"In the Still of the Night"
"You don't have to stay with me, Vaughn," Sydney dismissed as she let them into her home. "I'm sure Nadia can make sure I don't lose it again."
"You're not going to lose it," he stated more confidently than he felt. "But the doctor said he wanted someone with you for the first 24 hours. Besides, it's not like it's a chore." He dropped his bag to the side in the entryway and followed her into the bedroom.
"No? What if I try to kill you again?" she asked refusing to look at him.
"Syd," he began to argue. She captured him in a stare that communicated that they both knew he could not ease her mind. Dejectedly she moved around the room gathering her things and then excused herself.
"I'm gonna grab a shower," she informed.
Being all too familiar with the effects of a guilty conscience, Vaughn knew the turmoil currently haunting Sydney about what had happened between them. She had stood only feet away from him, trained the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. The thing that struck him most about the situation was that he was not afraid—not for himself anyway. The possibility of imminent death was something he confronted at least monthly. But seeing Sydney so affected that she would willingly hurt people she cared about was something he had never seen. It was so contrary to her nature. He had never experienced the kind of fear he had when he first found out that she had been infected. Like his own, he was constantly faced with the possibility of her death. The unique mark of this incident was that if she did die from this drug, his last hours with her would not really be with her. There was no question that the hallucinations were severe. There was no question that she was not herself. If there was no antidote, his last moments with Sydney would not be spent with the woman he loved. They would be spent with a stranger.
Vaughn had been so understanding about everything. Sydney wondered if he knew that there was a measure of truth in the words that she had said to him. She wondered what he had actually said to her in that alley. All she remembered were the horrible things she had heard him say—the things that had hurt her so much that she had to hurt him. The thing that scared her more than anything was the power that even hallucinations of his hurtful words had over her. How much more could the real thing destroy her? One thing she knew about the incident was that the fear was real. She knew that she depended on him far more than he depended on her. That made her the most vulnerable. She had the most to lose. She knew that he was impatient to move things forward in their relationship, but that impatience made her doubt the sincerity of some of his declarations. Even now, standing in the shower, she recalled their most recent shower together and wondered in the face of her rational objections if he had fabricated everything to give her some sense of false security. She allowed the water to course over her washing away the remnants of the week's events.
Hair dripping and skin flushed, she entered the bedroom already in her pajamas. She was surprised to find Vaughn changed into casual attire and reclined against the center of the headboard channel surfing and looking very much like he did not intend to move for a very long time. She smiled audaciously in the face of her fears at the way he managed to look so comfortable in her environment.
"Did you wanna go out tonight?" she asked toweling the excess water from her hair. He smiled and finally his attention was focused.
"No. You should rest," he answered.
"You know I hate that," she objected.
"I know, but it's true."
"I hate it more when you're right," she approached the bed and tossed the wet towel onto him and she sat up straight next to his slouching form.
"Thanks for this," he said sarcastically. The towel flew across the room into the desk chair but not before he had covertly stolen a sniff of a fresh, wet Sydney.
"You're welcome," she mocked. "What are we watching?"
"What do you wanna watch?"
"Nothing serious. Not today."
"Let's see what we've got." He flipped through several channels and she stopped him excitedly on a reality dating show. "Are you serious?" he wanted to know as he smiled at her incredulously.
"Yes, it's so funny, I can't even tell you." They watched together, mocking the fact that the participants could take themselves so seriously, and together they found comfort in the fact that it seemed to make their own relationship appear to possess a bit of normalcy. Her erect posture had given way to a more comfortable one draped partially over his torso.
"How are you feeling?" he asked in the middle of the ceremonial rose dispensation. He managed to temper his tone to a concerned one rather than a worried one.
"I'm good," she answered, "just tired I think."
"Wanna sleep? I can leave you alone. Go get some work done."
"No. No, I'm okay." He laughed at her strained words.
"You're lying to me right now."
"Don't leave," she demanded snuggling her face closer to his chest. He stroked her hair slowly with one hand and rubbed her back soothingly with the other.
"Don't worry," he comforted.
"Hm?" she asked sleepily.
"I said don't worry."
"Guess I am tired."
"Why don't you get into bed, Syd? Come on," he said trying to urge her to sit up a bit. She stirred herself enough for him to pull the blankets down and crawl beneath them. She settled underneath them while he looked down on her from above.
"You too," she told him. He smiled consentingly, and brushed her bangs from her eyes with an affectionate finger. Moving from the bed he removed his jeans and sent them to keep company for the evening with her towel. He situated himself on his side next to her with a fist propped under his face.
"How are you feeling really?" he asked again.
"Tolerable," she answered opening her eyes and meeting his searching stare. "Much better than before. Better than last night."
"You didn't have me with you last night," he smiled.
"No. That sucked. There is something that always makes me feel better."
"What?" he asked. She did not answer but instead pulled his free arm across her and turned slightly away from him. He smiled more broadly and pulled her tightly against him. He tried to blow away strands of her hair that tickled his face but was forced to pull them back with his chin when his first attempt was unsuccessful.
"Ah! Vaughn! Shave much?" she asked when his stubble irritated her neck.
"I thought you liked it."
"I do. It's really hot. But a little itchy."
"Sorry," he answered with a tender kiss to her neck. "I'll get rid of it tomorrow."
"No, I like it." He laughed at the predicament she found herself in.
"Let me know if you change your mind." He kissed her softly again and once more, "Syd? You can talk to me too, you know," he echoed her assurances to him from not so long ago.
"I know," she answered pulling him closer. "Just not tonight."
Serene sleep embraced them for hours. It was the first peace he had experienced since her ordeal, and he was in no hurry to leave her. He dreaded going back to Weiss's. He belonged here with her, taking care of her, watching over her. For years he had believed that no one person was required for another person's happiness. There was no such thing as a perfect match between two people. And even though he still believed that, he also believed that he would never find a person he wanted more than Sydney Bristow. Defining his "type" had always been an elusive task before he had met her. Even now, he could not define it except to say that it was Sydney. She was the fulfillment of qualities he did not know he wanted in a woman until he saw them in her. They certainly did not always agree on everything, and that was just one thing she had shown him that he wanted. She challenged him constantly, and he loved it. Everything she was, was everything he wanted, and nothing more or less.
Sydney straining against his grasp trying to free herself like a frightened child abruptly awakened him. He sat up slightly and saw pained expressions covering her features. "No. No, let go!" he heard her cry out, and he freed her. She replaced his arm by turning to her stomach and clinging ardently to her pillow. He offered comforting words and a soothing hand on her shoulder, but it could not ease her evident turmoil. It was not until ten minutes later when she turned to face him that she began to calm herself. His mind was eased when he noticed her slipping back into slumber. He allowed her a few minutes rest before it occurred to him that if she was hallucinating instead of dreaming that the fever might be returning. Softly he placed a hand on her face. She was definitely warm, but it could just be because of the exertion of the nightmare.
"Syd?" he whispered to her. "Sydney?" he said more loudly with a gentle shake. She stirred sleepily.
"Vaughn? What's wrong?" she answered through the groggy haze.
"I think you might be getting a fever," he said rising from the bed to retrieve the thermometer.
"I feel fine," she said objecting to his fussing.
"You didn't ten minutes ago," he responded.
"What are you talking about?"
"You were dreaming."
"What did I say?"
"Nothing, it just," he reclined next to her and placed the thermometer in her mouth, "Just didn't look like you were having a good time." She closed her eyes and waited, hoping that the antidote had been effective. The beep rang out quickly and he removed the thermometer. She did not need him to read it. She could read the relief on his face. "99.3. Not high enough to worry about." He capped the thermometer and returned it to the night stand. "Sorry I woke you. Try to get back to sleep, okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks," she answered. She turned her back to him as she had earlier that night and settled against her pillow. He watched from where he was leaning and sadly sank down onto his back next to her. Longing filled him as he looked on, and then closed his eyes. She lay tensely waiting for his arms, but they did not come. She would not ask, but she doubted that she would be able to rest. She had slept very little last night when she was alone at the clinic. But she was not alone now. She willed herself to relax, but she could not settle her mind. Turning to her other side, she found Vaughn expressionlessly staring at the ceiling. He looked over at her and gave a smile that could not quite reach his eyes.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey."
"You're not sleeping," he observed.
"No. Restless, I guess."
"You wanna talk about your dream?" he offered.
"Can't remember it."
"Probably for the best."
"Vaughn?" she asked waiting for him to look at her, "What's wrong?" He was silent but only briefly.
"Nothing's wrong," he looked away.
"I know you're lying. Why are you lying?"
"You need to rest, Sydney. You don't need to be up worrying about me."
"I'm not going to rest when I know you're lying to me," she explained. Her hand moved to rest on his chest, and he instinctively covered it with his own. In realization a moment later he released her hand and looked again into her concerned stare.
"What did I say to you?" he asked.
"When?"
"When you were sick. You said that you were hallucinating your father saying things to you that he didn't really say." This time it was she who looked away. "What did you hear me say to you?"
"It doesn't matter," she answered unsteadily, "It wasn't real."
"No," he answered a little forcefully. "It wasn't real. But it was real to you at the time. And whatever was happening in your dream was real enough to make you terrified of me."
"What are you talking about? How do you even know you were in the dream?"
"Doesn't matter. I was with you here, and you were none too happy about that."
"What did I do?"
"You just," he stopped his thought and once again grew fascinated by the ceiling. "You didn't want me anywhere near you." This grabbed her attention, and she looked to his face for any other meaning but did not find it. She removed her hand from where it had rested all along on his chest. Moving to her back she lay motionless for a few minutes. The silence that stretched on was consumed by what he had said. He lay in wait praying that there was another explanation for what had happened other than the obvious—that she actually didn't want him. She lay in confusion trying desperately to find a way to explain everything that she had experienced. Looking to him again, she saw in the darkness the hard set of his jaw, his furrowed brow, and the involuntary swallowing. He was the one who was terrified now. He exhaled audibly and turned his head to meet her assessing stare.
"I'm scared, Vaughn," she uttered simply. "You were right. I am afraid," she lost control of one of the tears she had restrained and she stopped speaking to regain her fortress. "I'm afraid to lose you again."
"Syd, that's ridiculous. I'm not going anywhere," he countered firmly.
"We don't really live in a world where that good intention is enough, and I know what it did to me the last time I lost you. Or rather, I don't know what it did, and that's pretty huge."
"What are you talking about?"
"When Kendall told me what happened during those two years—Vaughn, I knew about you and Lauren. I saw you with her nine months after my disappearance."
"Syd, what are you saying?"
"I had my memory specifically erased so that the Covenant wouldn't be able to use me to access the Rambaldi Cube. I had my memory specifically erased, Vaughn. I didn't know about the cube for the whole two years. Which leads me to believe I intentionally gave up more of my memory than was necessary."
"Why didn't you come back?" he asked quietly.
"You would have been in danger too if I had come back. At least that's what Kendall says."
"Please!" he snapped. "You know that doesn't matter to me." She shrank at his sudden outburst. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I know you don't remember." She let go of the tears that had barricaded themselves behind her fluttering lashes. "I wish you had come back to me, Sydney." She turned to her side to face him again and used her pillow to mop up the moisture that had fallen on her face. "I can understand that you're afraid," he began again, "and I can understand why. Nothing really went how we wanted it to the first time around. But you say you're afraid to lose me. You wanna know what I'm afraid of?" He looked at her demanding her full attention. "I'm not afraid of losing you. I'm afraid you'll never let me have enough of you to lose. You wanna know why that scares me, Syd? 'Cause you have all of me, and there is nothing—absolutely nothing I can do about it." The intensity of his stare told her that he was telling the truth. Michael Vaughn never made declarations easily. It took every drop of concentration he had, and she could see it all right now.
"What if there was?" she asked after a moment. "What if there was something you could do about it?"
"I wouldn't do it," he answered without hesitation. "I've always been happiest when I can love you."
"And are you happy now?" she asked tentatively.
"Mostly," he answered grinning slightly, "When you're not crying, that is. Makes me feel terrible." She chuckled briefly and swiped at her eyes then moved closer to him sliding down to rest her forehead against his shoulder.
"I'm not crying now," she offered. He found her hand with his under the blanket and took it greedily.
"I love you, Sydney." Her hand tightened against his and she smiled freely with her face still hidden against his shoulder.
"Yeah? Again?" she asked happily.
"No. Not again. Still." His correction caused her to smile even more. She sat up to look at him freeing her hand from his and found that he was smiling as well. She placed her hand on the side of his face.
"It's very sweet that you love me still. But I meant, say it again." He laughed and willingly obliged her.
"I love you, Syd."
"You meant 'still' like from three years ago 'still'?" she asked going back to his previous statement as loving fingers toyed with his face and hair.
"Yeah. Still."
"Me too," she said giving her smile a large dose of seriousness.
"You too what?" he asked refusing to let her off easy.
"I still love you," she said honestly.
"Tell me again," he demanded rather than asked—an action that would have spared them some confusion had she chosen it earlier.
"I love you, Michael Vaughn." He was a perfect mirror of her smile now. His arm sneaked underneath her torso and pulled her to rest on him.
"I get a 'Michael' too?" he asked in disbelief.
"Yeah," she answered, "You pay attention better that way."
"It's not likely I would have missed that regardless of what you called me. Unless you called me 'Will.' That would have made it a little less amazing."
"Are you seriously jealous of him?"
"Maybe a little." She laughed out loud at this confession, and then settled down with a sigh. He could tell she was relaxing back into sleep. "This is the part where you tell me that I have nothing to be jealous of."
"Why do you need me to say it if you already know how it goes?"
"Humor me?"
"Will's not the one in my bed. Therefore, you have nothing to be jealous of."
"Syd?"
"Hmm?"
"Are you still afraid?"
"I don't think so. Maybe a little."
"Good. It's progress," he justified. It was not the resounding "no" that he had hoped for, but it was something.
"You?"
"I think I'm good," he answered. "I know I feel good."
"Hmmm," she sighed, "Yes you do," she finished running her hand down his torso. He chuckled lightly and brought her roving fingers to his lips briefly.
"Goodnight, Syd."
"Goodnight."
In fact she was having trouble remembering a better night. Granted memory was not her strong point, but that did not explain why he could not recall one either. However, both of them hoped for many more to eclipse this one. Whether or not they would get them now appeared to be entirely of their own choosing. This night had been born out of necessity. It had been the child of heartbreak and pain, but now bore the marks of happiness. And in the stillness, they both heard it. It was silence—the silence of the voices that had haunted them both. There was no delusion from either one that the silence would be everlasting, but that was certainly no reason not to enjoy it for the moment.
AN: This is the chapter I have wanted to write since the beginning of the story! :)
