Title: Different [1/10] Author: Winking Tiger Rating: PG Setting: AU; General Season 3; post Crossings Summary: Different can be good. [Sydney/OC] Dedications: I have to thank Jude for the inspiration and Mel for betaing this for me. Author's Notes: This was spawned from an idea I got after reading "Easier" by the incomparable Jude. Given her permission this piece began and then took on a life of its own. I know that this starts off angsty but it goes through a whole range of emotions and happenings, stayed tuned to see it all.

1

Water is supposed to a symbol for rebirth. I highly doubt it could turn back the hands of time like I need it. No water could ever take back my last two years—that I've seemingly lived but don't remember. Or erase that one decision I made all those years ago, naive and curious, having no idea what it'd lead to.

But the brightest and the weirdest have searched in vain for that magic time machine, the amazing fountain of youth, or the Genie that would make all of your wishes come true with the shake of a magical lamp. Water is only water: the molecules of hydrogen and oxygen that bond to form one of the most amazing substances found on Earth.

And it does serve to calm, at least a little. That's one thing that's true about water—one truth. One truth I know that is actually true. One of too few I can believe in, to uphold their definition of being accurate and truthful.

Truth list: 1. water may calm given the right circumstances.

The world is too complicated and too full of deceitful supposed truths, former truths, lies. I know the water rushing against the sand will continue its path and its celestial patterns; as sure as the moon stays its course. I know the wind blowing against me, sweeping my hair in my face, is the sting against my skin. I know the sand beneath me is wet and solid.

Truth list: 2. the properties of the beach and its including forces remain constant, bar unforeseeable weather conditions.

And that's where my truths seem to end. I had come out here in desperation. Everything else hurt too much. I could at least try and see if another setting brought the same pain. My findings are: the wind stinging my face dulls the other pain and the waves crashing upon the shore gives my mind something else to focus on. Who ever said distraction was a bad thing?

With my head against my knees, the darkness of the night wrapped around me, and the sounds of the water and the wind I was able to close my eyes and not hurt so much. It was still there, dull, a little bit further in the back then before, but I could bear it. And I stayed like that, my little slice of serenity—or at least as close as I could get—for as long as I could.

My serenity was great, except for the sound of a barking dog, off in the distance. It was loud enough to wake me up, if I was actually sleeping, but quiet enough to register all the same. Even with the sound reverberating against my every thought I sat out there, just a little longer. Finally, with a deep breath, I walked back—to life and everything I'd been avoiding.

The night passed and the morning came, too quick. But I survived through the day. I'd assured Weiss—just as I'd decided that in a half hour or so it would be dark enough and cool enough to go outside—that I really wasn't good, but I was fine enough and eventually I'd be good. That done, I went to the beach again—maybe there was a reason I moved here. And no matter what had happened or what hadn't happened, or what I'd missed or wished I had missed but didn't, I made time—for once—for myself.

I couldn't get peace or peace of mind on my own, but my trips to the beach did. Somewhere in the darkness of the waters and the music of the waves and winds I earned temporary serenity and the absence of pain. I prescribed my own treatment: one visit to the beach, daily; doctor's orders. It was slow going, some days I cried to myself, alone, on the sand. Other days it was just nice, actually nice, to be there. And, after a while, it really did work.

Time, something that had all too recently become a major thing, took a new place: on one of the simmering backburners. The days would pass, I'd survive through this one and then through the next.

I'd only gone through the motions before. I'd been a hollow shell, afraid of doing something—anything—else to escape from what I was in. But now I was gaining myself back again. There's only so long you can stay hallow, no matter how much it hurts. With Danny, so long ago, I'd immersed myself in work and revenge. I'd had Vaughn the whole time through. He was always there; steady enough for me to lean on when I couldn't stand on my own. Somehow I started to grow on him while he was there—my constant source of support. But those ties that bound us were wretched apart violently. This time, there was no revenge to be sought, no way to find some one—something—to get my two years, my life, back; two years and more questions then answers. No Vaughn, no Vaughn equivalent, and definitely not the same Vaughn, no matter the capacity, as last time. I don't have anyone, or anything, else but me to lean on anymore. Instead, I've found a safe haven in myself—a temporary shelter of sorts—that's separate from the rest of the world.

Truth list: 3. building support for yourself from within is hard, nearly impossible.

Sometimes, you need to concentrate on yourself above everything else. When you run, you keep going if you only focus on your breathing—in and out—over the quake of your feet, the wind against you, and everything else that'll only make you stop. So, like focusing on my breathing, I issued more doctors orders: focus on living each day, trying to make the next one more bearable than the previous.

Like in the movies, the days passed by. It wasn't as if I didn't realize the days passed into the next—they were long and hard. But I focused on each day, not the next one or the three after that or the next month. Slowly, they passed. Mission, life, beach, mission, mission, life, mission, beach, life, mission, beach, life, mission, life, beach...

Truth list: 4. life is hard, but sometimes manageable.

Things weren't as easy as just staying difficult. No matter how much pain it brought—both of us—things didn't just stay painful or difficult, that would have been too easy. Sometimes, things came into focus. A closer inspection then I'd ever wanted to have again, at least by anyone else other than just myself. I remembered everything I kept trying to forget, to get over. And there was a look in his eyes, sometimes, that I couldn't take. Because things still went unsaid, like they always had been and will be between the two of us—even when things were good, back then. The truth slapped into your face is never good, especially from him. There's just something about not hearing it, only thinking it that makes sense. I couldn't hear why he was still with Alice; I couldn't hear what needed to be said, not then, and certainly not now.

I couldn't survive if he still loved me. I barely do now, with the remorseful, fleeting thought that he still loves what we used to have. If he still loved me, I'd be prone to tell him that I loved him as well. And then the two of us would be prone to trying things that we—I—should not do. Not for her, not for me, not for him. I'd be someone he loves but doesn't share his home, his entire heart, his name with. I'd be a mistress, sex without real attachment, just fodder for adultery in a divorce case. But worst of all—even if things ended between them and we tried to begin anew—I'd be the mistake he made, over and over again. [Who gives up on the 'love of their life' for a wife that they just go on to leave for the suddenly alive former love? Whoever does that just thinks of the what ifs and the 'I can't believe I did this, didn't do that'.] I'd be the flaw of his loyalty and being. I'd be everything he'd done wrong. Things would never, never be anywhere near the same—or even close—to what I'd want, or maybe even settle for, with him.

Truth list: 5. The past can never be repeated. It was may be worse, or better, but never the same.

I tell myself this, sometimes, when things are really hard. For the two of us, difficult would be easy. But knowing that even if some desperate hopes came alive it wouldn't be what I'd really want makes things manageable. I don't just tell myself this to make me believe. I know this because I'm as sure as I can be—it's the truth.

All I'd see in him would be the mistakes made. I'd be his mistake.

tbc