A/N: Okay, okay, I know I have at least two other stories going on, but I couldn't resist starting another one. This idea came to me and I had to get it down. Anywho, I hope you enjoy.

Spoilers: None as of now. This story will pretty much run unconnected with the show.

Michael Vaughn closed his front door and threw his keys onto the small wooden table located to the right of the entryway. With a tired sigh he took off his jacket and tossed it onto the couch as he walked through the living room. The days mail was sitting on the dinning room table. He riffled through the contents and after finding nothing of interest; he left the mail in a slight order of disarray.

            "Lauren? Are you home?" He had expected his wife to be in the kitchen or den, but both rooms were empty and untouched. Her car was in the garage, but that didn't mean she hadn't decided to go for a run and there was still the possibility that she was in the shower or taking a bath.

            He headed up the stairs off of the kitchen and walked into their small walk-in closet as he removed his dress shirt and pants looking for something more comfortable. When he was dressed in a pair of sweats, an item of clothing he never wore anywhere but at home, he headed towards the bedroom. The door itself was partly closed, which was odd since the two of them were always in a hurry in the morning and never made a point to close the door.

            Vaughn stepped up to the door and knocked softy, calling out Lauren's name. When there was no answer Vaughn decided to enter but he pushed it open slowly. The slow movement allowed him to see her piece-by-piece. First her shoes connected to legs slightly spread across the carpet. Then her black skirt and white turtleneck shirt outlined with a black vest and finally her face. Her eyes were closed and her hair flowed out on the right side of her body. She lay on her right side that caused a small pool of blood to darken her sweater and form a puddle on the floor.

            Vaughn practically leapt to her side as he checked anxiously for a pulse, but there was none. With shaky hands he called for an ambulance and then went back to her side. He placed his hands over her wound at her heart and began to simultaneously do compressions, even though he knew they would do no good. He face was pale and translucent and her lips as pale a blue as the sky.

            He felt his forehead sweat in concentration as his eyes began to water in tears he wouldn't allow to fall.

            "Come on, Lauren," he whispered. "Come on." His heart thumped rapidly when hers remained silent. Despite his efforts she remained unresponsive, but he kept up the motions till the paramedics pushed him aside. He watched as she was briefly examined before being put on a stretcher, a white sheet placed over her body.

            CIA agents and forensics officials combed the house as Vaughn followed the stretcher to the ambulance. The EMT's pushed him back as the doors to the ambulance were slammed closed; the same doors that slammed shut over his heart.