Wrestling Emotions

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Thanks for all the great reviews, guys. I'm glad you like it so far…

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Chapter 2: Deep Breaths

Frozen water. Crystallized ice. Little pieces clumped together to form an intricate pattern, the quick but careful handiwork of Mother Nature, its lacy design different from any that had ever been made before and any that would come. Falling from the safety of a soft cloud, flung out into the unknown, the harsh, steel-gray sky. Fighting the wind, wrestling through its brothers and friends, being pulled to and fro in a crazy erratic pathway that seemed to never want to reach the ground. But perhaps it wasn't destined for that, because it never did join those multitudes of other snowflakes that made up the few inches of frozen whiteness already covering the ground.

The little snowflake came to a stop on the windshield of a parked, nondescript van, stinking to the others before being carelessly thrown away by the windshield wipers. It caught Vaughn's eye for just a moment before he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, shaking his head at the driver's questioning glance and then spinning and returning to the back of the vehicle.

It had been twelve minutes since he had last heard Sydney speak. Twelve longer than normal, agonizingly painful minutes, that seemed more like days, months, years, eternities. There had been a sharp gust of wind, enough to cause the van to shudder and to send a shivering chill up his spine. His com-link had crackled, snapping quickly to silence, not even giving him a chance to answer, think, plead, consider, pray. And he hadn't heard from Sydney since.

It was the wind. It was the wind. It was the wind. He kept telling himself that, but he could never make himself completely believe it, no matter what he tried. She was alone out there. The murderers had left. She hadn't been captured. It was only the wind. It had to have been the wind. Please let it be the wind…

Any sound, any noise from outside or within caused him to jump to the back door and swing it open, hoping that he would come face to face with her bright smile and be able to safely help her inside. But the only thing that had been accomplished by this gesture was a sharp drop in temperature inside the van and a dusting of snow on the cold metal floor. She was never out there. It was always the wind.

He wasn't going to last through much longer of this… this not knowing. It was killing him inside, imagining what they could have, could be doing to her. That she might be lying on the ground, her blood turning the snow a deep red, melting it.

Deep breaths. In and out and in again… Counting in between. It takes time and requires your mind to be elsewhere, focusing on the numbers and their correct order, not how Sydney's lifeless body would look in the snow.

Tension building, mounting, suffocating. He had been able to sit through the first minute, waiting for the com-link to turn back on. The second followed, the same as the first. The third, fourth, and fifth still carrying the hope that her voice would crackle to him through the wind, through the deathly silent headphones that he began to loathe with a fatal passion.

But five quickly moved on, to six, seven, and eight. And with each passing moment, he had to try harder and harder to keep his breathing normal, to keep his heart from leaping out of his chest, and the questions, considerations and possibilities from springing forth from his now way overactive imagination and into the forefront of his mind.

The howling of the wind gave him the sudden itching, burning temptation to again open the door, to hope he'd see her smiling face there. Maybe she's there. She could be there. It must be her because no one else is out there. No one but… the wind. It's only the wind.

A deep breath. Tapping fingers. A deathlike glare at his silent headphones. It's only the wind, only the wind, the wind…

Silently giving into the temptation, he stood up and slid into his coat, opening the door of the van and stepping out into the midst of the storm. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting them adjust to the sudden snap of frozen air, the wind and the snowflakes vying for the chance to sting his cheeks, to steal his breath.

Slowly, he opened them, hoping beyond hope that he'd see her before him, that she'd be laughing, telling him he shouldn't worry. The wind roaring with increasing speed and fury, carrying other sounds to him, sounds that could be…

"Syd!"

Frigid and dry, his cupped hands framing his mouth as he shouted, dying for an answer. But she wasn't there. Nothing was there but the wind and the snow and the desolate place before him, the field where they had parked the van so as not to attract the attention of the guards that should have been patrolling the compound.

Softly and languidly, like a dream, a nightmare, the noises became clearer, more than just rumblings in the wind. Dogs growling and barking, men shouting. Vaughn knew if he was closer, he would hear the dogs' jaws snapping shut, their teeth clinking, sharp and lethal. He felt as if they had torn his heart out, gnawing on it as if it were the first and last thing they would ever eat. And he could still feel the pain, sharp and aching, without and within.

In and out. Slowly. Carefully. One deep breath after another. Fighting against the frigid temperature and forcing air into his lungs, almost choking, almost crying. Not allowing either to happen. Somehow maintaining control.

He had no idea if those beasts, both dogs and men, were moving closer, if they had already found their prey. Something caught his eye through the blinding snow, another sound traveling to his ears. He braced himself against it, ready for the growling and shouting, the stamping of feet. But this was different, a crying, shrieking, howling, as if someone, something, were trying to echo the wind, succeeding with the chilling perfection of its mimicry.

The figure approached, progress slow and steady. He had thought he had seen Sydney too many times to be fooled into seeing her again, thought he had heard her speak enough silent words to fill a conversation. But it had all been fake, time and time again. Through every singe one of those twelve minutes and carrying onward. And he wasn't going to let himself be disappointed this time. Not again.

He raised his gun to the figure, waiting for a cue, for it to grow into a pack of snarling dogs and men, for it to stampede to him, for fiery bullets to pour his way. He waited for it to disappear, a mirage, a trick of the blustering snow.

The growling he heard in his mind turned into a sound almost familiar, the stamping feet he should have been hearing instead, spelling out his name. "Vaughn!"

Soaring to him over the snow, finding its way to his ears through the wind. Never had he heard a sweeter sound, never had he wished with a greater passion that his dream would morph into reality. The dark figure steadily approaching, still solitary, almost clear enough to be seen now, a dark jacket, hair whipping around in the wind…

"Vaughn…"

And he almost died inside when he realized that he had been aiming his weapon in the face of the only woman he had ever, could ever love. Wanted to shoot himself because he hadn't recognized her, hadn't let himself be fooled into the truth, had almost sunk a fatal piece of metal through her flesh, piercing her heart…

"Sydney… Oh God, Sydney…"

He ran the remaining feet to her, even though it wouldn't have taken long to walk, repeating her name over and over. He couldn't stand to have her away from him for another minute, another second, any amount of time that would have prolonged it from becoming the present. Relief washed over him as he finally allowed himself to breathe, taking in her scent as he buried his head in the crook of her neck and threw his arms around her, not noticing how she was hunched over, that something in her arms prevented her from hugging him back.

"Careful…"

Concern flashed through his eyes. Sydney couldn't see it in the dark, but she knew it was there, knew that his forehead wrinkles had returned with greater fury, that all the not so old fears had crept back into his head. He gingerly took his arms from around her, holding her back so he could try to look into her eyes, to see the emotions that played there, whether he could pick out the pain, see the blood. But it was too dark, so inky and desolate that for a second he almost doubted the reality of her presence, thought that maybe she wasn't there at all.

"Are you okay?"

Fear, utter panic and the need to control it, turned his voice into a whisper unable to be heard over the relentless wind. But she had understood without the sound of his words, nodding and kissing him softly as reassurance, fighting the wind that sought to tear them apart. Only then did he notice that they should probably go inside, that any conversation would be futile out in these elements, that she had been in this brutal wind for too long, and was probably shaking with cold.

"Vaughn…" she murmured before he could motion her inside. He seemed to feel the word more than hear it, such soft murmurings not standing a chance in this storm, swallowed whole almost before they were spoken. He tried to look into her eyes, watching as she dipped her head downward. Only then did he notice that her jacket was unzipped, the wind biting through the thin material of her shirt, piercing her skin with icy needles, piercing his heart at the same time. Sydney's teeth were chattering, and she tried to pull her jacket tighter around her, giving him only a shadow of a glance at what he thought he saw inside.

Vaughn silently ushered her into the van, his questioning glance and jumbled words all that were needed to elicit a response from her once they were inside.

"Syd… what…?"

She unwrapped her coat, completely revealing the little boy that belonged to the windblown hair and dark, feverish eyes he had glimpsed for only a fraction of a second outside. The child was tiny, his boots and coat clean if somewhat worn, his little corduroy pants patched at the knees. He let out a tiny cry, rubbing his tear-streaked face into Sydney's neck. She held him tighter, rocking him slowly back and forth, calming the sheer terror that had invaded his eyes, quieting the hiccupping sighs of fear and exhaustion that rattled his chest.

"He was in the bushes," she explained softly. "The only one left."

"All the others?"

Sydney shook her head, her bottom lip trembling; she was struggling to stay compartmentalized, to remain in control. Vaughn would have taken her in his arms right then and there, but was stopped by the tiny child held tightly within her own arms, unsure what to make of him, wondering if he would break if he got too close.

"He was crying when I found him," she continued. "I don't know how he got away."

He knew she didn't want to, didn't need to add that one crucial word to the end of her sentence. Alive. They both knew it was there, hanging heavily in the air between them. He didn't press that subject, delving further into what seemed to be a more pressing issue. "Who is he?"

"I don't know."

She had thrust her gun into the bushes, preparing to squeeze the trigger at any second, ready to either kill or die. Her heart had almost stopped when she found the barrel of her weapon pressed against a two-year-old's skull. Shock and disbelief taking over for only a moment before she quickly holstered her gun, pulling the child into her arms, and hurrying away, not even stopping to consider any other options.

"Who are… were they?" he asked finally, knowing not to question as to whether she had the documents; not wanting to, but needing to discover if she knew anything else. He could avoid it now, but she would only be asked later, and by someone with less tact and feeling. And it was protocol to get as much information as quickly as possible. Damn protocol.

"I don't know," she answered again, fainter this time, her eyes dulling as she glanced once more down at the child in her arms. "I wish I knew his name…"

"It's okay, Syd. It's okay," Vaughn murmured, moving closer to her and brushing his lips across her temple. "God, you're freezing." He brushed his fingers lightly across the boy's cheek, not daring to press any harder. "Both of you."

The child yawned, quiet now, and fighting to keep his eyes open. Sydney shifted his weight in her arms. Somehow, the boy felt comfortable, safe there, making an instant connection with his savior. But even his tiny body was become too much for the physically and emotionally drained Sydney to hold on to.

"Here," Vaughn offered, pulling a crate from a corner of the van and dumping out its contents, securing it back its corner and placing his coat inside. It wasn't perfect, but it would work, and it was the best they could do for now.

Sydney laid the little boy in this makeshift crib, grabbing a blanket from the back of a chair, the one that was there for her to wrap around herself after such chilling and frigid missions, and gently tucked it around him. He held his eyes open for a few seconds longer, gazing steadfastly into Sydney's, all terror completely washed away, before succumbing to exhaustion and closing them with a contented sigh.

Vaughn softly signaled to the driver to slowly and carefully start to the airport, alerting him of their extra passenger, and helped Sydney up. He sat in a chair and pulled her into his lap, finally allowing himself a shuddering, heart-wrenching breath, so glad that she was finally in his arms.

"God, Syd…"

And that was all it took for her to break as well, to flick the switch that turned her back into Sydney from Agent Bristow, filling her with the emotion she had been struggling to suppress.

"Vaughn…" she whimpered, burying her head in his neck, silently permitting the tears to fall.

Vaughn put a hand to the back of her head, running his fingers through her damp hair. He had known it would only be a matter of time before she broke down. It happened whenever a mission went badly, and sometimes even when it didn't, when she let her life catch up with her. He would find her soaking in the bathtub, preparing dinner in the kitchen, curled up in bed. She would be lost in her tears, and he would help her find herself again.

"All of them," she continued. "They're all… all…"

"Shh, baby, it's all right."

He could feel her hot tears sliding down his neck, her arms clasping impossibly tighter around him, threatening to bruise his skin. But he didn't care. His own arms were just as tight around her still chilled body, but no matter how near they were, it wasn't enough; she kept trying to get close.

"No, Vaughn… They're all dead… And I didn't even…"

"Sydney," he interrupted gently, "there's nothing you could have done. Nothing."

She tried to protest, the words not finding their way through her tears, stopped for just a moment as emotion took over and she was unable to gather her thoughts. Sometimes he thought that getting through those difficult missions sapped too much of her strength, that she was left weak and powerless, prey to passions that were suddenly too forceful for her, for anyone, to control.

"I'm not going to let you convince yourself that this was your fault." Not this time. Not ever again.

Sydney would never, could never believe that it wasn't. There was always something else that she could have tried, something she could have done differently. Here… here she hadn't done anything at all, he hadn't let her. And it was killing her inside.

"I could have… I could have helped…. But I didn't save any of them."

"You saved him, Syd," Vaughn told her, nodding in direction of the sleeping boy, wishing that that one life would be enough to satisfy her, that her voice would return to normal, that she would smile, that the guilt would take a break from its meal, would stop eating her alive.

"Out of how many?" she whispered harshly, shaking her head against him. He should have known that it wouldn't have been enough. "Only one…"

"Two," Vaughn murmured, disrupting her words and thoughts, silencing her. "Syd… you don't know how many times I thought I lost you."

She quieted then, her chest rising and falling against his, her heart beating in time with his own. The moment was hushed, each holding the other tightly, afraid to let go, to loosen their grip, trying desperately to capture the moment instead of letting time carry on, losing it forever.

Her voice was strangled when she finally spoke, as if it had to fight to free itself from her chest, to leave her lips. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry, Vaughn… I'm sorry…"

"No. Don't talk like that, Syd. It's okay. It's going to be okay…"

She didn't answer, couldn't; could only tighten her grip, a multitude of thoughts scrambling through her head, unable to make themselves heard. But they didn't need to be. Her lack of words spoke volumes, her silence was enough.

He took his arms from around her, gently pulling her head off his shoulder so that his hands could frame her face. His thumbs wiped away her tears, his eyes never leaving hers, telling her it would be all right. She was starting to calm already, but not enough to satisfy him. He kissed the paths that the tears had made down her cheeks, ending with his lips just a breath away from hers, close enough so that they were sharing air, sharing life.

Vaughn captured her lips quickly, carefully; pulling her closer and running his fingers through her hair. Sydney sighed into him, releasing all the pain and frustration, letting him help her fight away the fear embedded within her, within them both. Fireworks exploded behind his eyes as she kissed him back, raining down in a rainbow of sparks like they always did, but new and different, better every time. He pulled away only when he ran out of breath, only when his lungs were screaming for air and he wouldn't have lasted another second. Sydney loosened her grip on him, finally deciding that he wouldn't vanish if she let go, and leaned calmly against his chest.

"Okay?" Vaughn asked quietly, needing confirmation, needing to be sure.

"Thank you," she whispered with a sigh. "Always." I couldn't live without you. You complete me, make me whole… I… I…

But he beat her to it, giving breath and life to those words she had been trying, struggling, fighting, wanting, screaming to say. "I love you, Syd."

"Really?"

It was a quiet question, uncertainty abounding, trickling forth from her and reaching his heart.

"Yeah, really. Of course, really. Why do you…?"

She didn't understand why she couldn't fathom it. Maybe it was because the life of a spy had trained her not to trust others… But no, she did trust him, with all her heart, all her soul, all her being. Maybe it was because she didn't think she was deserving of anyone's love, of his especially. She had hurt, she had killed… She didn't deserve it. But that's not what he told her. Or maybe, just maybe, she didn't think it was possible for another person on this earth to pour forth as much emotion as she was, to feel the same way, with such passion, longing, and desire. She was so crazy in love. It wasn't possible for anyone to feel the same way. I couldn't be… But it was.

Vaughn could feel her smile into his chest. He loved that feeling, cherished it. Always. She had found herself completely again.

"I love you, too."

"Really?" he teased, sensing that it was okay to now, that she wouldn't break, that she was once again strong and whole.

"Yes, really," she answered, sitting up and giving him a quick peck on the lips, returning once again to the sweet, gorgeous (although she had never stopped being that), powerful woman he saw her as everyday. "What do you think we should do?"

"About the boy?" he asked, easily following her train of thought.

Sydney nodded, turning her gaze in the child's direction. For a moment, Vaughn thought he saw her eyes flash with the fear and guilt that had only just left them. But if it had been there, even for a tiny spark of time, it disappeared just as quickly. She smiled as she turned back to face him.

Vaughn leaned forward, training his eyes on the sleeping child. What do you do with a little boy you picked up in the middle of the nowhere, who sprung out of a storm? They had no idea who he was, who might or might not be looking for him… "Should we take off his coat?" he asked after a moment, turning back to the woman in his arms.

"Vaughn, I meant when we get back to LA. What's the CIA going to do with him? How will we find out who he is, who he belongs to?"

"I'm serious, Syd," Vaughn responded, ignoring her questions, even though the same ones had been firing themselves within him just moments before. "He looks like he's hot."

At this, Sydney slid off his lap to kneel beside the child. Vaughn followed her, pressing his body against hers in the cramped space of the van. "See?" he continued. "His cheeks are red."

"It could just be windburn," Sydney reasoned, glancing at him for confirmation.

Vaughn shrugged. Plunk him down in his office and he could come up with a desk full of counter-missions, but with this, he was completely clueless.

Sydney turned back to the boy, bringing a gentle hand to his forehead. "But he is a little warm… Is it warm enough in here, do you think? To take his coat off?"

"I'll turn the heat up," Vaughn answered, figuring it was better to be safe than sorry. He moved to the other side of the van as Sydney tenderly lifted the boy. The child sighed in his sleep, but did not awaken.

Sydney unzipped his coat and began to remove it; the child not stirring throughout the process. Vaughn stood with his back to her, fiddling with the temperature controls, about to ask her how she did it, how she knew exactly what to do. But she spoke first, calling his name.

"Vaughn…"

He turned around instantly, noting the urgency in her tone. She held up a few quickly and messily folded papers, stains and watermarks marring the once white paper, their edges yellowed with time. Sydney placed the boy softly back in his makeshift bed, unfolding the papers with shaking hands to reveal an old floppy disk, its identity unmistakable.

Vaughn's eyes met hers, never leaving them as he reached for his phone, dialing the number before she even took a breath to speak her next words.

"Call Devlin. Tell him we have the documents."