Part Three:
//I am the girl you will never forget
because forgetting me is forgetting your own name//
She walked in slowly, as if taking her time, each footfall echoing the empty space in his heart. There was something wrong about her steps; he could sense it. They were heavy, as if she was dragging herself to do a deed she never wanted to do. Which made him wonder, why was she here? And why was he here? It was hours after their debriefing, and unless there was something more she had to say, he was totally clueless. Which, he reminded himself, wasn't too unordinary in itself, for more then once he had been shut out completely from her feelings. He wasn't sure about her, but he had an instinct.... 'I have an instinct about you." He had known it was the lamest thing in the world to say to your new agent, but it was better then saying 'I have just fallen completely and hopelessly in love with you.' So he waited while she approached him, breathing to the beat of her feet on the dusty concrete. Her face was tilted down, as if a nun praying or a child after they just broke a window, but in her case the expression on her face seemed to be one of deep concentration and determination. Which again brought him up with the question: What was he doing here? He figured soon enough he would find out, so he stayed calm and leaned nonchaentaly on the desk that was behind him, counting the steps until she would be in front of him and addressing the matter at hand, whatever it turned out to be. One, two, three, four, each heavier then the last, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, like the twelve hours on a clock. Then, thirteen. Lucky thirteen. He put this out of his head and waited for her to speak.
"I'm sorry this is so late. I had to get it over with."
He shrugged, with a quiet "It's fine." His eyes were on the floor, but he could sense her shivering, or maybe shaking. He involuntarily took off his jacket and handed it to her, glancing up as he did so, only to catch a glance of her wet eyes and sad expression. She faltered for a minute, then softly pushed it away and sat down on the desk beside him. He took it back, confused, but open. Waiting for her to speak.
"You're probably wondering why I called this meeting."
This went without speaking, so he sat in silence, listening to the fading rain drops from that afternoon drum on the warehouse roof.
"I'm...I'm requesting a new handler."
This caught him by surprise, and he turned his head over to face her, tell her something, anything, to make her change her mind. To beg her not to shred his heart into a thousand pieces by confirming the words his ears had just heard.
"What?" It was harsher then he had meant it, but for him this was serious.
"Just...let me explain." He did so, and turned his body to face her, forcing her to either look at him or the ground. She switched off.
"I must have born with some kind of...some kind of curse. When...when I was with Danny-" She paused for a minute, tears brimming. "When I was with Danny, I felt like my life had a purpose, and that I was loved by someone, and that was all that mattered to me. When I got recruited into Sd- 6, I wanted some sort of excitement. I had no idea what I was getting into. After a while, it became too much, so I told Danny. Then Sd-6 had him killed. I loved him so much...I thought I would never get over it, and I haven't. After I learned the truth, my life's purpose was to avenge Danny's death and take down Sd-6, especially Sloane. I also was very alone during these times; my father wasn't being a father at all, and my only close friends were Francie and Will. Then I became to see Dixion as a fatherly figure, and I loved him like he was my father; he did a much better job then my biological father ever had. Then when he died...it was like my family was lost, my mother, my father, my fiancé. Sd-6 has ruined my life, the whole trade business has. Not only did it kill my family, but also my friendship with Francie and Will, being away so much and having to hide the truth from them. I didn't want them to die, too, I loved them too much, but in that case it was brotherly and sisterly love. They were the only family I had left. I was sure that I would never find anyone to fill these precious gaps in my life, that I would never love anyone like I had loved Danny." She stopped now, shaking compulsively. She bit her lip, then took a breath. "I was wrong." She again paused, looking for some sort of reaction from him. He just stood there, overwhelmed and not able to process all the information that was being thrown at him like boots at a cat singing on a fence. She shook her head, then stared out at the blackness opposite of where he was standing.
"Don't you understand?" She whispered, her voice barely audible. She then turned around sharply, looking him straight in the face. He immediately looked down; by now it was involuntary; he was custom to it.
"Look at me." She demanded. He did so , slowly bringing his head up and digesting her eyes. The fire sprung within them, a fire he had seen few times before, but now it was dying, smoldering, turning into ash. By now she was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks like raindrops, reminding him of the steady rythem pounding on the roof. He looked away.
"Look at me!" She cried out, bringing more tears, tears that broke his heart. He refused her request. Trembling hands gripped his face, pulled it up with a jerk until it hovered inches away from her own. He could tell she was seconds away from falling into his arms, but seconds passed and she stayed tall. The tears poured down her face, drenching her in despair. She stroked his cheek and cried harder, pulling her face closer to his. He was, by now, beginning to understand, beginning to see the whole picture. Before it was just a thumbnail; he was wrapped up in his own little world. She had popped the bubble and broughten him to reality and he could finally see the light. But now he tried to block it, he could read the writing on the wall and he didn't want to hear the words it was telling him. Her face was close to him, too close invading his privacy, the privacy he wants to disappear, but he knows that soon it will, so he allows it, allows himself one last moment. Her lips are on his, hot, fiery, the opposite of her shaking body. He responds to it, openly excepting the kiss as if he had a choice, embracing it, allowing himself to be lifted to some sort of heaven that he could never have dreamed of, better then dreams, better then heaven. Maybe this was hell then, having this perfect moment as the world around him shatters like glass; he expects when he comes back to reality that he will find it's gone, she's gone, which means his life is gone, also. It seems the kiss lasts only precious seconds, her parting gift, amazing and cruel at the same time. Leaving him with desire. In reality it lasts about a minute, a procrastinated goodbye. When his eyes open, he finds tears on his cheeks, and he wonders if they are hers or his. She is still inches away from his face; he waits for something that will not be repeated. Instead, he finds words rolling off her tongue, much like the tears streaming down her face.
"I'm saving you, Vaughn. Don't you see? I can't lose you, too."
He replies with the only words that invade his brain. "You're losing me now, Sydney. You're killing me. I'd rather die in your arms then live a life without you."
She cries even harder, shaking compulsively. Then she runs her fingers through his hair, the tears now cascading now her face. She looks into his eyes; that forbidden haven of green in which she has never dared enter. She sucks it in, remembers it; it will be what she has to live by. Then she turns around and leaves, just walks away, not turning back.
"Sydney." He yells behind her. "Sydney. Sydney!" Each time the name gets louder, he watches her until she disappears into the rain. Then he cries out her name, although she by now can not hear. He yells it, and with each holler more tears come, until he himself has drenched cheeks and goes to sit down by his desk. There he find a scrap of paper. At first he regards it as nothing; the world is nothing now, he doesn't care. Then he sees a name.
Sydney
He picks it up and begins reading, word by word, tear by tear, shred by shred.
Vaughn-
I don't know how I'll ever get through this, over this. You were my life, my savior, my guardian angel. You were my heaven, my hell. Everyone I love dies, it's this ghost that seems to haunt me. I couldn't live with your death; if you died, my soul would be gone; my heart. So I have to leave you, it seems so simple. After Danny I thought I would never love anybody, be in love with anybody. I was wrong. I love you, god damnit, and I can't let that kill you. Wherever I go, I will never love anybody, never be in love with anybody; my heart is wherever you are, you hold it captive. I will always be in love with you, it doesn't matter what I try and do or who I meet; my heart is always with my guardian angel, and I will never forget you, Michael, never. I can't.
Sydney
The ink was blotched with tear stains; were they from her or him. He walked out of the warehouse, allowing the rain to beat out on him.
"I'll never forget you, Sydney." He whispered into the cold night. "Never."
//I am the girl you will never forget
because forgetting me is forgetting your own name//
She walked in slowly, as if taking her time, each footfall echoing the empty space in his heart. There was something wrong about her steps; he could sense it. They were heavy, as if she was dragging herself to do a deed she never wanted to do. Which made him wonder, why was she here? And why was he here? It was hours after their debriefing, and unless there was something more she had to say, he was totally clueless. Which, he reminded himself, wasn't too unordinary in itself, for more then once he had been shut out completely from her feelings. He wasn't sure about her, but he had an instinct.... 'I have an instinct about you." He had known it was the lamest thing in the world to say to your new agent, but it was better then saying 'I have just fallen completely and hopelessly in love with you.' So he waited while she approached him, breathing to the beat of her feet on the dusty concrete. Her face was tilted down, as if a nun praying or a child after they just broke a window, but in her case the expression on her face seemed to be one of deep concentration and determination. Which again brought him up with the question: What was he doing here? He figured soon enough he would find out, so he stayed calm and leaned nonchaentaly on the desk that was behind him, counting the steps until she would be in front of him and addressing the matter at hand, whatever it turned out to be. One, two, three, four, each heavier then the last, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, like the twelve hours on a clock. Then, thirteen. Lucky thirteen. He put this out of his head and waited for her to speak.
"I'm sorry this is so late. I had to get it over with."
He shrugged, with a quiet "It's fine." His eyes were on the floor, but he could sense her shivering, or maybe shaking. He involuntarily took off his jacket and handed it to her, glancing up as he did so, only to catch a glance of her wet eyes and sad expression. She faltered for a minute, then softly pushed it away and sat down on the desk beside him. He took it back, confused, but open. Waiting for her to speak.
"You're probably wondering why I called this meeting."
This went without speaking, so he sat in silence, listening to the fading rain drops from that afternoon drum on the warehouse roof.
"I'm...I'm requesting a new handler."
This caught him by surprise, and he turned his head over to face her, tell her something, anything, to make her change her mind. To beg her not to shred his heart into a thousand pieces by confirming the words his ears had just heard.
"What?" It was harsher then he had meant it, but for him this was serious.
"Just...let me explain." He did so, and turned his body to face her, forcing her to either look at him or the ground. She switched off.
"I must have born with some kind of...some kind of curse. When...when I was with Danny-" She paused for a minute, tears brimming. "When I was with Danny, I felt like my life had a purpose, and that I was loved by someone, and that was all that mattered to me. When I got recruited into Sd- 6, I wanted some sort of excitement. I had no idea what I was getting into. After a while, it became too much, so I told Danny. Then Sd-6 had him killed. I loved him so much...I thought I would never get over it, and I haven't. After I learned the truth, my life's purpose was to avenge Danny's death and take down Sd-6, especially Sloane. I also was very alone during these times; my father wasn't being a father at all, and my only close friends were Francie and Will. Then I became to see Dixion as a fatherly figure, and I loved him like he was my father; he did a much better job then my biological father ever had. Then when he died...it was like my family was lost, my mother, my father, my fiancé. Sd-6 has ruined my life, the whole trade business has. Not only did it kill my family, but also my friendship with Francie and Will, being away so much and having to hide the truth from them. I didn't want them to die, too, I loved them too much, but in that case it was brotherly and sisterly love. They were the only family I had left. I was sure that I would never find anyone to fill these precious gaps in my life, that I would never love anyone like I had loved Danny." She stopped now, shaking compulsively. She bit her lip, then took a breath. "I was wrong." She again paused, looking for some sort of reaction from him. He just stood there, overwhelmed and not able to process all the information that was being thrown at him like boots at a cat singing on a fence. She shook her head, then stared out at the blackness opposite of where he was standing.
"Don't you understand?" She whispered, her voice barely audible. She then turned around sharply, looking him straight in the face. He immediately looked down; by now it was involuntary; he was custom to it.
"Look at me." She demanded. He did so , slowly bringing his head up and digesting her eyes. The fire sprung within them, a fire he had seen few times before, but now it was dying, smoldering, turning into ash. By now she was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks like raindrops, reminding him of the steady rythem pounding on the roof. He looked away.
"Look at me!" She cried out, bringing more tears, tears that broke his heart. He refused her request. Trembling hands gripped his face, pulled it up with a jerk until it hovered inches away from her own. He could tell she was seconds away from falling into his arms, but seconds passed and she stayed tall. The tears poured down her face, drenching her in despair. She stroked his cheek and cried harder, pulling her face closer to his. He was, by now, beginning to understand, beginning to see the whole picture. Before it was just a thumbnail; he was wrapped up in his own little world. She had popped the bubble and broughten him to reality and he could finally see the light. But now he tried to block it, he could read the writing on the wall and he didn't want to hear the words it was telling him. Her face was close to him, too close invading his privacy, the privacy he wants to disappear, but he knows that soon it will, so he allows it, allows himself one last moment. Her lips are on his, hot, fiery, the opposite of her shaking body. He responds to it, openly excepting the kiss as if he had a choice, embracing it, allowing himself to be lifted to some sort of heaven that he could never have dreamed of, better then dreams, better then heaven. Maybe this was hell then, having this perfect moment as the world around him shatters like glass; he expects when he comes back to reality that he will find it's gone, she's gone, which means his life is gone, also. It seems the kiss lasts only precious seconds, her parting gift, amazing and cruel at the same time. Leaving him with desire. In reality it lasts about a minute, a procrastinated goodbye. When his eyes open, he finds tears on his cheeks, and he wonders if they are hers or his. She is still inches away from his face; he waits for something that will not be repeated. Instead, he finds words rolling off her tongue, much like the tears streaming down her face.
"I'm saving you, Vaughn. Don't you see? I can't lose you, too."
He replies with the only words that invade his brain. "You're losing me now, Sydney. You're killing me. I'd rather die in your arms then live a life without you."
She cries even harder, shaking compulsively. Then she runs her fingers through his hair, the tears now cascading now her face. She looks into his eyes; that forbidden haven of green in which she has never dared enter. She sucks it in, remembers it; it will be what she has to live by. Then she turns around and leaves, just walks away, not turning back.
"Sydney." He yells behind her. "Sydney. Sydney!" Each time the name gets louder, he watches her until she disappears into the rain. Then he cries out her name, although she by now can not hear. He yells it, and with each holler more tears come, until he himself has drenched cheeks and goes to sit down by his desk. There he find a scrap of paper. At first he regards it as nothing; the world is nothing now, he doesn't care. Then he sees a name.
Sydney
He picks it up and begins reading, word by word, tear by tear, shred by shred.
Vaughn-
I don't know how I'll ever get through this, over this. You were my life, my savior, my guardian angel. You were my heaven, my hell. Everyone I love dies, it's this ghost that seems to haunt me. I couldn't live with your death; if you died, my soul would be gone; my heart. So I have to leave you, it seems so simple. After Danny I thought I would never love anybody, be in love with anybody. I was wrong. I love you, god damnit, and I can't let that kill you. Wherever I go, I will never love anybody, never be in love with anybody; my heart is wherever you are, you hold it captive. I will always be in love with you, it doesn't matter what I try and do or who I meet; my heart is always with my guardian angel, and I will never forget you, Michael, never. I can't.
Sydney
The ink was blotched with tear stains; were they from her or him. He walked out of the warehouse, allowing the rain to beat out on him.
"I'll never forget you, Sydney." He whispered into the cold night. "Never."