Safe Haven - Part 11
Jun. 2nd, 2008 03:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
diandrahollman
E-Mail: diandrahollman@yahoo.com
Website: http://diandrahollman.tripod.com/index.h
Rating: PG-13 to R for language and violence.
Keywords: Crossover, Alias/X-Files/Lost, slash, Vaughn/Mulder, Jack, hurt/comfort, angst
Spoilers: Only if you never watched season 5 of Alias or any season of Lost.
Disclaimer: All characters from The X-Files belong to Chris Carter and 1013. All other non-original characters belong to JJ Abrams and Bad Robot. I will put most of them back when I'm done with them, but I can't make any promises about Vaughn. Nabin was an actual character in Season 5 (Sydney's monk contact) but Neerav is mine.
Author's Notes: See first chapter. This chapter refers very heavily to the first three chapters in the series. You don't have to have read them to follow this, but you can find them on my site here.
Previous chapters
****************
VAUGHN
(One month earlier)
I caught Sydney's eye as she helped me drink the water laced with sodium morphate. I tried to give her a reassuring smile but it ended up looking more like a pained grimace. She put down the cup and squeezed my hand fiercely.
"Get some rest, Vaughn," she said thickly, tears forming in her eyes. "I'll be right here."
I squeezed her hand and closed my eyes, already feeling the darkness closing in around me, my breaths slowing. The last thing I was aware of before I slipped away was the feel of Sydney's lips on my cheek.
I awoke again to the feel of a firm hand pressed to my forehead. Air rushed into my lungs as if I were coming up from deep underwater. Waves of agony rolled over me, radiating from my chest outward. I tried to scream but that only made it worse.
"Easy," a voice murmured above me as I gasped and wailed pathetically. The hand disappeared and an oxygen mask slipped over my face, relieving the strain on my tattered lungs. "You're safe now, Agent Vaughn."
I struggled to open my eyes, straining to focus on the blurry shape hovering over me. Jack Bristow's features gradually swam into view, his face surrounded by a red haze of pain. I felt him position heat packs around my body and tuck a blanket under my shoulders and only then realized that I was shivering violently. My teeth chattered. My whole body felt like it had been frozen through, except for my chest, which radiated unnatural heat.
"I'm sorry," Sydney's father said gently. "My contact had trouble retrieving you. You were in a morgue refrigerator for several hours."
I whimpered involuntarily and closed my eyes, praying that I would just pass out. I was sure I had never felt so much pain in my life.
Jack's hand soothed my forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Try to calm yourself," he said in an emotionless, yet somehow reassuring voice.
'Are you fucking kidding?' my mind screamed. Logically, I knew what he meant. I had been shot eight times, "killed", frozen for several hours and shocked back to life. If my vitals couldn't be stabilized there was a very real danger that my heart would give out. But at that moment, my mind was not functioning logically.
Jack's hand left me and I held back a whine as he slid a needle into my neck. "I'm giving you something for the pain," he explained.
"Syd," I gasped, my voice strained and barely audible.
"She's fine."
I struggled to keep my eyes open as the drug hit me with the force of a train, dragging me under. "Mulder," I mumbled.
"Sydney will contact him," Jack replied easily.
"Tell'm...'m dead," I slurred. "H' can't...know..."
Jack went silent. My eyes slipped shut involuntarily and I felt Jack's hand return to my forehead - not moving, just a warm, comforting presence. "I'll tell Sydney," he promised.
I struggled to mouth the words "thank you" and vaguely heard Jack talking to someone else - probably his contact - before I slipped into unconsciousness.
********
I slumped back on the bed with a groan, panting like I'd run for miles. I glared at Mulder as he carefully replaced the oxygen cannula under my nose. "I told you not to stop."
"You can't push yourself too hard," he reminded me.
"I can't even walk across the room," I muttered in disgust.
"You were shot eight times," he said gently. "It'll be a while before you're doing wind sprints."
I grumbled a few choice curses. I knew he was right, but it still frustrated the hell out of me.
He sat on the edge of the hospital bed and leaned over to kiss me, cutting off my mutterings. He smiled down at me. "It's only been a month. You're doing great." He picked up my arm and began massaging the muscles expertly, bending the elbow repeatedly. He had been quick to pick up on the physical therapy I needed to regain my strength and worked diligently every day to help me get back into shape. He gripped my hand tightly and held it aloft. "Pull," he ordered.
I tugged on his hand with a grunt, gritting my teeth against the pain that throbbed in my chest. His grip loosened almost immediately, allowing me to pull his hand toward me with little resistance.
"Too much," he asked worriedly.
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
He sighed. "You don't have to play tough with me. If you're in pain..."
"I'm fine," I insisted. Honestly, I had been through much worse. I'd be damned if I was going to let him make a big deal out of it and drug me into a stupor.
He gave in reluctantly and moved to the other side of the bed to begin working on my other arm. I watched him silently for a while. Since I had woken I had learned that Sydney had ignored my plea to keep Mulder from knowing the truth about my "death". She claimed it was because Prophet 5 posed a danger to Mulder but I suspected she was also afraid he would pose a danger to himself if he thought something had happened to me. She and her father had helped him disappear. As far as the rest of the world was concerned he had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. Possibly abducted by aliens, he had joked. It seemed fitting.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He looked up questioningly, his hands pausing in their kneading of my bicep.
"I didn't want to drag you into this."
He sighed again. "We've been through this before. Anything that involves you involves me. We both know that if I had thought Prophet 5 really killed you I would have gone after them and gotten myself killed. Pull."
I pulled against his grip, biting back a comment as he gave much less resistance this time. "I put you in danger," I argued. "They wouldn't have known you existed if it wasn't for me."
He squeezed my hand uncomfortably tight. "Don't you dare. I didn't travel thousands of miles to make you regret our entire relationship. This is *not* your fault. I'm not an innocent civilian; you don't need to protect me. I can put myself in harm's way without your help. I've been doing it for years." I snorted softly. "I *love* you. It's going to take a lot more than a big scary rogue organization and some hitmen with machine guns to keep me away from you."
I blinked rapidly against the tears threatening to form. "You didn't have to go into hiding like this," I argued weakly. "You abandoned your friends, your job..."
"Hey."
I looked up at him reluctantly.
"My friends...all five of them...will understand. And you are more important than my job. When I thought you were dead..." He faltered slightly and shook his head. "All I could think of was how much I wanted the last seven months back. How I should never have agreed to break contact with you. There were times when all I could do was worry about what was happening to you - where you were...whether or not you were safe. It killed me not knowing; waiting for any information I could get from Sydney. I don't scare easily, but I was terrified of losing you."
I stared at him for a moment before I finally whispered "I don't deserve you."
He laughed and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Funny. Everybody else has said I don't deserve *you*." His laughter trailed away as he bent to kiss me. "What do they know?" he murmured.
"My name isn't Michael Vaughn," I blurted.
He frowned. "What?"
"I always thought I knew who my father was...how he died. It was Prophet 5..."
"Wait, slow down," he interrupted, his brow deeply furrowed. "What do you mean your name isn't Michael Vaughn?"
I closed my eyes and breathed as deeply as my healing lungs would permit. This may not have been the best time for this revelation but I had kept it from him for too long. Now that he was so deeply entangled in the situation with me he deserved to know everything. "My name is Andre Michaux. Before he was in the CIA my father was a mathematician. He was one of several people recruited for a project...Prophet 5. They were tasked with deciphering a document...written five hundred years ago in a supposedly unbreakable code...outlining some sort of advanced genetics. After it was deciphered everybody involved in the project started dying...accidents...natural causes... My father changed his name and mine and ran. I was eighteen months old... Seven years ago a woman approached me - Renee Rienne. She told me her father was also involved in the project. We've been investigating Prophet 5 ever since."
His mind visibly spun. "So you've known all along."
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I was afraid I would put you in danger..."
"So...some of those missions you were called away on..."
"Most of them were for the CIA."
"That time I spent the weekend at your apartment...I took care of Donovan while you were gone...your back was sore when you came home..."
I winced. Trust him to recall something like that. "I was in Mexico. Following a lead on Prophet 5. I strained a muscle fighting with a thug the size of a gorilla."
His face softened. "Oh, baby, I..."
I halted what was undoubtedly building into an apology with two fingers pressed against his lips. "You weren't supposed to be there when I got back. I told Weiss that I was making a personal trip...he was supposed to take care of Donovan after you left. He told me he stopped by a couple times but your car was still there..." I swallowed. "When you came through the door with a bag of groceries and offered to give me a massage...it felt so *normal*. I realized how much I needed that...needed you." I trailed off, my throat too swollen with emotion to allow me to continue.
He stared at me in silence for a long time, his eyes seeming to register pity and regret. I hoped the latter wasn't a result of my necessary betrayal. My stomach fluttered nervously as I waited for his reaction.
He sighed and reached to cup my cheek in his warm palm. "I wish you hadn't kept all of this from me."
I opened my mouth to apologize but he rushed on.
"I mean, I know you couldn't tell me everything. You work for the CIA. There will always be some secrets between us. But from now on I don't want you to keep things from me just to keep me from danger. I don't need your protection and you don't need mine. But I want to be there for you - even if that means just giving you moral support or being there to give you a massage when you get home. Whatever you need."
I felt my chest swell, warmth spreading throughout my body, and wondered again what I had done to deserve such unwavering devotion.
"And I don't care what it says on your birth certificate, if it even still exists. As far as I and the rest of the world is concerned you are Michael Vaughn. That's the name you grew up with - the name you've had all your life. That's all that matters."
I blinked against the threatening sting of tears and tugged at his hands. He followed the movement, leaning down over me and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tightly. He slipped his hands beneath my shoulders, hugging me tentatively, wary of the still healing wounds in my chest.
"I love you," I whispered thickly.
I felt his lips curve into a smile against my cheek. "I know," he murmured. "I love you too, baby."
Next chapter
(One month earlier)
I caught Sydney's eye as she helped me drink the water laced with sodium morphate. I tried to give her a reassuring smile but it ended up looking more like a pained grimace. She put down the cup and squeezed my hand fiercely.
"Get some rest, Vaughn," she said thickly, tears forming in her eyes. "I'll be right here."
I squeezed her hand and closed my eyes, already feeling the darkness closing in around me, my breaths slowing. The last thing I was aware of before I slipped away was the feel of Sydney's lips on my cheek.
I awoke again to the feel of a firm hand pressed to my forehead. Air rushed into my lungs as if I were coming up from deep underwater. Waves of agony rolled over me, radiating from my chest outward. I tried to scream but that only made it worse.
"Easy," a voice murmured above me as I gasped and wailed pathetically. The hand disappeared and an oxygen mask slipped over my face, relieving the strain on my tattered lungs. "You're safe now, Agent Vaughn."
I struggled to open my eyes, straining to focus on the blurry shape hovering over me. Jack Bristow's features gradually swam into view, his face surrounded by a red haze of pain. I felt him position heat packs around my body and tuck a blanket under my shoulders and only then realized that I was shivering violently. My teeth chattered. My whole body felt like it had been frozen through, except for my chest, which radiated unnatural heat.
"I'm sorry," Sydney's father said gently. "My contact had trouble retrieving you. You were in a morgue refrigerator for several hours."
I whimpered involuntarily and closed my eyes, praying that I would just pass out. I was sure I had never felt so much pain in my life.
Jack's hand soothed my forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Try to calm yourself," he said in an emotionless, yet somehow reassuring voice.
'Are you fucking kidding?' my mind screamed. Logically, I knew what he meant. I had been shot eight times, "killed", frozen for several hours and shocked back to life. If my vitals couldn't be stabilized there was a very real danger that my heart would give out. But at that moment, my mind was not functioning logically.
Jack's hand left me and I held back a whine as he slid a needle into my neck. "I'm giving you something for the pain," he explained.
"Syd," I gasped, my voice strained and barely audible.
"She's fine."
I struggled to keep my eyes open as the drug hit me with the force of a train, dragging me under. "Mulder," I mumbled.
"Sydney will contact him," Jack replied easily.
"Tell'm...'m dead," I slurred. "H' can't...know..."
Jack went silent. My eyes slipped shut involuntarily and I felt Jack's hand return to my forehead - not moving, just a warm, comforting presence. "I'll tell Sydney," he promised.
I struggled to mouth the words "thank you" and vaguely heard Jack talking to someone else - probably his contact - before I slipped into unconsciousness.
********
I slumped back on the bed with a groan, panting like I'd run for miles. I glared at Mulder as he carefully replaced the oxygen cannula under my nose. "I told you not to stop."
"You can't push yourself too hard," he reminded me.
"I can't even walk across the room," I muttered in disgust.
"You were shot eight times," he said gently. "It'll be a while before you're doing wind sprints."
I grumbled a few choice curses. I knew he was right, but it still frustrated the hell out of me.
He sat on the edge of the hospital bed and leaned over to kiss me, cutting off my mutterings. He smiled down at me. "It's only been a month. You're doing great." He picked up my arm and began massaging the muscles expertly, bending the elbow repeatedly. He had been quick to pick up on the physical therapy I needed to regain my strength and worked diligently every day to help me get back into shape. He gripped my hand tightly and held it aloft. "Pull," he ordered.
I tugged on his hand with a grunt, gritting my teeth against the pain that throbbed in my chest. His grip loosened almost immediately, allowing me to pull his hand toward me with little resistance.
"Too much," he asked worriedly.
I shook my head. "I'm fine."
He sighed. "You don't have to play tough with me. If you're in pain..."
"I'm fine," I insisted. Honestly, I had been through much worse. I'd be damned if I was going to let him make a big deal out of it and drug me into a stupor.
He gave in reluctantly and moved to the other side of the bed to begin working on my other arm. I watched him silently for a while. Since I had woken I had learned that Sydney had ignored my plea to keep Mulder from knowing the truth about my "death". She claimed it was because Prophet 5 posed a danger to Mulder but I suspected she was also afraid he would pose a danger to himself if he thought something had happened to me. She and her father had helped him disappear. As far as the rest of the world was concerned he had simply dropped off the face of the Earth. Possibly abducted by aliens, he had joked. It seemed fitting.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
He looked up questioningly, his hands pausing in their kneading of my bicep.
"I didn't want to drag you into this."
He sighed again. "We've been through this before. Anything that involves you involves me. We both know that if I had thought Prophet 5 really killed you I would have gone after them and gotten myself killed. Pull."
I pulled against his grip, biting back a comment as he gave much less resistance this time. "I put you in danger," I argued. "They wouldn't have known you existed if it wasn't for me."
He squeezed my hand uncomfortably tight. "Don't you dare. I didn't travel thousands of miles to make you regret our entire relationship. This is *not* your fault. I'm not an innocent civilian; you don't need to protect me. I can put myself in harm's way without your help. I've been doing it for years." I snorted softly. "I *love* you. It's going to take a lot more than a big scary rogue organization and some hitmen with machine guns to keep me away from you."
I blinked rapidly against the tears threatening to form. "You didn't have to go into hiding like this," I argued weakly. "You abandoned your friends, your job..."
"Hey."
I looked up at him reluctantly.
"My friends...all five of them...will understand. And you are more important than my job. When I thought you were dead..." He faltered slightly and shook his head. "All I could think of was how much I wanted the last seven months back. How I should never have agreed to break contact with you. There were times when all I could do was worry about what was happening to you - where you were...whether or not you were safe. It killed me not knowing; waiting for any information I could get from Sydney. I don't scare easily, but I was terrified of losing you."
I stared at him for a moment before I finally whispered "I don't deserve you."
He laughed and blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Funny. Everybody else has said I don't deserve *you*." His laughter trailed away as he bent to kiss me. "What do they know?" he murmured.
"My name isn't Michael Vaughn," I blurted.
He frowned. "What?"
"I always thought I knew who my father was...how he died. It was Prophet 5..."
"Wait, slow down," he interrupted, his brow deeply furrowed. "What do you mean your name isn't Michael Vaughn?"
I closed my eyes and breathed as deeply as my healing lungs would permit. This may not have been the best time for this revelation but I had kept it from him for too long. Now that he was so deeply entangled in the situation with me he deserved to know everything. "My name is Andre Michaux. Before he was in the CIA my father was a mathematician. He was one of several people recruited for a project...Prophet 5. They were tasked with deciphering a document...written five hundred years ago in a supposedly unbreakable code...outlining some sort of advanced genetics. After it was deciphered everybody involved in the project started dying...accidents...natural causes... My father changed his name and mine and ran. I was eighteen months old... Seven years ago a woman approached me - Renee Rienne. She told me her father was also involved in the project. We've been investigating Prophet 5 ever since."
His mind visibly spun. "So you've known all along."
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I was afraid I would put you in danger..."
"So...some of those missions you were called away on..."
"Most of them were for the CIA."
"That time I spent the weekend at your apartment...I took care of Donovan while you were gone...your back was sore when you came home..."
I winced. Trust him to recall something like that. "I was in Mexico. Following a lead on Prophet 5. I strained a muscle fighting with a thug the size of a gorilla."
His face softened. "Oh, baby, I..."
I halted what was undoubtedly building into an apology with two fingers pressed against his lips. "You weren't supposed to be there when I got back. I told Weiss that I was making a personal trip...he was supposed to take care of Donovan after you left. He told me he stopped by a couple times but your car was still there..." I swallowed. "When you came through the door with a bag of groceries and offered to give me a massage...it felt so *normal*. I realized how much I needed that...needed you." I trailed off, my throat too swollen with emotion to allow me to continue.
He stared at me in silence for a long time, his eyes seeming to register pity and regret. I hoped the latter wasn't a result of my necessary betrayal. My stomach fluttered nervously as I waited for his reaction.
He sighed and reached to cup my cheek in his warm palm. "I wish you hadn't kept all of this from me."
I opened my mouth to apologize but he rushed on.
"I mean, I know you couldn't tell me everything. You work for the CIA. There will always be some secrets between us. But from now on I don't want you to keep things from me just to keep me from danger. I don't need your protection and you don't need mine. But I want to be there for you - even if that means just giving you moral support or being there to give you a massage when you get home. Whatever you need."
I felt my chest swell, warmth spreading throughout my body, and wondered again what I had done to deserve such unwavering devotion.
"And I don't care what it says on your birth certificate, if it even still exists. As far as I and the rest of the world is concerned you are Michael Vaughn. That's the name you grew up with - the name you've had all your life. That's all that matters."
I blinked against the threatening sting of tears and tugged at his hands. He followed the movement, leaning down over me and I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tightly. He slipped his hands beneath my shoulders, hugging me tentatively, wary of the still healing wounds in my chest.
"I love you," I whispered thickly.
I felt his lips curve into a smile against my cheek. "I know," he murmured. "I love you too, baby."
Next chapter
