The chill of late autumn air hit Daniel's sinuses and shocked him into a more lucid state, allowing the recent memory of where he'd parked to rise to the front of his mind. As he descended the stairs, each word of what he'd "sung" with the karaoke machine synchronized with each step. Ich lieb dich nicht du liebst mich nicht.
I don't love you, you don't love me.
Heading across the street from Mitchell's apartment, Daniel hoped his first guess ― that Vala had pick-pocketed his keys and fled to his car ― would be the correct one, and that his second guess ― that he'd lost his keys and she'd hitched a ride ― would be the incorrect one. Because then there'd be the chance that his annoyingly fussy car alarm would delay her long enough for him to catch up.
Not far from the streetlight, he spotted his hybrid SUV where he'd parallel-parked it. Relief washed over him; he jogged faster, straining for a glimpse of her inside.
He found her slumped against the steering wheel, nearly invisible, her cloud of black hair blending with the shadows. She didn't budge when he gently rapped on the glass. "Vala, it's me. Unlock the door."
A long minute passed, filled with the strains of mariachi music emanating from the radio inside, before she sat up, her face turned from him, and leaned toward the passenger side to release its lock. Daniel convinced himself that the cold night air, not desperation, hurried his footsteps. As he entered the vehicle and settled into the seat, he noticed that Vala kept her face averted.
He turned down the radio volume to a barely audible level. "I'm sorry. I didn't..." he trailed off, sensing that the situation was past mere apology.
Facing the driver's side window, she let out a cynical gust of breath. "I should thank you for letting me know," she said, her voice raspy and raw. "I'd hate to find out the hard way, such as being left to dehydrate and starve for three days in a public square, or at the end of a emnaquadah/em caper involving a getaway cargo ship."
Through the last haze of alcohol, Daniel slowly recognized her references to Tomin and Jacek, the men who loomed largest in her life through their betrayal of her trust. He swallowed hard at the sudden import of being ranked with husband, with father. "You love them, despite trying not to."
"Perhaps I don't, and am fooling myself," she whispered, turning her head to face the front windshield, "just like your song says." She sat perfectly still, her profile majestic, impassive. In the light of the sodium street lamp, everything looked one color ― that unnatural, metallic yellow ― transforming Vala into a sculpture cast in well-worn bronze, the tears on her cheek citrine beads.
Ich lieb dich nicht du liebst mich nicht. The words echoed in his head in bilingual counterpoint to the cheerful Mexican music on the radio.
The worst kind of self-contradiction ― denial ― had hurt someone besides himself. "Vala, I'm sorry," he began again, trying to salvage the rapport he'd ruined. "That was just a stupid joke. It was a song I used to recite in grad school to annoy my friends, who enjoyed making fun of my German."
She closed her eyes, breaking the illusion of a statue, a caryatid felled by the weight of a long burden. "Daniel, words... mean things."
Vala had always been a woman of action, not of words, and Daniel was taken aback by the irony. "I oughtta be the one saying that," he muttered.
"I oughtta punch you," she sniffed, with a wry smile, "but my fist still smarts from clouting that Lucian Alliance scoundrel who tried to behead Cameron."
"I wouldn't blame you if you did punch me," Daniel commented lightly, taking in the beauty of her resilience, of her dignity, waiting for her to turn her eyes toward him. In more frequent moments, the light those eyes cast shone into places inside he'd long kept dark. He reached over and took her injured hand in his, gently caressing her bruised knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "Well, I know Mitchell feels grateful that his head's still attached."
"But how could you not know how I'd feel? About that song?" Still facing forward and sitting upright, she took a breath that created enough movement for the shimmering threads in her camisole to sparkle like fitful stars.
A rising panic closed his throat; he barely managed to stammer, "I, I could never be sure."
"Daniel, what is it about me that frightens you so?" And then her eyes, glittering brighter from the tears he'd caused, turned toward him and shone fearlessly into his own. Their connection, from the moment they'd first met, had never faltered, but had gradually developed into a rare, strange, and necessary conduit that bound each of their weaknesses to the other's corresponding strength.
So many men had failed her; and yet she'd chosen to risk another venture a new way of life ― with explorers, not scoundrels. He once believed that she wouldn't commit, would only toy with his heart if he let her. But at the moment, as he held the hand that she'd injured to protect her team, he realized it was he who'd belittled her intentions, and had judged her based on a way of life she'd abandoned for almost three years.
"If I ever lost you, after losing my wife, I'd..." Memories of two sleepless weeks searching for Vala after the Trust had abducted her flashed across his mind, and of her earlier absence through the Ori beachhead. Of twice not being able to save her (and Sallis) from the fire of sanctimonious dogma. The alcohol that had caused his earlier lapse in judgment now acted as a discrete hurdle he had to surmount with a final leap of clarity.
He let go her hand.
Then, leaning over the center console between their seats, he cupped each side of her face with steady palms and brought her lips to his.
She gasped in surprise; her mouth was cold and firm, but as she exhaled slowly, her breath warmed their lips and softened the contact. She tentatively brought her hand to his neck, neither pushing him away nor pulling him closer. He let the kiss linger, let the sensation of connecting to her on a physical level release a flood of emotions so intense that sight and sound were overwhelmed by touch.
As she leaned away to catch her breath, he saw in her eyes evidence that she, too, felt the same way.
"Vala, I... I do lo―"
"Da, da, da," she laughed, and fell into his arms for another kiss, this time deep enough for him to taste the spicy cinnamon from the Goldshlaeger through the bitter hops of Mitchell's beer.