I really didn't think I'd write a post-Telling story. I didn't. And then I read the first chapter of Tempting Fate by Jude. And I had an idea. I asked Jude for her permission as the idea stemmed from something in her story and she said yes, so here we are. (And no Jude, I'm not blaming you for this, I take full responsibilty.g)
So this is Post-Telling. It is rated R. It's Vaughn's POV. It will be 4 parts, 3 of which are already done. There are no spoilers. (I've been spoiler free and Jen checked just to make sure there wasn't anything even remotely spoilery and she said there wasn't.)
Thanks to Jen for the spoiler check and the excellent beta. Thanks to Jude for letting me run with this insane idea. Also thanks to Jude for the title. You two really are the best.
I've also been told a tissue warning might be necessary. I don't think so, but I'm evil.
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Desolation
With my forehead against the pane as a vigil of sorrowI search for you beyond expectation
Beyond myself.
I love you so much that I no longer know
Which one of us is absent.
Le Front aux Vitres - Paul Eluard
********
I walk away from him, leaving him standing there in line, waiting for his bags. Not a word has been spoken since we landed. Then again, there is nothing left to say. After fourteen months, neither of us wants to face the truth. The truth that she might not be coming back.
I wind my way through the busy terminal, doing my best to ignore the couples hugging all around me. The laughing smiles, the welcoming embraces, the whispers of I missed you only serve to remind me of what I've lost.
I step outside and find Weiss waiting. I knew he'd be here; he's always here waiting for us when we return. I nod to him and slide into the back seat. Five minutes later, Jack emerges and soon we are on the highway heading back to the Ops Center.
The drive doesn't take long, not at this time of night. When Weiss turns into the garage, I finally speak for the first time. "Can you just drop me off at my car?"
"Kendall wants to…" Weiss begins. He stops abruptly when he sees my reflection in the rear view mirror. "Sure," he finishes quietly.
He slowly pulls up next to my car and I get out. Almost immediately, I stick my head back inside. "Do you mind if I come get Donovan tomorrow?"
"No problem. Maybe we can go play some ball afterwards."
I nod my head absently before closing the door. I stand back and wait for them to leave, but they don't. Instead, Jack rolls down his window. "What do you want me to tell Kendall?"
I stare at him as I try to think of an answer. After a moment, I finally give the only one that comes to mind. "I don't care."
Jack nods and the window slides back into place. He no longer questions me about going inside after one of our failed searches. The first few times after she disappeared, it hadn't been necessary. No matter what my physical (or emotional) state might have been at the time, I always insisted that I was more than capable of going over the latest leads, the latest intel.
But now, after so many months, so many locations, so many dead ends, the possibility of a new lead just doesn't seem possible any more. And I can't face the questioning glances, the knowing looks, the pity that always finds its way to their eyes. Jack doesn't seem to have this problem. Since Sydney disappeared, I've only seen him lose control of his emotions once. I only wish I could say the same.
I watch as Weiss slowly pulls away before turning to my car. I unlock the door and tiredly climb inside. This time was supposed to be different. I… No, it's not just me and I know this, so why do I have to keep reminding myself that I'm not alone here; that I'm not the only one who lost her? We thought we'd finally had a credible lead. The photograph had been tangible proof after so many mirages.
I lean back into the seat, smiling ruefully. I should have known before we'd even left that the intel was too good to be true. But I still had hope; this belief that since I wanted her back so badly that it was going to happen. Eventually, it would happen.
When we arrived in Monte Carlo two days ago, I'd felt more positive than I had in months. The grainy surveillance photo showed Sydney, or someone who looked very much like her, walking into a casino. The entire plane trip over the Atlantic, I did nothing but stare at the picture, looking for some sign that this was just another trick. I couldn't find a single one. I realize now that I didn't want to.
So when Jack and I reached the casino, we decided to split up. I found her first. This woman who should have been Sydney. When she turned around, I knew it had all been for nothing. I apologized quickly and turned away just as Jack approached the table. I stopped him as he was about to speak. "It's not her."
For a moment, the Jack Bristow that I had known for three years resurfaced. "I think I'd prefer to see for myself."
He tried to push me aside, but I held my ground. In the end it hadn't even been necessary. Just as I started to tell him that it wasn't Sydney, the woman, I later learned her name was Tessa, turned around and left the table. He started to follow her, but I put my hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Jack, it's not Sydney," I stated quietly. For a moment, he stood completely still before nodding sadly and leaving the room quickly.
We stayed one more day, checking with the other hotels and casinos, even going so far as to follow Tessa as she and a friend did some shopping. When I looked at the photo as they entered the last store, I knew that I'd only seen what I wanted to see. And Jack had done the same.
On the way to the airport, the cab driver had the radio on. I didn't listen at first, my mind too preoccupied with our latest failure. It wasn't until we were almost to the terminal that I heard a song I recognized, but I still tried to tune it out.
In the weeks following her disappearance, I still listened to the radio. But then it got to the point that every song I heard reminded me of her. Reminded me of her laughing, crying, smiling, being serious. Finally, I couldn't listen any longer.
All through the security check and boarding, there was something about that song that stayed with me and I wasn't sure why. Once we were over the Atlantic, I looked down at the water and the words that had been at the edge of my consciousness for the last hour finally registered.
…Elle cherche pour y voir une signe pour lui donner l'espoir
que par miracle il est sauvé
et toutes sa prières sont exausées…
And with those simple, sorrowful words, everything that had happened since Sydney disappeared came crashing down. It was suddenly clear that even though we'd told ourselves that all these infernal wild goose chases had been about finding Sydney, it had been about more than that. It had been about hoping to find evidence that she was still alive, hoping that everything we had been doing was not in vain. And now I feared that hope was gone.
I didn't even realize I'd started crying until the flight attendant asked if everything was alright. I nodded my head as I looked at Jack. I wanted to explain, but was unable to find the words. But as it turned out, none were necessary. He'd understood as well.
I slip the key into the ignition and drive out of the garage. I drive around aimlessly, almost going so many places. The pier, the Palisades, the park, the train station, the warehouse, the Observatory. Each place held a different memory, all of them precious. But I didn't go to any of the places we'd been together. Instead, I finally ended up here.
I turn off the engine and get out, standing just outside the entryway. I could go through, but there'd be no point. She's not here. Maybe it would be easier if she was. At least then we'd know and we'd have somewhere to go to be with her. As bad as that would be, I still think that, in a way, it would be better than this never-ending limbo we are in now.
Looking out at the sea of headstones, I wonder if this is still where she'd want to be. She'd told me once, right after she started working as a double agent, that if anything ever happened to her, she wanted to be buried here. Next to him. Next to Danny. But that was before we… That was before.
I walk slowly back to the car. I suppose that I will have to discuss this with Jack. It's not something I'm looking forward to. I still can't give up hoping that we'll find her, and doing something like this would be admitting that we never will. But I honestly don't know how much longer I can hang on to this, this hope.
It's not like I haven't given up before. I have. Four months after she disappeared, we'd gotten intel that led us to Rome. As we passed the Vatican, I tried desperately not to think of the last time I was there.
After searching the location thoroughly, twice, and finding nothing, Jack, Eric, and I went back to the hotel to await word from Devlin as to what we should do next. The waiting finally got the better of me and I had to get out of the room. I wandered around the streets of Rome for maybe an hour before I ended up at the one place I should not have gone.
I remember looking up at the sign, Trattoria de Nardi, and as much as I wanted to leave, something made me stay. I took the table I'd always imagined sharing with Sydney and I ordered two glasses of wine. When the waitress tried to remove the other place setting, I told her just to leave it.
I know she thought I was crazy. I really didn't care. As I sat there waiting for her to return, I fingered the chain around my neck, the one I'd been wearing since the day after Sydney disappeared. When she brought the glasses to the table, I placed the second on the opposite side of the table. I said a silent toast, a prayer, and took a sip.
I'd just set the glass back on the table when there was a commotion outside. I glanced up quickly and that's when I saw her, being forced into a car. For one brief second, our eyes met and then she was gone.
I was on my feet before I even realized it. The car was already halfway down the street before I'd made it out of the restaurant, but I took off running. Two blocks later, the car was out of sight. In vain, I tried to find some way to catch up to it, but I knew there was no use.
I was still standing in the middle of the street when Eric came up behind me. In between gasps, he asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. When I told him, he just shook his head at me. I don't remember hitting him. Honestly, I don't. I just stalked off, walking back towards the restaurant.
Suddenly I found myself forced up against a wall, staring at my best friend. When I asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, he told me he'd seen the woman who'd been put in the car. When he told me it wasn't Sydney, I just shook my head, and shook myself from his grip.
Again, I started back to the restaurant and again I found myself backed against the wall. When he started screaming at me, telling me that I had to face the fact that we'd been set up, I just shut down. As painful as being that close and losing her was, hearing that it hadn't been her was more than I could take.
All at once, just breathing seemed to take more effort than it was worth. The rest of that night and the trip back are a blur. When we got back to L.A., I didn't even wait for Weiss and Jack. I just took a cab and…
I shake my head, trying to forget the rest of that night, knowing I never will. I start the car and drive away from the cemetery, but I can't go home. Ever since that night in Rome, I never seem to be able to go there right away.
At least this time as I turn on to the highway I have a destination in mind. It only takes about twenty minutes and I'm here. I pull into the driveway where her SUV is still parked and stare at the darkened house.
And like all the other times in the past ten months, I sit here thinking about that last night and the ones that have followed. I remember telling her about the hotel, about the fact that we were finally, finally going to go on that elusive weekend trip. I'd kissed her and told her I'd pick her up after the debrief. And then I drove away.
I turn off the engine and get out of the car, knowing it's what I should have done that night. As I find the key to the lock on my key ring, I can't help thinking that I could have prevented what happened. It's funny that now I understand what Sydney meant when she talked about regretting not being there when Danny was killed. I just wish I didn't.
The key slides into the lock and for a brief moment, I don't see the darkened room before me. I see the disaster I walked in on over fourteen month before. I see the overturned and broken furniture. I see the shattered vase; wilting flowers scattered over the counter and on the floor. Everywhere I look, I see destruction.
My head drops slightly and my eyes close. Taking a deep breath, I reopen them and I see the room as it is now, as it always should have been. I slowly walk through the door, closing it carefully behind me. I don't turn on the lights, even though I could.
Once the police had released the apartment, Jack had gone to whatever means necessary to return it to the way Sydney had it before she disappeared. He even bought the apartment from the rental agency. He wanted it to be here for her when she returned.
In some ways, I think it would have been easier if Jack had let it go. Then I couldn't come here and remember. I wouldn't be able to walk into the kitchen and remember leaning against the counter, watching her as she prepared that first dinner for us. The one that had ended up needing to be reheated because our hunger for each other took the place of our need for food.
I walk over to the couch, running my hand across the back. I smile as I remember the night we came back here after the debrief from hell. I think about how glad I was that Francie and Will weren't here, but that only reminds me that I never met Francie. Not the real Francie.
I pull my hand back, shoving it in my pocket as I continue to wander around the darkened room. Sometimes, the worst part of coming here is the silence. It's not as though Sydney ever made that much noise, but when she was here, the quiet was comfortable. Now it's oppressive.
Just like that first time after Jack had everything fixed and replaced. That night we returned from Rome. I didn't know at the time why I gave the driver this address. I still don't. But that night… When I walked in and saw everything as it had been prior to Sydney's disappearance, I actually had to stop myself from calling out to her. It was then that I learned that silence could be both a friend and an enemy. It was that night I knew I'd never be able to stay away again.
When I'd arrived, I honestly didn't know what I would find. I hadn't been here since the police had released the apartment. Jack once asked me what I wanted to do with the things I'd left here. He'd never asked again. As I walked in, I figured out why.
Everything was as it had been before we'd left for Mexico City. Everything. The furniture that had been ruined as Sydney struggled with the woman she'd thought was her friend had been replaced with an exact copy. A copy of the vase that had been shattered occupied the same spot the original had always occupied.
I never thought to ask how Jack knew where everything belonged. I knew it couldn't have been from memory because he'd never spent much time here. But the hows and the whys didn't matter. What mattered was that it was all the same.
Maybe finding that everything had been replaced is what set me off. Maybe it was just the knowledge that even though the apartment had been put back to rights, the one thing that could never be replaced was what was still missing. Sydney.
Whatever it was isn't important. What is important is that night the dam finally broke. Everything I'd forced out of my mind, everything I'd been avoiding – repressing -, just couldn't be ignored any longer.
I'd like to say that I didn't know what I was doing. But I did. I overturned the furniture. I broke that damn vase. I dumped the knives from the drawer. I tore through the house until it was like the nightmare I walked into when I came to pick her up.
When I made it to her bedroom, I swear I could see traces of blood on the wall. I could see the gouges in the wall paper. I could see what had once been a mirror, the glass and wood lying shattered and splintered on the floor. And there, surrounded by the shards of glass and pieces of wood, I could see Sydney, unconscious and bleeding, lying near the window.
The memory hit hard and left me physically ill. When Weiss and the other agents had arrived that night, I'd told them I'd found Will and Francie – no, not Francie, Allison- but when Eric asked me about Sydney, I couldn't respond. I wasn't able to answer.
It must have been shock; at least that's what Barnett told me later. Shock was what caused me to block out the fact that she'd been taken while I was checking on Will as she had asked. Shock caused me to block out the fact I'd found her at all.
Standing there in the room where I'd lost her had been too much. I walked through the dark room to the bed and sat down, eventually lying down on Sydney's side of the bed. I pulled a pillow out from under the comforter and hugged it to my chest. Sleep finally came and with it, dreams. Dreams that have haunted me ever since.
Later the next day, Weiss, on a hunch, found me still lying on the bed with a picture of Sydney and her friends in the frame I'd given her next to me, the pillow still clutched to my chest. I tried to get him to leave me alone, but he refused. When I started talking about having found her, I know he thought I was talking about the woman in Rome. And then he understood that I wasn't talking about Rome.
The realization had him staring at me like I'd finally snapped. I don't remember him calling Barnett; there's a lot about those days I don't remember; but when she arrived, I was almost glad to see her. Almost.
I shake my head as I step into the room. What I discovered in the weeks that followed was that talking to Barnett was the easy part. Even the dreams were relatively easy to handle. The hardest thing I had to do was look into Jack's eyes knowing that he knew I'd found her and lost her.
I almost gave up at that point. But I didn't. Maybe it was the look in Jack's eyes. It wasn't an accusatory glare like I'd expected. No, that I think I could have walked away from. I could have walked away from the agent, the consummate professional. But the distraught father was something else entirely. So I continued. We continued. It was the only thing we could do.
I take my shoes off at the foot of the bed, placing my suit coat and tie over the chair in the corner before I walk around to the other side. Sydney's side. I pull the pillow from under the comforter and grab the blanket at the foot of the bed. Most nights I pray for a dreamless sleep. But as I lay down and drag the blanket over myself, I find myself hoping that tonight is different.
Tbc…
Additional AN-the lyrics are from the song La Tempete by Tara McLean.
Roughly translated they mean She searches for a sign to give her hope that miraculously he was saved and all her prayers were answered.