The first thing she notices is the smell. That antiseptic mixture of bleach and ammonia and other more unpleasant odors that curl your nostrils.
Next come the sounds. The beeping of a heart monitor. The occasional page over the intercom. The hum of what sounds like a sporting event on the television.
And then with a dull ache she becomes aware of her own body. The sting of numerous cuts and bruises. The throbbing pain from what feels like a rather massive welt on the back of her head.
'Ten concussions and counting,' she thinks dryly.
For a second she lays there, eyes closed, adjusting to the new sensations flooding her senses. Then it hits her, a flood of jumbled memories: Will in the bathtub. Coffee ice cream. Francie.
With an involuntary jerk she sits up, her mind racing, her breathing rapid. She looks around in a panic and lets out a loud, "Noooooo!!"
She doesn't even see him until he's sitting on the edge of her bed with his arms wrapped around her, strong yet gentle.
"Shh, Syd. It's okay. You're safe."
'Safe? From what?' She can't remember. She can hardly even breathe. So she just clings to him.
"Vaughn."
His name comes out in a gasp and he pulls back to frame her face with his hands.
"Yeah, it's me. Don't worry. It's over."
She's looking into his bright green eyes and the look she sees in them - relief, joy, love - is overpowering, drawing her in. Without a thought she leans in and kisses him. It starts out chaste but soon their hunger overwhelms them. Her memories are still sketchy but she knows she hasn't done this in a long time. Not since...
She stops and pulls away, avoiding his gaze.
"Vaughn, we can't."
"Syd..."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't... I won't be responsible for breaking up your marriage."
"My what?"
Looking up she realizes there's something different about him. The Vaughn she met in Hong Kong was haunted and jaded. This Vaughn, this is the man she remembered, the Vaughn she fell in love with. Or is it?
"Who are you?!"
His forehead breaks out in a rash of wrinkles as he looks at her in confusion, just like her Vaughn used to. But it can't be. That man no longer exists.
"What did you do to me? Where are we? How did I get here?"
"Syd... There was a fight. You and Francie..."
Something isn't right.
"What year is this?"
"What year is it? It's 2003."
"Not 2005?"
"Nooo... Syd what's going on?"
She wants to believe him but after what happened with Francie she's not taking any chances.
"How do I know you're really Michael Vaughn?"
"How do you... Look, Syd, it's me. I swear. Ask me anything."
Her brain shoots through all the memories of their life together. The carwash. The pier. The observatory. The train station. Taipai. France. Then it hits her. That's it.
"A grasshopper walks into a bar and the bartender says, 'Hey, we have a drink named after you,' and the grasshopper says..."
"You have a drink named Doug?"
"That's not what you were going to say?"
"No. I usually go with Phil."
"It is you, isn't it?"
He nods.
"And it's really 2003?"
"Yes."
"What about Will and Francie?"
"Well, Will's okay but Francie... We don't know what happened for sure but her double is dead."
Syd just nods numbly. He reaches out to her and she sees his left hand, sans ring.
"You're not married?"
"God, no! Why... What did he do to you?"
"Who?"
"Sloane."
"Sloane?"
"After the fight with Francie's double you were kidnapped by Sloane. It was two weeks before we found you. He'd hooked you up to that damn machine but we still haven't been able to determine what it did to you."
"And Sloane's not talking?"
He looks down.
"He escaped with the Di Regno heart just before we got there. So we can't even turn on the machine to figure out what it's for."
Absently she reaches down to feel her side, where the scar was before she can now feel a bandage underneath her hospital gown.
"None of it was real."
Vaughn just looks even more concerned.
"Syd, did he do something to you? The doctors said other than your injuries from the fight you were fine but we couldn't be sure..."
"Vaughn, he... I'm not sure what happened or what it means but when I woke up after the fight I was in an alley in Hong Kong. I went to the local safe house where you met me and told me that I had been missing and presumed dead for 2 years."
"What?!"
"I don't know. It was... It was all so vivid. I thought it was real. It must have been the machine. But why did Sloane hook me up to it? Why didn't he just use someone else? Or himself? Unless... Unless my mom was right."
"About what? You being the woman in the prophecy? Syd, no... She was probably just trying to manipulate you."
"Into doing what?"
"I don't know. I just... I can't believe that you would... I mean, what about Mt. Sebacio? We already proved it wasn't you."
"Maybe that's not what Rambaldi meant. Maybe he was talking about a painting he did. He was an artist remember? Or maybe I did whatever I was supposed to do before I went to Mt. Sebacio and we just haven't seen the consequences of it yet."
"This isn't the first time you've wondered about this, is it?"
She sighs.
"No. Come on, why wouldn't it be me? It wouldn't be any crazier than my mother being a KGB spy ordered to marry my father or finding out that my dad brainwashed me into being a spy or the fact that I'm in a relationship with the son of a man my mother murdered. So why wouldn't I be the woman in a 400 year-old prophecy written by the bastard child of Da Vinci and Nostradamas."
Vaughn sighs in frustration.
"So what? So what if it's about you? Either you've already fulfilled it, in which case there's nothing to be done about it, or you haven't. Either way it's like your dad told you when we extracted you from the FBI, if it's true then everything is predetermined and nothing we do makes any difference. So there's nothing to lose by believing that it isn't you."
"But what if it is? Don't I have an obligation to do something about it?"
"What's there to do? Syd, my dad loved to give advice, I mean, the man was like the Dear Abby of the CIA. Most of the time he was just joking, you know, 'Don't take any wooden nickels,' and all that. But when he had to he'd get serious and there was this one time - I don't remember what for - but he sat me down and told me that at the end of the day we can only be responsible for ourselves and the people we love. That's it."
"If only it were that simple."
"Why can't it be? It's not like the prophecy is specific enough for you do make any kind of decision based off of it. Syd, I spent most of my life trying to live up to my father's legacy, doing the right thing, following the rules, doing everything I'm supposed to. And then I met you and I realized that sometimes the right thing to do is screw protocol and throw the rulebook out the window because there are more important things in life than rules and regulations. The rulebook is only as right as the people that write it and nobody's perfect, not even Rambaldi."
"But he's been right before..."
"He's not the one that told you that you were the woman in the prophecy."
"But why would she lie to me about that?"
"I know she's your mother but she's still Irina Derevko. You have to remember that."
His voice is tinged with bitterness.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Me. Your father. My mother."
"Syd, I can't even begin to tell you how much that isn't your fault."
"I know. But what I want you to know is that while she may be my mother I will never trust her as much as I do you. Never."
"What about trusting yourself?"
"Vaughn, look at what happens to the people in my life. If your dad is right then I'm sure doing a crappy job at fulfilling my responsibilities."
"You can't blame yourself?"
"Yes I can. I shouldn't have told Danny the truth. Then Will wouldn't have gotten dragged into this and Francie would still be alive."
"And you and I would have never met. Or maybe your mother never kills my father and I never join the CIA. Or maybe you're never recruited by SD-6. It all goes right back to what my dad said. You can't control any of that. The Prophecy. Sloane. Will. Danny. Your parents. You can only do what you feel is right. Nothing more. I'm not trying to trivialize how you feel I just wish you'd understand that you don't have to be in control of everything all the time. It's okay to let go and be happy every once and a while. Trust me on this. Please."
"I'm trying."
He smiles.
"Would it help if I reminded you that while you may be Sydney Bristow, International Super Spy, you're not the center of the universe?"
She looks at him in shock.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not all about you, you know."
She'd smack him if he didn't have such a big grin on his face, one that she never thought she'd see again.
"Oh, it isn't, is it?
"I know it's hard to believe but sometimes things happen that have absolutely nothing to do with you."
"You're right, that is hard to believe," she says with a smile. But then she gets more serious. "I sure would like to though."
He smiles knowingly.
"I know. And you will. I'll make sure of it."
"I know you will. I trust you."
"Do you really?"
"Of course."
"Then close your eyes."
There's that grin again.
"What for?"
"Because I have a surprise for you."
Closing her eyes she asks, "What kind of surprise?"
He responds with a kiss. It's a long and languid affair without any of the urgency and panic of the last one but somehow all of the emotion, relief mixed with joy mixed with love mixed with hope. And this time she doesn't push him away. In fact she thinks she could easily spend the rest of her life kissing Michael Vaughn, but unfortunately thanks to the body's need for oxygen that's not possible.
Reluctantly they pull away but neither of them wants to go too far so they rest against each other's foreheads.
"Surprise," he says in that low whisper of a voice that she can feel in the pit of her stomach. But what really gets her is his eyes. Even when his face is a mask his eyes always give everything away. This time there's such an amazing look in them, one that's impossible to describe and yet perfectly clear.
For a while she simply takes it all in, enjoying the moment while wearing a smile on her face. Her smile and her silence must confuse him since she can feel his forehead wrinkling against hers. That just makes her giggle.
Finally he can't stand it.
"What?"
"Are you sure you're not married?"
"No! Why do you keep asking me about that?"
"Because you were. At least you were when I woke in Hong Kong."
Now he understands.
He looks at his left hand, his face an expression of mock curiosity.
"Hmmm... Nope. See. No ring."
She shakes her head. He always could cheer her up.
"Are you sure?"
"Syd, trust me, if I get married you'll know. Hell, I'd like to think that you'd be there."
What else can you say to that?
"Vaughn, I love you. You know that right?"
He smiles.
"I had an instinct."
That provokes a chuckle.
"I'm being serious."
"So am I. Still it's nice to have audio confirmation."
"Well, in that case, just so we're clear, I love you, Michael Vaughn."
"And I love you, too, Sydney Bristow."
THE END
Next come the sounds. The beeping of a heart monitor. The occasional page over the intercom. The hum of what sounds like a sporting event on the television.
And then with a dull ache she becomes aware of her own body. The sting of numerous cuts and bruises. The throbbing pain from what feels like a rather massive welt on the back of her head.
'Ten concussions and counting,' she thinks dryly.
For a second she lays there, eyes closed, adjusting to the new sensations flooding her senses. Then it hits her, a flood of jumbled memories: Will in the bathtub. Coffee ice cream. Francie.
With an involuntary jerk she sits up, her mind racing, her breathing rapid. She looks around in a panic and lets out a loud, "Noooooo!!"
She doesn't even see him until he's sitting on the edge of her bed with his arms wrapped around her, strong yet gentle.
"Shh, Syd. It's okay. You're safe."
'Safe? From what?' She can't remember. She can hardly even breathe. So she just clings to him.
"Vaughn."
His name comes out in a gasp and he pulls back to frame her face with his hands.
"Yeah, it's me. Don't worry. It's over."
She's looking into his bright green eyes and the look she sees in them - relief, joy, love - is overpowering, drawing her in. Without a thought she leans in and kisses him. It starts out chaste but soon their hunger overwhelms them. Her memories are still sketchy but she knows she hasn't done this in a long time. Not since...
She stops and pulls away, avoiding his gaze.
"Vaughn, we can't."
"Syd..."
"I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I can't... I won't be responsible for breaking up your marriage."
"My what?"
Looking up she realizes there's something different about him. The Vaughn she met in Hong Kong was haunted and jaded. This Vaughn, this is the man she remembered, the Vaughn she fell in love with. Or is it?
"Who are you?!"
His forehead breaks out in a rash of wrinkles as he looks at her in confusion, just like her Vaughn used to. But it can't be. That man no longer exists.
"What did you do to me? Where are we? How did I get here?"
"Syd... There was a fight. You and Francie..."
Something isn't right.
"What year is this?"
"What year is it? It's 2003."
"Not 2005?"
"Nooo... Syd what's going on?"
She wants to believe him but after what happened with Francie she's not taking any chances.
"How do I know you're really Michael Vaughn?"
"How do you... Look, Syd, it's me. I swear. Ask me anything."
Her brain shoots through all the memories of their life together. The carwash. The pier. The observatory. The train station. Taipai. France. Then it hits her. That's it.
"A grasshopper walks into a bar and the bartender says, 'Hey, we have a drink named after you,' and the grasshopper says..."
"You have a drink named Doug?"
"That's not what you were going to say?"
"No. I usually go with Phil."
"It is you, isn't it?"
He nods.
"And it's really 2003?"
"Yes."
"What about Will and Francie?"
"Well, Will's okay but Francie... We don't know what happened for sure but her double is dead."
Syd just nods numbly. He reaches out to her and she sees his left hand, sans ring.
"You're not married?"
"God, no! Why... What did he do to you?"
"Who?"
"Sloane."
"Sloane?"
"After the fight with Francie's double you were kidnapped by Sloane. It was two weeks before we found you. He'd hooked you up to that damn machine but we still haven't been able to determine what it did to you."
"And Sloane's not talking?"
He looks down.
"He escaped with the Di Regno heart just before we got there. So we can't even turn on the machine to figure out what it's for."
Absently she reaches down to feel her side, where the scar was before she can now feel a bandage underneath her hospital gown.
"None of it was real."
Vaughn just looks even more concerned.
"Syd, did he do something to you? The doctors said other than your injuries from the fight you were fine but we couldn't be sure..."
"Vaughn, he... I'm not sure what happened or what it means but when I woke up after the fight I was in an alley in Hong Kong. I went to the local safe house where you met me and told me that I had been missing and presumed dead for 2 years."
"What?!"
"I don't know. It was... It was all so vivid. I thought it was real. It must have been the machine. But why did Sloane hook me up to it? Why didn't he just use someone else? Or himself? Unless... Unless my mom was right."
"About what? You being the woman in the prophecy? Syd, no... She was probably just trying to manipulate you."
"Into doing what?"
"I don't know. I just... I can't believe that you would... I mean, what about Mt. Sebacio? We already proved it wasn't you."
"Maybe that's not what Rambaldi meant. Maybe he was talking about a painting he did. He was an artist remember? Or maybe I did whatever I was supposed to do before I went to Mt. Sebacio and we just haven't seen the consequences of it yet."
"This isn't the first time you've wondered about this, is it?"
She sighs.
"No. Come on, why wouldn't it be me? It wouldn't be any crazier than my mother being a KGB spy ordered to marry my father or finding out that my dad brainwashed me into being a spy or the fact that I'm in a relationship with the son of a man my mother murdered. So why wouldn't I be the woman in a 400 year-old prophecy written by the bastard child of Da Vinci and Nostradamas."
Vaughn sighs in frustration.
"So what? So what if it's about you? Either you've already fulfilled it, in which case there's nothing to be done about it, or you haven't. Either way it's like your dad told you when we extracted you from the FBI, if it's true then everything is predetermined and nothing we do makes any difference. So there's nothing to lose by believing that it isn't you."
"But what if it is? Don't I have an obligation to do something about it?"
"What's there to do? Syd, my dad loved to give advice, I mean, the man was like the Dear Abby of the CIA. Most of the time he was just joking, you know, 'Don't take any wooden nickels,' and all that. But when he had to he'd get serious and there was this one time - I don't remember what for - but he sat me down and told me that at the end of the day we can only be responsible for ourselves and the people we love. That's it."
"If only it were that simple."
"Why can't it be? It's not like the prophecy is specific enough for you do make any kind of decision based off of it. Syd, I spent most of my life trying to live up to my father's legacy, doing the right thing, following the rules, doing everything I'm supposed to. And then I met you and I realized that sometimes the right thing to do is screw protocol and throw the rulebook out the window because there are more important things in life than rules and regulations. The rulebook is only as right as the people that write it and nobody's perfect, not even Rambaldi."
"But he's been right before..."
"He's not the one that told you that you were the woman in the prophecy."
"But why would she lie to me about that?"
"I know she's your mother but she's still Irina Derevko. You have to remember that."
His voice is tinged with bitterness.
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"Me. Your father. My mother."
"Syd, I can't even begin to tell you how much that isn't your fault."
"I know. But what I want you to know is that while she may be my mother I will never trust her as much as I do you. Never."
"What about trusting yourself?"
"Vaughn, look at what happens to the people in my life. If your dad is right then I'm sure doing a crappy job at fulfilling my responsibilities."
"You can't blame yourself?"
"Yes I can. I shouldn't have told Danny the truth. Then Will wouldn't have gotten dragged into this and Francie would still be alive."
"And you and I would have never met. Or maybe your mother never kills my father and I never join the CIA. Or maybe you're never recruited by SD-6. It all goes right back to what my dad said. You can't control any of that. The Prophecy. Sloane. Will. Danny. Your parents. You can only do what you feel is right. Nothing more. I'm not trying to trivialize how you feel I just wish you'd understand that you don't have to be in control of everything all the time. It's okay to let go and be happy every once and a while. Trust me on this. Please."
"I'm trying."
He smiles.
"Would it help if I reminded you that while you may be Sydney Bristow, International Super Spy, you're not the center of the universe?"
She looks at him in shock.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not all about you, you know."
She'd smack him if he didn't have such a big grin on his face, one that she never thought she'd see again.
"Oh, it isn't, is it?
"I know it's hard to believe but sometimes things happen that have absolutely nothing to do with you."
"You're right, that is hard to believe," she says with a smile. But then she gets more serious. "I sure would like to though."
He smiles knowingly.
"I know. And you will. I'll make sure of it."
"I know you will. I trust you."
"Do you really?"
"Of course."
"Then close your eyes."
There's that grin again.
"What for?"
"Because I have a surprise for you."
Closing her eyes she asks, "What kind of surprise?"
He responds with a kiss. It's a long and languid affair without any of the urgency and panic of the last one but somehow all of the emotion, relief mixed with joy mixed with love mixed with hope. And this time she doesn't push him away. In fact she thinks she could easily spend the rest of her life kissing Michael Vaughn, but unfortunately thanks to the body's need for oxygen that's not possible.
Reluctantly they pull away but neither of them wants to go too far so they rest against each other's foreheads.
"Surprise," he says in that low whisper of a voice that she can feel in the pit of her stomach. But what really gets her is his eyes. Even when his face is a mask his eyes always give everything away. This time there's such an amazing look in them, one that's impossible to describe and yet perfectly clear.
For a while she simply takes it all in, enjoying the moment while wearing a smile on her face. Her smile and her silence must confuse him since she can feel his forehead wrinkling against hers. That just makes her giggle.
Finally he can't stand it.
"What?"
"Are you sure you're not married?"
"No! Why do you keep asking me about that?"
"Because you were. At least you were when I woke in Hong Kong."
Now he understands.
He looks at his left hand, his face an expression of mock curiosity.
"Hmmm... Nope. See. No ring."
She shakes her head. He always could cheer her up.
"Are you sure?"
"Syd, trust me, if I get married you'll know. Hell, I'd like to think that you'd be there."
What else can you say to that?
"Vaughn, I love you. You know that right?"
He smiles.
"I had an instinct."
That provokes a chuckle.
"I'm being serious."
"So am I. Still it's nice to have audio confirmation."
"Well, in that case, just so we're clear, I love you, Michael Vaughn."
"And I love you, too, Sydney Bristow."
THE END