The Blue Man song fires up again as Syd performs yet another rendition of the Bristow Swagger into Oops Center. Man. Those enemies of state have no problem getting past security, and they ALWAYS get the best soundtracks. Syd looks totally kick-ass here, by the way. All black leather and exposed belly. Aw, yeah. Syd blasts into Dixon's office; Head's there with him. Syd holds up the all-important chip and declares that she's gonna destroy it if the NSC doesn't release her father immediately. Head's all, um, dude? I work for the NSC, right? Did you really think you could come in here and threaten me? Syd whips out a pocket blowtorch, lights it, and goes, "Yeah." Hee. "And after this, I'm gonna make you a nice crème brulée."
Head just kind of looks at Syd like she's got a running clip of hamsters on mopeds running across her boobs. Syd's all, I want it in writing that, as of today, my daddy's cleared of all charges, right? Head's all, Mr. Dixon? Talk some sense into her! Dixon just stands behind him, not saying anything, with this hilarious smirk on his face as if to say, "Yeah, uh, dude? Might wanna grab your pen, mmm-kay? Barbie's gone ballistic." Head blusters and blathers and totally tries to call Syd's bluff. Unfortunately, Syd has no bluff to call, and she starts counting down from five, bringing the torch ever closer to the chip. Head finally agrees to sign Spy Daddy's release letter. Dixon hands over the letter, barely hiding his amusement. "B-R-I-S-T--" Syd snarks. "I know how to spell your name," Head snaps. Hee.
The dulcet tones of Rickie Lee Jones singing "On Saturday Afternoons in 1963" greet us at the beginning of this next scene as Syd breezes down a hallway. I loves me some Rickie Lee, by the way. Yeah, she does that weird Joe Cocker thing sometimes with her hands and mouth, but she sure does sing purdy. Right. Anyway, Syd's walking down this hall, and she sees Vaughn chatting with Agent Sean in the distance. She's thisclose to turning around and walking away, but realizes that that is something a thirteen-year-old girl (or a really immature thirty-four-year-old woman) would do, and decides against it.
Damn. Does Michael Vartan ever look tasty. Even when he's playing a schmuck, he looks good. Ahem. So, Vaughn's all, I came by to see how you were. Syd's all, are you fucking kidding me? Vaughn's all, um, what's with the 'tude, dude? I just wanted to make sure you -- Syd's all, oh, you SO did not come here to see how I am, you pussy. You came here to see how YOU are, because you know in your heart what you did and you wanna make sure that you're not going straight to hell for giving up on your burnt-to-a-crisp girlfriend! "I buried you," he says, hurt unfurling his many forehead wrinkles. "Consider that for one second --" And here's where Syd totally launches into Vaughn, and I just wanted him to reach out and smack her lightly a couple of times. Really. I'll illustrate. "Don't use rational thought as a defense with me, not after all you and I have seen." Whap. "Vaughn! You and I live and breathe madness every day on the job! There is no rational thought!" Whap whap. "I can't even pretend to have a conversation about anything else with you. What it comes down to is faith." Whap whap. Fizz. (Vaughn's brought out one of those pink feather duster thingies and he's just twirling it in her face.) "What I was hoping you would say is, 'Sydney, I gave up. I gave up on us. I lost faith.'" Whap. Fizz. Whap. Fizzzzzzz. "But what you came here for was closure and there is not one chance you are getting that from me. I'm not going to say I understand." Fizz. Fizz fizz. Fizzzzzz. Thwack. (Agent Sean's chiming in with a nice Chilean sea bass filet.) "I'm not going to sympathize with you and tell you how hard it must be for you." Thwack. Fizz. Thwack. Whap whap. Fizz. Fizzzzzz. Fizzzzzz. And thwack. Thank you everyone! We'll be here all week.