The dull throbbing in her head was slowly decreasing, but she didn't want
to move yet. Will had come in while she was still in Francie's lap,
Francie had ordered him to take her off to her room and lay Sydney down in
bed. Good old Will, he always does everything she says. Staring up at the
ceiling, she wondered when the rest of her life would begin. If it would
begin. But most of all, she was remembering. She remembered Will's
scream, the way his voice had filled with pain. The way he said he loved
her.
She didn't want to think about that, she needed to think about happier times. She remembered eating ice cream with him, laughing with Francie, trying dresses on. Going shopping, passing exams . . . Her life ran past her eyes. She focused only on the good, pushing away the bad. She knew she'd have to give herself a pep talk soon, but right now, she just wanted to remember. She remembered the way Danny talked, the way he danced, she remembered Will, and the way he laughed, and then unbidden, but following the natural sequence of her thoughts, she remembered Vaughn. She remembered his voice, his tone, his arms around her, his concern, his face, but most of all she remembered the way he looked at her.
The way he looked at her when she cried, when she needed comfort, when she sought a friend, whenever she saw him, his eyes had shown, just for me. She told herself, she had to believe his eyes were glad to see her. Just as surely as she breathed she remembered him looking at her through the glass, seeing her, and know he would die. No! Sydney, she told herself firmly, you must put those thoughts out of your head. It will do you no good to dwell on that which you cannot have. You have a job to do; a country to protect . . . Her pep talk went on. But it did no good, no matter where she turned, or what she thought about, or how firmly she scolded herself, cursing her own tears, she could not erase the picture of him, behind the glass, staring at her, and the way his eyes looked at her.
**********************************************************************
Francie began to pace. First Sydney, and now Will! Why didn't I see it when he came in?! Stupid me! And I had him carry her, Him! In his condition! What is happening to my friends? Sydney is a basket case, and Will looks like he's just come from a dentist who doesn't believe in pain medicine!
Bustling around the kitchen again she made another pot of tea, and then realized the other one wasn't remotely finished.
Will had come in, and sat down on a stool, he stood there watching Francie as she paced, and then made tea, she was too preoccupied to see him. So he sat there patiently and waited.
Finally Francie stopped and getting an iron grip on her thoughts and emotions, she turned and looked around. That was when she saw Will. Coming around the counter she hugged him as he stood up. She meant to comfort him, but she was the one in tears. She stood there sobbing against his shoulder, her iron grip hadn't been iron at all, in fact, there had been no grip.
"Will, what's happened to you? What happened to Syd? Where have you two been?" She wasn't accusing, or berating, she was begging, begging to know, to be told everything was 'OK.' She had spoken into his shoulder, but her muffled voice reached Will's ears.
"I got in a fight. Some thugs beat me up." I'm sorry. I don't want to lie! Please Francie, if only you understood. If only . . . "They took my stuff, thankfully I didn't have much on me."
"Oh Will, I'm so sorry, this town is so bad with thieves." Francie slowly detangled herself from Will, and then said to him, "Come on, I'll see if I have any band-aids."
Soon she had him sitting by the table, as she poured generous helping of Hydrogen Peroxide onto cotton balls to clean his wounds. Will was making the appropriate fussing sounds, and Francie was just as appropriately shushing him.
It was into that atmosphere that Sydney walked as she entered the room. She'd had a shower, and cleaned up, she wore her bathrobe, but she still walked stiffly, and her nose was red, and her eyes were blotchy. As she entered the room Francie stiffened and Will stared, they were both silent, frozen mid word and action.
She came and sat down at the table with them, her fingers tracing patters in the wood. Then looking up abruptly, she gave a weak smile and then began, "Do you remember when . . ."
Soon they were all laughing, Francie had returned to her administrations, and Will to his complaining, but they all shared their favorite stories. Will was pleased to see Sydney sharing and laughing. Sydney was pleased to see Will looking normal, acting normal, she needed normal. But Francie, unaware that something was up with Will, was still anxious about Sydney. Normal people don't weep hysterically, and cry about imagined guilt, and then laugh, however weakly, within the same day.
The time of remembrance was cathartic to Sydney, and to Will. To relive a simpler time, a better time. But Sydney knew she needed to put Francie at ease, she knew she'd said too much. So after a long pause, she began, her eyes were focused on her fingers as she traced patterns again, and she said, "Francie, I don't expect you to understand all this," she gestured with her hands to indicate her life and the happenings of the last couple hours. "But, I need you to accept it. I love you Francie, and I don't want anything to happen to you, you're my friend, my sister, I need you to forget this, I need you to, please."
"Sydney, I trust you, but I have to –"
"No, Please . . ." Her voice was imploring as she begged; her eyes were filled with pain as she met Francie's gaze.
After a pause Francie said, "OK, Sydney, I trust you."
**********************************************************************
It was late, and as Sydney lay in bed she rethought her life again. Everything she'd heard, everything that mattered. She felt his arms around her again, and dwelt on it, the tears running endlessly down her face. She saw the scalpel pierce her mother's flesh again, the scene playing mercilessly over and over. And the tears that had never ceased continued. She saw Will, in his pain and horror. And wept over the effects this would have on him. She saw Vaughn's face, staring at her, his eyes filled with . . . dare she insert love? The movie played on, the flight back to L.A. the long hours she'd spent in her car. Then the time she spent at the CIA debriefing. The questions they'd asked her, the sympathetic looks she'd received. She saw the time she spent at the train station, hiding, knowing no one must see her in that state. She'd stared at the chairs where she and Vaughn had sat. She'd stared, and wept. She relieved her quandary as to what to tell SD-6. She relived her visit to the hospital, hoping to see Emily, the disappointment that she couldn't talk with her. She saw herself driving recklessly home, forgetting everything but her need to see a normal life.
And then slowly she heard these words, words Francie had said: "You know something? We really need to think about changing our phone number! Sydney, they might be casing us!" Why had Francie said that? Suddenly the words were pounding in her ears, over and over again, combined with a picture of Francie hanging up the phone.
Suddenly her breath caught, could it be? She clutched wildly at the sheets, not daring to hope, not daring to dispel the hope. Sitting bolt upright she searched her room for her Cell phone with the secure line. She clawed through her suitcases until she found it. Then she stared at it for a long time. Then a numbing blow hit. It wasn't Vaughn; it was just the CIA checking up on her. Calling her to set up a meeting. But rushing after those thoughts chorused this statement by Decklin: "I won't call you till Thursday, get some rest." Decklin didn't call, she'd just talked to the CIA, why? Why would they call me? It must be . . . it has to be . . . maybe, just maybe . . .
She entered a number she knew by heart and pressed dial.
************************************************************************
Next Chapter: Reunion
She didn't want to think about that, she needed to think about happier times. She remembered eating ice cream with him, laughing with Francie, trying dresses on. Going shopping, passing exams . . . Her life ran past her eyes. She focused only on the good, pushing away the bad. She knew she'd have to give herself a pep talk soon, but right now, she just wanted to remember. She remembered the way Danny talked, the way he danced, she remembered Will, and the way he laughed, and then unbidden, but following the natural sequence of her thoughts, she remembered Vaughn. She remembered his voice, his tone, his arms around her, his concern, his face, but most of all she remembered the way he looked at her.
The way he looked at her when she cried, when she needed comfort, when she sought a friend, whenever she saw him, his eyes had shown, just for me. She told herself, she had to believe his eyes were glad to see her. Just as surely as she breathed she remembered him looking at her through the glass, seeing her, and know he would die. No! Sydney, she told herself firmly, you must put those thoughts out of your head. It will do you no good to dwell on that which you cannot have. You have a job to do; a country to protect . . . Her pep talk went on. But it did no good, no matter where she turned, or what she thought about, or how firmly she scolded herself, cursing her own tears, she could not erase the picture of him, behind the glass, staring at her, and the way his eyes looked at her.
**********************************************************************
Francie began to pace. First Sydney, and now Will! Why didn't I see it when he came in?! Stupid me! And I had him carry her, Him! In his condition! What is happening to my friends? Sydney is a basket case, and Will looks like he's just come from a dentist who doesn't believe in pain medicine!
Bustling around the kitchen again she made another pot of tea, and then realized the other one wasn't remotely finished.
Will had come in, and sat down on a stool, he stood there watching Francie as she paced, and then made tea, she was too preoccupied to see him. So he sat there patiently and waited.
Finally Francie stopped and getting an iron grip on her thoughts and emotions, she turned and looked around. That was when she saw Will. Coming around the counter she hugged him as he stood up. She meant to comfort him, but she was the one in tears. She stood there sobbing against his shoulder, her iron grip hadn't been iron at all, in fact, there had been no grip.
"Will, what's happened to you? What happened to Syd? Where have you two been?" She wasn't accusing, or berating, she was begging, begging to know, to be told everything was 'OK.' She had spoken into his shoulder, but her muffled voice reached Will's ears.
"I got in a fight. Some thugs beat me up." I'm sorry. I don't want to lie! Please Francie, if only you understood. If only . . . "They took my stuff, thankfully I didn't have much on me."
"Oh Will, I'm so sorry, this town is so bad with thieves." Francie slowly detangled herself from Will, and then said to him, "Come on, I'll see if I have any band-aids."
Soon she had him sitting by the table, as she poured generous helping of Hydrogen Peroxide onto cotton balls to clean his wounds. Will was making the appropriate fussing sounds, and Francie was just as appropriately shushing him.
It was into that atmosphere that Sydney walked as she entered the room. She'd had a shower, and cleaned up, she wore her bathrobe, but she still walked stiffly, and her nose was red, and her eyes were blotchy. As she entered the room Francie stiffened and Will stared, they were both silent, frozen mid word and action.
She came and sat down at the table with them, her fingers tracing patters in the wood. Then looking up abruptly, she gave a weak smile and then began, "Do you remember when . . ."
Soon they were all laughing, Francie had returned to her administrations, and Will to his complaining, but they all shared their favorite stories. Will was pleased to see Sydney sharing and laughing. Sydney was pleased to see Will looking normal, acting normal, she needed normal. But Francie, unaware that something was up with Will, was still anxious about Sydney. Normal people don't weep hysterically, and cry about imagined guilt, and then laugh, however weakly, within the same day.
The time of remembrance was cathartic to Sydney, and to Will. To relive a simpler time, a better time. But Sydney knew she needed to put Francie at ease, she knew she'd said too much. So after a long pause, she began, her eyes were focused on her fingers as she traced patterns again, and she said, "Francie, I don't expect you to understand all this," she gestured with her hands to indicate her life and the happenings of the last couple hours. "But, I need you to accept it. I love you Francie, and I don't want anything to happen to you, you're my friend, my sister, I need you to forget this, I need you to, please."
"Sydney, I trust you, but I have to –"
"No, Please . . ." Her voice was imploring as she begged; her eyes were filled with pain as she met Francie's gaze.
After a pause Francie said, "OK, Sydney, I trust you."
**********************************************************************
It was late, and as Sydney lay in bed she rethought her life again. Everything she'd heard, everything that mattered. She felt his arms around her again, and dwelt on it, the tears running endlessly down her face. She saw the scalpel pierce her mother's flesh again, the scene playing mercilessly over and over. And the tears that had never ceased continued. She saw Will, in his pain and horror. And wept over the effects this would have on him. She saw Vaughn's face, staring at her, his eyes filled with . . . dare she insert love? The movie played on, the flight back to L.A. the long hours she'd spent in her car. Then the time she spent at the CIA debriefing. The questions they'd asked her, the sympathetic looks she'd received. She saw the time she spent at the train station, hiding, knowing no one must see her in that state. She'd stared at the chairs where she and Vaughn had sat. She'd stared, and wept. She relieved her quandary as to what to tell SD-6. She relived her visit to the hospital, hoping to see Emily, the disappointment that she couldn't talk with her. She saw herself driving recklessly home, forgetting everything but her need to see a normal life.
And then slowly she heard these words, words Francie had said: "You know something? We really need to think about changing our phone number! Sydney, they might be casing us!" Why had Francie said that? Suddenly the words were pounding in her ears, over and over again, combined with a picture of Francie hanging up the phone.
Suddenly her breath caught, could it be? She clutched wildly at the sheets, not daring to hope, not daring to dispel the hope. Sitting bolt upright she searched her room for her Cell phone with the secure line. She clawed through her suitcases until she found it. Then she stared at it for a long time. Then a numbing blow hit. It wasn't Vaughn; it was just the CIA checking up on her. Calling her to set up a meeting. But rushing after those thoughts chorused this statement by Decklin: "I won't call you till Thursday, get some rest." Decklin didn't call, she'd just talked to the CIA, why? Why would they call me? It must be . . . it has to be . . . maybe, just maybe . . .
She entered a number she knew by heart and pressed dial.
************************************************************************
Next Chapter: Reunion