Hey Guys! Wow, I really need some sleeping pills. As many of my regular readers know, I'm an insomniac and I tend to crank out little fics when I can't sleep. I was about to start working on the second of the three papers I have to turn in next week and this is a little "thing" that appeared somehow. It's nothing special and I'm warning you, it hasn't been beta'd or edited or polished. I just know that I won't have a chance to do anything else with it so what the heck… In fact, I'll probably regret posting it when I wake up, but I hope that someone gets a kick out of it. Now. Back to my paper. Or bed.
~Ell
Bliss
It's not what I expected. But then again, precious few things in my life have gone as planned. Even things in the past, things that would appear to be static, have a way of changing shape until the truths that I have believed are no longer real.
Case in point. The woman who is responsible for the existence of my wife is the woman who is responsible for the extermination of my father.
Life really seems to get a kick out of making my dreams come true in the most roundabout of ways.
Which brings me to the present day.
My plans were simple. Take down SD-6, quit CIA, build a life and a home with Sydney, and achieve normalcy.
Life must be really laughing it up right now.
I've done it. And now the only thing I can do is wonder how.
Sydney and I weren't expecting a baby. Well, we didn't think we were. We had both assumed that due to the stress
and trauma her body had been subjected to, children would be a stretch. We had both assumed that when she started
feeling a little rundown, she was coming down with something.
Our solution?
We both called in sick and spent the day in bed watching chick-flicks and reading her favorite romance novels. What can I say? I'm a sucker for a beautiful woman.
Especially when she dimples me.
I was concerned when the strength of the "bug" seemed to increase and when her doctor's appointment happened to overlap with a reconnaissance mission in Italy, I found myself sitting by the phone in my hotel room all but wringing my hands in anticipation of the news. Thousands of horrible images flashed in my mind, but none of those images prepared me for the news she delivered to me with a trembling tone.
"Vaughn? I'm pregnant. We're going to have a baby."
She seemed almost bewildered. As though she was expecting horrible news similar to what I had been envisioning. I was quiet for a moment before responding with a loud whoop of joy. Which resulted in the prompt arrival of the several neighboring CIA agents who had misinterpreted my yell.
"I'm going to be a father!"
This was the only form of apology that I offered to them before shooing them out of my hotel room and turning my attention back to the phone.
"Baby, this is amazing! How are you feeling? Is everything okay? When are you due? Do you need me to come home right now?"
Sydney had laughed before assuring me that she was fine and would continue to be until I got home. I didn't care. I was on the next flight back to Los Angeles and appeared on our front doorstep with two red roses in hand.
One for each of the two most important people in my life.
Watching the woman you love swell with the growth of your child is one of the most beautiful things in the world.
They say pregnant women have a glow.
Sydney liked to joke that hers was the sheen of sweat that resulted from the furnace she was going to give birth to. I still contend that she had an exceptionally beautiful pregnancy. While I had always appreciated the fact that my wife was in exceptional shape and had a beautifully toned body, there was something special about the experience of watching her body prepare for the birth of our child. Sydney wasn't nearly as thrilled about my documentation of the pregnancy, always rolling her eyes and shaking her head as I persuaded her to let me take photos and measurements of the growing bulge I had fallen in love with. Her emotional vulnerability as she watched her petite frame expand was endearing and I was always quick to tell her how beautiful her burgeoning figure truly was.
Sydney went into labor one August afternoon as she lay on our couch being blasted by a small fan while reading a parenting magazine. I was at work when I received her frantic phone call and I nearly mowed down two elderly women when I ran a red light to get home to her. The labor and delivery were textbook perfect although I'm sure Sydney would argue something entirely different. Feeling completely useless, I held her hand (which she didn't break, thankfully), kissed her, whispered 'I love you', and provided the occasional ice chip in response to the obscenities she screamed in my ear.
It was a day I thought would never come.
A title I thought I would never earn.
Daddy.
Of all the difficult aspects of a pregnancy, I never anticipated the challenge selecting a name would present to us. The responsibility associated with that task is momentous. A person's name impacts the way a person is defined. It's the first word they learn to write and it is what will define them after death. For the entire duration of the pregnancy, Sydney pored over books of baby names, testing the sounds of thousands of words on her tongue and on my ears. All of the books in the world couldn't provide us with the perfect name and it wasn't until we heard the words, "It's a girl" the moment she appeared, bright red and squinty-eyed, that we knew.
Aimee Brianne Vaughn.
Like all first-time parents (and, I assume, second-time, third-time, and so on), Sydney and I were absolutely in awe of what we had done. We had vowed that we wouldn't be the stereotypical new parents counting fingers and toes…Aimee has ten of each. And while Sydney and I aren't exactly braggarts, we were pretty proud of ourselves for making such a beautiful baby (the most beautiful in the nursery, we decided). It was a very proud moment for me when I wheeled Sydney out of the hospital with Aimee clutched securely in her grasp. I knew as we loaded into the car, that it was the beginning of something very good.
It was only later, when we had settled Aimee into the bassinette in our room that we took a moment to look up our choices.
Aimee: Loved one
Brianne: The strong
She sounds like a Bristow woman to me.
Sydney is an amazing mother. For someone who was so concerned about the absence of a feminine role model, motherhood seems to have come naturally to her.
It must be something in female genes.
From the moment Aimee was born, Sydney was able to cradle her gently and speak to her in soothing tones that would render our little girl silent in her slumber. Out of bed almost simultaneously with the first utters of a early-morning crying fit, I would listen through the baby monitor to the hushed words and low hums of a mother comforting her child.
My wife comforting my child.
I'll never forget the first time I came home to Sydney and Aimee after a long day at work. Walking through the door to find my beautiful wife making dinner with my daughter as an audience. Dressed in loose-fitting sweats, Sydney was stirring a pot of pasta while singing animatedly with a jazz CD that was playing throughout the house. Dropping the spoon, Sydney continued her performance over to where Aimee sat in her carrier on the counter and started placing butterfly kisses all over our daughter's tiny face.
Is it really possible to fall in love with the same person twice?
I chose not to make my presence known. The memory is mine and mine alone.
Of my girls.
Jack Bristow once said that when he looked at Sydney, he saw the promise of his own redemption. When I saw the feed of this testimony, I snorted skeptically.
I rescind that reaction.
I now know the love a father has for his daughter. I know the hopes and the fears he has for her future. I know that Aimee will always be the most beautiful, the smartest, and the kindest. I now understand the excessive measures that Jack Bristow took to protect Sydney.
She is his little girl.
Aimee is mine.
And she's beautiful.
Truly.
One really can see that she is a blend of my traits with Sydney's. The soft, wispy, brown hair stands straight up when Syd puts it in a tiny ponytail and her bright, long lashed eyes have slowly transitioned from blue to green since she was born. I can't help but smile at the rosebud lips and the adorably dimpled cheeks—features that are purely Sydney and make it easy to recognize that she's her mother's daughter.
She's almost two years old now with my eyes, her mother's streak of independence, and a giggle that's all her own.
She is beautiful.
It's a beauty I've seen only once before.
In the face of her mother.
Sure, life may have been laughing it up when I fell in love with Sydney.
But my life is just about perfect.
So, who's laughing now?
TBC…
Okay, let me know what you guys think.