Chapter 5 - Confusion

Will Tippin was having a grade-A bad day. Granted, starting a day hung over left you with an uphill battle, but this went beyond that. He wasn't even close to lunch yet, and three people had already hung up on him. His car was making a bizarre rattling noise, he seriously suspected that someone had made decaf coffee instead of regular, and he could see his editor walking toward his desk — no doubt with the express purpose of chewing him out.

Will leaned over his notes in an attempt to appear busy, but her walk was halted by another reporter's entrance. "We gotta turn on the TV, guys," he said, walking to the corner of the newsroom and clicking on the set himself. "Serious shit going down at Credit Dauphine. Black helicopter-looking types and everything."

Will's head snapped up just in time to see Sydney Bristow, in handcuffs, being assisted into a government sedan.

"...as you can see a number of bank officials were arrested in this raid by the Justice Department," said a blond reporter. She was angled so the screen showed more people being escorted out of the building behind her. "We're told charges include tax fraud and embezzlement."

Someone finally noticed the gaping shock on Will's face. "Hey, Tippin, you okay?"

"Th-that was my friend. Sh-she works there."

"Good," his editor said bluntly. "Try to get her on the phone, see if she has anything to say. Who else is free? We need to get some people down there ASAP."

Will picked up a phone. He would never press Sydney for an interview, but he was worried. Suddenly, all of her late nights and bank trips, the times he felt like she was lying to him, or at least not telling the whole truth, came into focus. But he couldn't believe that Sydney would be in on some sort of scheme. Couldn't believe she was a criminal. So he dialed her cell phone and prayed that — no matter how unlikely it seemed now — there was some sort of explanation.

Sydney's phone rang back at the SD-6 office, where agents were busy boxing evidence. "Not another damn cell phone," one said. He gingerly dug it out of a black tote bag. "Hey. This is CIA-issue."

Eric Weiss walked over. "It's Sydney Bristow's. Somebody got a pen?" Taking another agent's proffered pen, he wrote the number down off of the phone's caller ID. He then pulled out his own cell phone to call Vaughn. "Hey. Sydney's cell is ringing. 5-5-0-2-4-3-5-5-9-6."

"Thanks," Vaughn said, still driving himself and Sydney to the CIA's Los Angeles field office. "5-5-0-2-4-3-5-5-9-6. You know that number?"

Sydney looked up. She had been staring contemplatively out the car window, having removed the handcuffs. In five seconds flat, no less. Now there's a useful life skill, she thought.

"It's Will. Can I — "

He passed the phone back and listened as her fingers flew through the number.

"Will, it's me," she said. A pause followed, filled with what sounded like indiscriminate screaming from Will.

"The Justice Department raided the bank. Some of the people here were involved in some really bad stuff."

To put it mildly, Vaughn thought.

"No, they did not arrest me."

Another pause and more screaming.

"Look," Sydney was beginning to raise her voice now. "Just calm down for a second and let me talk. And you have to promise me that you will not put a word of this in the newspaper, Will."

Vaughn eyed her in the rearview mirror. What was she doing?

"I was helping them — the Justice Department, I mean — reporting financial discrepancies from the inside. They arrested me like everyone else because they were afraid of ... retaliation."

Vaughn released the breath he had been holding. Good lie Syd, way to parallel the truth.

"Listen, I'm really sorry that you had to find out like this. Can you please call Francie and tell her. I don't want her to worry."

Will was quiet enough now that Vaughn couldn't hear him from the front seat.

"Okay, bye." She passed the phone back up to Vaughn. "Sorry about that."

"Not a problem."

Sydney turned her attention to the paper grocery bag sitting next to her. It had piqued her curiosity before, and as Vaughn pulled into the CIA's parking garage, she stole a glance inside. Six-pack of Diet Coke. Cereal. Couple cans of soup. Box of tissues. She almost giggled, imagining Vaughn's to-do list — go grocery shopping, execute raid on secret rogue terrorist organization.

He parked the car and walked around to the other side to open her door. She got out and stretched, looking instinctively around the garage for any signs of a threat. Her experience with these places had generally not been good.

Vaughn caught this action. "You don't have to look anymore, Syd. You did it. You took them down."

The reality and the simplicity of his statement rocked her. Then she looked into his eyes, saw the tenderness there, and burst into tears. Vaughn wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close as she sobbed into his shoulder.

They stayed that way for a long time, Vaughn trying to comfort her by whispering, "shhhh, it's okay," in her ear. Finally, her crying subsided, and she pulled away, glancing at the damp spot she had left on his suit jacket.

"Sorry."

"Don't be." He slipped past her, opened the car door and reached in to drag the grocery bag closer to himself. "Here you go," Vaughn said, pulling out the tissue box and handing it to her.

The fact that he had thought to buy tissues for her only brought on another bout of tears.