Chapter 8 - First Impressions

"Hey, I think we've got something," Will said, as headlights turned onto the street outside. He and Francie had been waiting for hours for Sydney to come home, jumping at every set of headlights. Francie dashed in from the kitchen, where she had been brewing yet another pot of coffee.

"Yep," Will said, as the lights turned into the driveway. "You recognize that car?"

"No," she said, moving next to his perch by the window. "But it's like pitch black out there, Will."

Inside the car, Vaughn was gently shaking Sydney's shoulder. "C'mon, Syd. You're home."

She didn't even stir, and looked too calm and peaceful for him to try any harder to disturb her. So instead he opened his car door and got out, noting the faces in the house's front window. Must be Will and Francie, he thought.

Vaughn found he was growing apprehensive as he walked up to their front door. Not exactly an ideal situation for a first impression, he thought. He watched the window out of the corner of his eye, seeing them draw back and swing the curtain into place.

Will swung the door open seconds after he knocked. "You're the guy that arrested her."

So much for getting off on the right foot with Will, Vaughn thought. He decided to keep his answers simple, which, he hoped, would lessen his chances of saying something wrong. "Yes. My name is Michael Vaughn. I work for the government, and I was working with Sydney on the bank case."

"Where is she? Is she okay?" Francie, who had taken up position next to Will, demanded.

"Sydney is fine. She's asleep in the car. She's had —" he paused. "— I don't even think rough would begin to describe her day." Or her life. " I didn't just want to show up on your doorstep carrying her in my arms."

Oops, Vaughn thought. That one definitely didn't sit well with Will. Damn it.

Vaughn lowered his gaze in an attempt to avoid the vicious glare Will shot him. Finally, mercifully, Francie spoke. "Well, come on. Let's get the poor girl out of the car."

Francie held the front door open as Vaughn and Will walked to the car. Vaughn had anticipated some sort of manhood-proving fight out of Will over who got to carry her, and was surprised when Will stood aside to let him open the car door and unbuckle her seat belt. Maybe he's afraid he can't carry her, Vaughn thought, and then realized he wasn't so sure he could, either. He'd been a little too preoccupied and sleep-deprived over the past few weeks to hit the gym. To his surprise, however, Sydney was fairly light. Extremely muscular, but light.

He paused when he stepped inside of their house, until Francie realized the source of his confusion. "Right. First time here," she said. "Her bedroom's this way."

Vaughn realized he didn't want to let Sydney out of his sight once he deposited her gently on the bed, but Francie was giving both him and Will a look that distinctly said "out, now."

They stood outside, each staring at the closed door, until Francie emerged. "Why don't we all go in the living room and sit down. I think Will has some questions for you—"

"—Michael," Vaughn helped her.

Will barely waited until they were seated to launch into full-fledged reporter mode. "How long have you known Sydney?"

Vaughn paused a moment to think. This one was tricky, and he couldn't be too specific, or his answer might contradict something Sydney would say later. "I can't remember exactly. It's been a couple of years, I think."

"You think?" Will asked. At that point, Vaughn could see right through him. Yes. I know. You never forget the day you meet Sydney Bristow. Especially when she walks into your office with cotton candy hair and a lump on the side of her face that makes you sick to your stomach even now, then proceeds to tell you some crazy story about how she's a spy for your greatest enemy.

It was then that he noticed Francie was staring at him quizzically, a realization slowly dawning on her face. "Wait a minute," she said, then stated, "Your voice — Joey's Pizza."

Grateful she had stolen Will's momentum, he threw his voice into one of the many he used for the calls. "Joey's Pizza?"

She burst out laughing. "You don't know how many times I've nearly smashed the phone because of you!"

"Actually," Vaughn corrected, "I do. And you have a very colorful vocabulary."

"Sorry," Francie squeezed out between giggles.

Meanwhile, Will was looking increasingly irate. "Somebody want to fill me in, here?"

"All these years, we've been getting these wrong number calls for this 'Joey's Pizza,'" Francie said. "I keep telling Syd we need to get our number changed, and she keeps saying 'sure,' and of course we never get around to it. And it turns out that was, what, your code to meet?"

Vaughn nodded.

"So how dangerous is this bank scandal, anyway?" Will asked. "Meeting in secret, hauling Sydney off in handcuffs..."

"We wanted to be careful for her protection," Vaughn answered, his mind racing ahead to map out the lie. "There were some concerns that there might be mob connections. And we couldn't let anyone at the bank know what was going on before we had a chance to gather enough evidence. These corporate investigations can get pretty nasty." As can international espionage, he thought.

"What branch of the government do you work for, anyway?" Will fired back.

"IRS," Vaughn replied. That revelation was, he knew, the fastest way to end a conversation about one's job. He made a mental note to tell Sydney as Will managed only a dull, "Oh."

"Will," Francie said, with a pointed look in his direction. "Why don't we let Michael go. I'm sure he's just as tired as Sydney."

Vaughn stood to leave. "It was very nice to meet both of you," he said, which was at least true in Francie's case. "Tell Sydney I'll call her tomorrow," he told her.

After she shut the front door behind him, Francie turned to glare at Will. "Don't even say it."

"What?" he cried, feigning innocence by throwing his hands in the air.

"Whatever you were going to say, just don't even say it."