[Fic] Watched a Change in You
Vaughn's hands trembled as he pulled Lauren's suitcase onto the bed, undoing the zipper and flipping it open. Nothing. His heart practically skipped a beat, and he almost gave up right there--she was his wife, he owed her at least a little benefit of the doubt. But something in the back of his head told him that he had already crossed a line, and it was worth it to go the whole nine yards, just to be sure, just to prove them wrong. His wife was innocent, and he was going to know it beyond a reasonable doubt.
There was a fake-bottom to the suitcase, he realized as he gave it another go-over. It didn't mean anything, of course it didn't mean anything. She worked in national security too, she probably needed it to stash classified documents or jewelery or...
Or a gun. Or a wig that he recognized from the woman who had shot at them at the club. Or the fake passport of his wife in the wig, posing as someone with a name he didn't recognize.
The water in the bathroom stopped running, and Vaughn knew he didn't have time to freeze. He threw the suitcase back together like he'd been trained to do it, snapping it shut and standing up just as Lauren stepped out of the shower, drying her hair with her towel. She glanced at him, and for a moment--a split-second really--Vaughn saw a flicker of fear in her eyes.
"Darling, what are you doing?" she asked, just a hint of irritation in her voice.
Vaughn just gave her a semi-confused look--pick up right where he left off. Play the fool, it was a role he excelled at. "I was putting away your luggage," he said, a little incredulously. Just another marital spat. How long until she put a knife in his back? "Did you not want me to?"
"I just had some things in the smaller zipped pockets--it's fine, I'll get it." She gave him a half-smile, half-grimace of thanks, and he let a stony look cross his face as she knelt to peer into the suitcase.
"Oh," he said, just to fill the silence. "Okay then. I'm going to run some errands. The gas tank is low."
"I thought you filled it before you left?"
"I thought so too, but I must have forgotten." He turned to pick up the keys off of the bureau.
In the car, he had to stop himself from hitting the steering wheel like it was her face. He had to stay calm. He had to assume she'd follow him, so he drove to the gas station and tried to fill his (essentially full) gas tank with shaking hands. He attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible as he examined every driver that passed him, looking for Lauren.
She had lied. Worse, she had betrayed the country, betrayed him. She had probably worked against him--no, definitely worked against him, and he had been too blind to see it. She had consciously worked against him--she was too smart to have been conned into it. And then she had come home and made him dinner, kissed him, slept with him. He had shared his bed with a traitor.
Vaughn climbed back into his car quickly, trying not to be sick in the parking lot of the gas station. He had shared his bed with a traitor every night, had held a traitor close to him, had kissed a traitor, had told a traitor he loved her. For a moment, his vision blurred with inexplicable tears, and he slammed on the breaks to avoid hitting another vehicle, ignoring the blaring car horns as he rubbed his eyes angrily.
He didn't know what to do. What were you supposed to do if you found out your spouse was a mole working for the very organization you'd tried so hard to dismantle? It was alternately like being in a dream and on a roller coaster, and it left Vaughn shaking so hard he had to grip the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and the wedding ring on his finger cut into his skin. He didn't know what to do. He was doing a dance at the edge of the world he knew so well, and on the other side was a ninety-foot drop.
Without even thinking, his hands fumbled for his phone. He had kept Sydney on speed dial all this time, feeling guilty about it but now thankful that his numb fingers had to push less buttons.
"Syd? It's me. We need to meet. And bring your dad." Vaughn closed the phone before she could ask any questions, then grabbed his sunglasses and slipped them on his face.
They'd know what to do, and then Vaughn could strike back.
Muse: Michael Vaughn
Word count: 807 words
Prompt: where the world drops off--From allfireburns
There was a fake-bottom to the suitcase, he realized as he gave it another go-over. It didn't mean anything, of course it didn't mean anything. She worked in national security too, she probably needed it to stash classified documents or jewelery or...
Or a gun. Or a wig that he recognized from the woman who had shot at them at the club. Or the fake passport of his wife in the wig, posing as someone with a name he didn't recognize.
The water in the bathroom stopped running, and Vaughn knew he didn't have time to freeze. He threw the suitcase back together like he'd been trained to do it, snapping it shut and standing up just as Lauren stepped out of the shower, drying her hair with her towel. She glanced at him, and for a moment--a split-second really--Vaughn saw a flicker of fear in her eyes.
"Darling, what are you doing?" she asked, just a hint of irritation in her voice.
Vaughn just gave her a semi-confused look--pick up right where he left off. Play the fool, it was a role he excelled at. "I was putting away your luggage," he said, a little incredulously. Just another marital spat. How long until she put a knife in his back? "Did you not want me to?"
"I just had some things in the smaller zipped pockets--it's fine, I'll get it." She gave him a half-smile, half-grimace of thanks, and he let a stony look cross his face as she knelt to peer into the suitcase.
"Oh," he said, just to fill the silence. "Okay then. I'm going to run some errands. The gas tank is low."
"I thought you filled it before you left?"
"I thought so too, but I must have forgotten." He turned to pick up the keys off of the bureau.
In the car, he had to stop himself from hitting the steering wheel like it was her face. He had to stay calm. He had to assume she'd follow him, so he drove to the gas station and tried to fill his (essentially full) gas tank with shaking hands. He attempted to look as inconspicuous as possible as he examined every driver that passed him, looking for Lauren.
She had lied. Worse, she had betrayed the country, betrayed him. She had probably worked against him--no, definitely worked against him, and he had been too blind to see it. She had consciously worked against him--she was too smart to have been conned into it. And then she had come home and made him dinner, kissed him, slept with him. He had shared his bed with a traitor.
Vaughn climbed back into his car quickly, trying not to be sick in the parking lot of the gas station. He had shared his bed with a traitor every night, had held a traitor close to him, had kissed a traitor, had told a traitor he loved her. For a moment, his vision blurred with inexplicable tears, and he slammed on the breaks to avoid hitting another vehicle, ignoring the blaring car horns as he rubbed his eyes angrily.
He didn't know what to do. What were you supposed to do if you found out your spouse was a mole working for the very organization you'd tried so hard to dismantle? It was alternately like being in a dream and on a roller coaster, and it left Vaughn shaking so hard he had to grip the steering wheel until his knuckles were white and the wedding ring on his finger cut into his skin. He didn't know what to do. He was doing a dance at the edge of the world he knew so well, and on the other side was a ninety-foot drop.
Without even thinking, his hands fumbled for his phone. He had kept Sydney on speed dial all this time, feeling guilty about it but now thankful that his numb fingers had to push less buttons.
"Syd? It's me. We need to meet. And bring your dad." Vaughn closed the phone before she could ask any questions, then grabbed his sunglasses and slipped them on his face.
They'd know what to do, and then Vaughn could strike back.
Muse: Michael Vaughn
Word count: 807 words
Prompt: where the world drops off--From allfireburns