asked, bristling. He had been told the same thing ever since his first training program.
“Clearly last night, you did not anticipate that the outcome of your .... choices, shall we say, would lead you to spending the night sleeping on my couch, instead of in your own.... bed,” Jack said, with a barely discernable curl to his lip. “So... I’m thinking that you might want to reevaluate your game plans in general.”
“My game plans are... I have no game plans in motion,” Vaughn corrected himself quickly. Jack couldn’t know. Could he? No, no. He was just being over sensitive because of the failure with Sydney last night and his belated regrets over telling Marshall about the manual. Okay, that had been a bad idea. But.... No, his game plan was good. He needed.... He needed to talk to Susan. Step one was just hours away, after all. “I need to go!”
“Well, the bathroom is right down the hall,” Jack said, biting his own lip to keep from smiling.
“I don’t mean that! I mean I need to go home, shower, get dressed, get to work. Big day ahead, big day.”
“Big day? Today is a slow day unless something unexpected comes up. Isn’t that why you suggested everyone meet at noon for a group lunch in the cafeteria? Because it’s going to be a slow day and we can all relax together for once? Isn’t that why you suggested that, Michael? Or am I mistaken?”Jack asked in that soft voice that made Vaughn’s heart race, once Sydney had told him the softer the voice the bigger the trouble.
Did Jack have to stare at him like that too, Vaughn thought in a panic. Look away, look away, he told himself. “Um, no, you’re not mistaken, Jack, “Vaughn said, looking down, hoping Jack would ignore the ‘um.’ He spoke up quickly. “Of course not. You’re never wrong, are you?”
“Oh, I’ve had my moments of mistakes. Don’t make my decision to trust you one of them,” Jack said softly, hiding his smile. If Vaughn didn’t leave soon, he was going to start laughing in front of him.
Vaughn picked up the blanket he had tossed to the floor in the throes of his dream of Jack finding ways to torture him. “I need to go,” he said again, grabbing his shirt from the chair and buttoning it up. I... Besides," Vaughn said as he put on his shoes and stood up. "I'm hungry and all you have in your fridge is left over Chinese. I mean, really, Jack. What do you eat? You don't even have a stinkin' toaster! Who doesn't own a toaster! That's just not normal," Vaughn muttered as he began to go out the door.
"Boy, someone's knickers are in a twist this morning. Poor Ken must miss his Barbie," Jack said with a smile. As the door slammed, Jack said to himself, "I guess I should buy a toaster," and picking up a pencil added it to his ever-growing list on his refrigerator.
Part 2