Title: On Principle

Author: Alizarin

Fandom: Alias

Pairing: Jack/Vaughn

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: Through S4, not including the final episodes

Notes: Meant to be a long fic that never got off the ground because I am bad at writing serial fic and have lost the Alias love.

1.

Michael Vaughn was about to start something, but he put down his pen and instead, glanced around the office. What was he about to do? Oh yeah. Check those figures on that expense report from last weekís mission. Instead, he pulled out a slim notebook from his lower desk drawer. He began to read its contents, pausing every now and then to look up and make sure no one was casually stopping by the desk to chat. He didnít understand all of what he was reading, but still, there was something compelling in the lines drawn in pencil, sometimes ink, and the words and fragments of words set down.

Arvin Sloaneís Rambaldi notebook. How Vaughn had come across it was one of those accidents he didnít think Sloane would have ever allowed to happen. A simple misplacement, the fogged memory of an older man, an oversight. Vaughn wasnít even sure that Sloane hadnít done it on purpose, it seemed too simple.

Sloane had a safe, and he wasnít trustworthy where Rambaldi was concerned, and Vaughn put these two items together to see if anything would pan out.

Sloane had been distraught over a mission gone wrong that put Nadia in the hospital for several days. He was at her side virtually every minute and he rushed from the office in near panic when the information came through about how badly sheíd been injured. Vaughn had ample opportunity to check the safe in Sloaneís office, just behind his sleek cupboard door. All the head agents had one; there was nothing secret about the location.

Vaughn was thinking about cracking it. It turned out, he didnít have to. The thing had been left ajar, the contents just there in the dark, waiting to be discovered like fossils in a cave. So Vaughn excavated. He took the notebook and left the safe exactly as he found it, leaving no indication that anyone had ever had a peek inside. Everything else inside appeared unrelated to Rambaldi, but Vaughn did notice a substantial number of fake passports and fabricated identities, which he was not sure were all government authorized.

Now that he had the notebook, the question was: what should he do with it? He could not tell if it was indicative of an ongoing obsession with Rambaldi that would jeopardize their lives, or if it was a keepsake of sorts -- something Sloane was not actively interested in, but still wary of relieving himself of altogether. Vaughn was pretty sure it was an enormous risk for Arvin Sloane to be taking right now. Just having the thing in his safe was proof enough that Sloane had reneged on his deal to give it all up -- every last bit of it -- completely.

There was only one person he could trust with this information. But he didnít want to contemplate that conversation, or the other conversation he wanted to have with Jack Bristow. Jack would not like either one.

Vaughn stole one last look at the notebook, and then at the small black box in his top drawer with the ring heíd picked out for Sydney. Then he locked them away and rose from his desk with a sense of purpose.

No time like the present.

And ten minutes later, Jack threw him out of his office the second he mentioned heíd been snooping in Sloaneís office. Bristow was fit to be tied, and Vaughn was certainly not going to bring up the stuff about him and Syd after that reaction. What was Jackís problem, anyway? Matters of national security were not matters they could discuss in a professional manner?

The end of the day was fast approaching and Vaughn finished his expense report memos and took the ring and the notebook with him to his car. As he entered the underground parking area, Jack popped out at him from behind a pillar.

ìJesus, Jack, you scared the hell out of me.î Vaughn recoiled and kept walking to his car. He wasnít on the clock; he didnít have to stand there and flinch in front of Bristow.

Jack looked unmoved by his retreat. ìWe need to talk.î

ìOkay letís talk.î

ìNot here, idiot. Meet me at this address in 20 minutes.î

Jack handed him a slip of paper and whirling on his expensive shoes, strode off to his car, leaving Vaughn caught mid-stride.

Vaughn drove straight to the address Jack had given him and entered what must have been one of LAís seediest bars; a gay bar to be exact, a place neither of them had probably ever been or ever would be.

ìGreat,î Vaughn muttered under his breath as an old queen near the door eyed him up and down. Several regulars were playing pool in the back and the long wooden bar looked clean enough, so Vaughn sauntered over, trying not to appear uncomfortable and concerned.

ìAmstel Light,î Vaughn told the bartender, a well-built young man with a tight black t-shirt and leather pants. The bartender spun the beer to Vaughn with a flourish and Vaughn plunked his money down. He checked his watch. It had been more than 20 minutes. What was Jackís game?

Jack entered the bar thirty minutes later than the appointed time. He ordered a Scotch and the bartender didnít ask for money. Jack was dressed in his suit pants and dress shirt, but his tie was gone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Vaughn felt an immediate sense of unease in his presence, particularly his casual appearance. It was if all this were going to be done strictly Jackís way and strictly off the record.

ìYou should never have gone into Sloaneís office without notifying a superior.î Jackís face was a cold, solid mask and his lips barely moved.

ìWhat superior would I have told?î Vaughn sputtered. ìIím beginning to think no one is really interested in Sloaneís ongoing Rambaldi obsession and more interested in some damn notion of protocol.î

ìProtocol,î Jack repeated, ìHas nothing to do with this. Youíve interrupted an important long-term mission that was on a need-to-know basis.î He allowed a barely perceptible tilt of his head. ìYou didnít need to know.î

ìDoes Sydney know?î Vaughn asked.

ìDid Sydney put you up to this?î Jackís eyes narrowed.

ìNo, of course not; but maybe she would have if she knew that there was some new master plan... I assume to let Sloane lead you to Rambaldiís secrets?î

Jack didnít take the bait. ìSydney does not need to be involved in this. She has enough to worry about, as do you. Your current assignments are your priority, and Sydneyís relationship with Nadia is her main personal priority.î Jackís eyes on him were steely and unforgiving.

ìI was hoping to take her priorities in a new direction.î Vaughn ducked his head, looking at Jack sideways.

ìIím not sure what you mean,î Jack said.

ìI mean, Iím hoping we can start to make a life together.î

ìIíll do whatever I can to prevent that from happening,î Jack said, without a pause.

ìWhat about what Sydney wants?î Vaughn wanted to gape at the manís audacity, but thought better of letting Jack know anything he was thinking.

ìShe can make poor judgments, just like anyone can,î Jack was steadily drinking his Scotch, his eyes never leaving Vaughnís.

ìI think this conversation is over,î Vaughn said, downing the dregs of his beer and feeling a sudden need to pee. Heíd have to get home, mull over this conversation and then call Syd. ìIím going to the menís room and I hope youíre not here when I get back.î

Vaughn stalked to the back, letting an attractive blond point the way to the fluorescent-lit bathroom lined with stalls and urinals. He shuddered; thinking of the things that probably went on in here.

He walked back out a moment later and there was Jack, standing in the hall, blocking his path and apparently, waiting for him. Vaughn approached, but Jack didnít move. He didnít fold his arms, didnít adopt a belligerent stance, just stood there, motionless. Vaughn thought that heíd never seen a more dangerous man.

It was dark in the small hall, the bathroom door had shut, the fluorescent light was blocked out. The bar seemed to recede into the distance. Vaughn was trapped. He could retreat into the bathroom or try to dodge into the Womenís bathroom if Jack tried anything violent.

Jack stepped forward to meet him, saying nothing, his presence became surreally large in the shadows.

ìIíll do anything to protect my daughter,î Jack was saying, his gaze moving in, his face close. ìAnd my interests.î

ìWe have the same mission,î Vaughn said, but his voice sounded tinny and far away. Jack was standing mere inches from him. Vaughn knew somehow it was crucial that he didnít back down now. He didnít want to back down now. Bristow was being a bully.

ìYou donít understand the mission. But you will,î Jack said.

Jack leaned forward, and for a minute Vaughn thought he was going to head-butt him. Instead, he snaked a hand around Vaughnís neck, reeled him in, and kissed him. It was so unexpected that for a split second Vaughn stood perfectly still in shock. Then he shoved violently against Jack. It was like trying to move a mountain. Jack went back only slightly and Vaughn had intended to shove him through the thin wall that shook with the beat of the music. Jackís back was against the wall and now he gripped Vaughnís biceps and pulled him forward, crushing their lips together. Vaughn felt Jackís tongue slip into his mouth.

ìWhat the fuck,î Vaughn spat and struggled.

Jack leaned forward and whispered in his ear, ìThink about what I said.î

He released Vaughn moved off down the hall. Vaughn stalked after him, intending to spin Jack around and find out what that was all about.

ìHey.î One of the pool players was standing in front of Vaughn, suddenly very interested. ìWhatís the rush? Want to see how I handle my stick?î Vaughn put out his hand in a gesture to ward him off and rushed after Jackís retreating figure. But he couldnít quite cut the same swathe through the room that Jack did and by the time he got to the door, Jack had disappeared into the dark.

Vaughn swore and stood outside, running his fingers through his sweaty hair. He felt a sudden chill run down his spine. His head was spinning, his lips felt bruised and there was a tingling along the inside of his mouth, and surprisingly, in his groin. He bent over and rested his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. He couldnít.

Suddenly he stood up. He reached inside his jacket pocket and realized the notebook was gone. So, incidentally, was the engagement ring.