Sydney sat back in her chair and looked at Vaughn as he signed the credit card receipt for their dinner. Seeing the pen in his hand reminded her that he was left-handed. She wasn't sure why that fact fascinated her so much, after all, lots of people were left-handed. On the other hand, this was Vaughn, and everything about him fascinated her, even more so now.
In the space of two hours, she had learned so much more about Michael Vaughn than she had known before. Now she knew that he had grown up in Great Falls, Virginia, not too far from Langley. She knew that he had spent almost all of his summers in France at the vineyard that his mother's family owned. She felt like she practically knew his whole family based on the stories he told her. Her favorite was the one about visiting Stonehenge with his crazy Aunt Trish. She loved it that he was so close to his family, maybe because she had never known her mother's family and Jack was an only child. She allowed herself to hope that one day she would get to meet Vaughn's family, to meet all the people who had influenced his life and made him into the person that he was.
She had learned other things about him too. She now knew that his favorite color was blue, his favorite city was Florence, that he spent three years working in the CIA's Paris field office, and his pet peeve was slow drivers. In turn, she told him plenty of things about herself, so now he knew that she was a notorious snooze-button pusher, that she had briefly considered majoring in drama at UCLA, that she secretly loved the glitz and glamour of Monte Carlo, and that her favorite color was green. She hadn't felt the need to tell him that it had been red, until about a year ago.
He had laughed his ass off when she told him the story of how she and Sarah Miles were almost expelled from boarding school for sneaking into the boys' dorm and pulling the fire alarm at 3:30 in the morning. He could practically picture the expression on Jack's face when he was summoned to meet with the headmaster, and he loved seeing the mischievous twinkle in Sydney's eyes as she recalled the story.
Vaughn had often wondered whether he and Sydney could have a normal, non-espionage related conversation outside their work setting. Now he knew. They had traded anecdotes back and forth, trying to top each other's stories and see who could make the other laugh harder. In a way, being with her felt like spending time with an old, familiar friend. But every now and then, they would look up at each other and both feel their heartbeats quicken. Mentally running down his list of close friends, Vaughn knew that none of them looked as good in a dress as Sydney Bristow. No matter how comfortable he felt talking to her, there was something about her that still made his palms sweat.
He put his credit card back in his wallet and slipped it into his back pocket. "Are you ready to go?" he asked her.
"Yeah, I guess we shouldn't hog the table all night, right?" Sydney tried to sound cheerful, and hide her disappointment. Truthfully, she wasn't ready to leave yet. She was afraid that if she left the table, she would leave behind all the new things that she had learned about him, as well as the normalcy of two people having a night out together. But more than anything, she wasn't ready to let him go and return to her room alone. She knew that for sure when he walked over to her side of the table, pulled her chair out, and took her left hand in his, pulling her up from her seat. She could feel the tingle run the entire length of her body as his warm hand wrapped around hers. Her legs almost felt weak as he led her out of the restaurant and towards the elevators. As they waited for the elevator to arrive, she was afraid that he would remove his hand, but he didn't. Instead, he squeezed it even tighter and smiled down at her. He was making her dizzy with happiness, and he probably didn't even know it. She turned her head away from him so he wouldn't see the grin that was spreading across her face. Michael Vaughn was holding her hand! Part of her felt like a teenage girl again, but part of her felt very much like a woman who was struggling to contain her desire for him.
They rode the elevator in silence until they got to her floor. When the doors opened, Vaughn let go of her hand, much to her dismay. Sydney led the way until they reached room 716.
"This is me," she said softly. She bit the inside of her lip. She couldn't bring herself to say goodnight to him. He was standing behind her as she faced the door, and she could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck before she turned around to face him. "Vaughn, I -- "
"You're not going to thank me for today again, are you?" He asked teasingly. "I didn't do anything. You don't have to keep thanking me, I should be thanking you. You made my day better, too."
"I did?"
"Yeah, you did." His face was so close to hers now that she could practically count his eyelashes. Luckily she was leaning against the door, because she wasn't sure that her legs would have supported her. He was so beautiful and all she wanted to do was pull him towards her and . . .
"Are you tired?" she asked.
"No, why?"
"Do you want to come in?"
He wanted to, more than anything in the world. But he didn't trust himself to go into Sydney's room and leave before the sun came up. Their bodies were so close that he could practically feel the heat emanating between them. He was already fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and kiss her for days. It had been well and good to forget protocol for the day, but he knew that he was dangerously close to crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. "Syd, I shouldn't."
She looked deep into his eyes and sighed. Nice to see you again, Agent Vaughn, she thought. Now go run along and tell Michael to come back. "No, you probably shouldn't. But I could use the company." She threw him her most dazzling smile.
Vaughn silently cursed himself for being unable to resist her. He had done so many crazy things for this woman. He'd broken into the Vatican, almost died in Taipei, broken her free from FBI custody, and all because he couldn't say no to her. All those things were child's play, however, compared to what she was asking him to do now. He wasn't sure that he had the kind of self-control necessary for this kind of operation. This was Mission Impossible: safely get in and out of Sydney Bristow's hotel room without giving into the urge to ravish her. He took a deep breath. He could do this, he could strong. He could say goodnight to her and go back to his room alone.
"Okay, but just for a little while."
She beamed at him, and, as she unlocked the door, he knew that he was going to fail this mission. He, Michael Vaughn, was about to go down in flames, and he was going to enjoy it.
As Sydney opened the door, she decided to leave the lights off. While they were at dinner, housekeeping had come by and started a fire in the fireplace and turned down the bed. She quickly averted her eyes from the bed; she knew she couldn't let herself think about that. Instead, she focused on the fact that the room was bathed in a soft orange glow, and that it felt warm all around her. She was unsure what to do or say next. She had been so focused on not saying goodnight to Vaughn that she hadn't even stopped to consider what would happen once he was in her room.
"Do you want something to drink?" she asked as he closed the door behind them. "I'm a notorious mini-bar fiend. I can't believe the accounting department at SD-6 hasn't called me on the carpet for that yet."
Vaughn couldn't help but laugh at the image of Sydney sitting on the floor of a hotel room surrounded by chocolate bars, pistachio nuts, and those ridiculously expensive bottles of soda. He was about to answer when he heard her gasp.
"Oh wait," she said breathlessly. She walked over to the ice bucket on the table across the room, and picked something up. "I forgot that I had . . . this!" She held up a bottle and two champagne flutes.
Vaughn's eyebrows shot up. "You have champagne in here?" If she had strawberries too, he knew he was going to be in trouble.
"Compliments of Francie. It was here in my room when I arrived, along with a sarcastic note about being free of the bank for four whole days. She told me to find a hot guy and get drunk," she giggled. "I don't plan on getting drunk, but you're a fairly hot guy, and I *did* offer you a drink. I'm paying up now."
"I'm just a *fairly* hot guy? Are you sure you don't want to go back downstairs and find a *really* hot guy to drink this with?"
"Fishing for compliments, Mr. Vaughn?" she asked as she joined him in front of the fireplace. She handed him the bottle and held out the flutes. "You're not as hot as Lambert or Kendall, but you'll do in a pinch."
He laughed as he opened the champagne and poured it into the glasses. "Are you saying that I'd only be second runner-up in the Mr. CIA Pageant?"
"Well, first runner-up. Kendall would probably be disqualified 'cause he's FBI," she grinned. "Hey, I didn't mean to bruise your ego. If it makes you feel any better, I'd vote for you."
"I don't want your pity vote," he said with mock indignation.
"It wouldn't be a pity vote. Honest!" Her laughter trailed off as she cocked her head and took a long look at him. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and quiet. "Vaughn, you're . . . no one could compete with you."
"Thanks." He marveled at the way that a simple compliment from her made his heart feel like it would jump right out of his chest. He nodded toward their champagne glasses and asked, "Shall we?" He began to raise the glass to his lips until Sydney reached out and grabbed his forearm. Even through his sweater, the soft touch of her fingers sent a thrill through him.
"Wait, we have to make a toast. You do it."
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Okay, a toast. What do you want to toast to?"
"C'mon, Vaughn. I'm sure you can think of something without my help."
He looked closely at her. "I loved seeing you smile so much today, Sydney. So if today was the happiest you've been in a long time, then here's to a lot more days like today."
"Cheers," she said as she clinked her glass with his and took a sip of the champagne. She would give anything to have more days like today. Days where she didn't have to worry about all the people she loved, where she didn't have to choke back her disgust as she smiled at Sloane, where she didn't have to lie to anyone. But more than anything, she wanted more days that she could spend alone with Vaughn. She would gladly put up with all the other crap in her life just to be with him.
She sighed and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace and set her glass down next to her. She reached her hand up to Vaughn's and pulled him down to sit next to her. He stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back on his right hand. They were silent for a few moments as they both stared at the fire.
"When I was a kid, " Sydney began, "I used to love to sit in front of the fireplace and just stare for hours. I loved watching the flames dance around and hearing the wood crackle. Sometimes, my nanny and I would roast marshmallows. I usually ended up burning mine, though," she laughed. "It's weird, the things you remember."
"Yeah, " he said quietly. "I remember going out with my father to get firewood one day. I guess it was a few months before he died. I begged him to let me use the axe to chop the firewood even though the axe was almost as big as I was. So he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around mine and helped me chop the wood. I was so proud of myself when we got home, but my mom was horrified that he had let me do that." He laughed. "I haven't thought about that in such a long time."
She studied his profile as he got a far away look in his eyes. She wished that she could read his thoughts.
"Vaughn, why do you think we ended up here together?"
He turned his head to look at her. "You don't think it was a coincidence?"
She shook her head. "No, I don't. When Sloane gave me time off, I could have stayed in L.A., or I could have gone anywhere else in the world. But I didn't. I ended up here, where you were, without even knowing it. That can't be a coincidence, especially not on top of everything else."
"What do you mean?"
"Of all the handlers in the CIA, why was I assigned to you? I could have been assigned to Lambert, or someone more senior, but I got you instead, the son of a man my mother killed. When we found out the truth about my mother and your father, I realized that our lives were connected even before we met. It almost feels like fate pushed us together, like we were bound to intersect at some point. Do you ever feel that way?"
"Sometimes," he admitted. He was unsure whether to continue with what he was going to say. Sydney had been so happy today. He didn't want to ruin that, but he needed to have this discussion with her. It was something he had been thinking about a lot lately. "Sometimes, but I don't think fate was what killed Danny, and we never would have met if it weren't for that."
Sydney bit her lip and looked away, and he cursed himself for mentioning Danny. He didn't mean to be insensitive, it was just that he had so many questions about the man she had almost married. He wanted Sydney to open up to him, but not if it meant making her relive the pain of Danny's death. "Syd, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. I shouldn't have said that."
She smiled softly. "Vaughn, it's okay. Really."
He took her right hand in his left and squeezed it. "You've told me so much about yourself over the past year, but other than the things you wrote in your statement, I know almost nothing about him.
"You want to know about Danny?" she asked with surprise.
"Yeah, I guess I do. But if it's too hard for you to talk about him, I understand."
Sydney sighed. "With anyone else, it would be easy to talk about him."
"But not with me?" He was surprised. He thought that he and Sydney could talk about anything.
Sydney echoed his thoughts. "Vaughn, you're the only person in my life that I can be completely honest with, and I know that I can tell you anything. It's just that every time I think about Danny, I feel so guilty."
"Syd, it's not your fault that he was killed." Vaughn's voice was soft but vehement. "The only person who should feel guilty about his death is Sloane."
"I know," she said looking down into her lap. "I still blame myself for his death sometimes, but that's not the main reason why I feel guilty." She looked up at him. "Are you sure you want to have this conversation?"
"Yes," he answered even though he was almost afraid to hear what Sydney was going to say.
"Danny was a great guy, a really good guy, and I loved him so much. I was ready to spend my life with him, and have kids with him. I figured that when I finished with grad school, I would quit SD-6, and become a teacher, and Danny and I would have this wonderful life together. But when he proposed, I couldn't stand lying to him about what I did, and then . . . then they killed him, and I found out the truth. I found out that everything in my life had been a lie. Then I met you."
She looked down at her right hand, still enclosed in his, and slowly entwined her fingers with his. "Since I've known you, Vaughn, you've done all these amazing things for me. You've risked your career and your life to help me -- more than once. Every time I've felt like giving up, you've reassured me that what we're doing is actually having an impact. You go out of your way to protect me and support me, and I don't think you know how much appreciate that, because I never tell you. But I do appreciate it. I know I take you for granted, but I'm so grateful that you're in my life."
"Syd," Vaughn's voice was choked with emotion.
"No," Sydney cut him off. "I need to tell you this. The reason why I feel guilty when I think about Danny is because I know that I wouldn't know you if he hadn't died, but I can't imagine my life without you in it. You've been such an incredible friend, and I trust and depend on you more than anyone in my life, ever. I know that Danny would be happy that I have someone like you in my life. And that makes me feel even guiltier, because if someone told me that I could either keep my life the way it is now, or go back to the way it used to be when Danny was still alive, I know that I wouldn't go back," her voice was a whisper now. "The day that I walked into the CIA office, I was hellbent on taking SD-6 down, on avenging Danny's death. When we started, that was what kept me going, the thought that I was fighting back, for him. But somewhere along the way, things changed, and I know now that he's not what I'm fighting for anymore."
Vaughn gently removed his hand from hers and reached up to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Sydney shivered as his fingertips brushed her face. "What are you fighting for?" he asked her.
"For this. For more days like today with you. That's what I'm fighting for."
Vaughn was still taking in her words when she suddenly jumped up and moved away from him. She buried her face in her hands, and exclaimed, "I can't believe I just told you that! Oh my god."
He stood up and walked over to where she was, and she turned her back to him. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Syd, it's okay." He stepped around to face her, but she tried to turn again. He placed his hands on her upper arms and turned her back to him, gently but firmly. She kept her hands over her face, not believing that she had let herself say all those things to him. She was mortified, even as Vaughn softly kissed her forehead. "Sydney, look at me." His voice was low and insistent.
"I can't, Vaughn. I wasn't supposed to tell you all those things."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because. Because SD-6 could have us killed, and the CIA could reassign you, and I don't even know how you feel about --"
"Sydney, you can't be serious. I haven't exactly been doing a great job of hiding the way that I feel about you. I know it's written all over my face whenever someone mentions your name. You must know by now that I . . ." his voice trailed off.
She finally removed her hands from her face and looked at him. "That you what, Vaughn?"
"That I . . . care about you. A lot."
Sydney made a face. "You *care* about me? Great." She noticed that he wouldn't look her in the eye. She thought about telling him goodnight and pretending that none of this had happened, but she couldn't. She had already put out there. It was too late for her to take back all the things she had said, and there was nothing left to do now but be completely honest with him. She moved her right hand to the back of his head, holding it firmly so he couldn't avert his gaze from her. She looked deeply into his green eyes. "I wish I could say that I care about you too, but I don't. I love you, Vaughn."
In the space of two hours, she had learned so much more about Michael Vaughn than she had known before. Now she knew that he had grown up in Great Falls, Virginia, not too far from Langley. She knew that he had spent almost all of his summers in France at the vineyard that his mother's family owned. She felt like she practically knew his whole family based on the stories he told her. Her favorite was the one about visiting Stonehenge with his crazy Aunt Trish. She loved it that he was so close to his family, maybe because she had never known her mother's family and Jack was an only child. She allowed herself to hope that one day she would get to meet Vaughn's family, to meet all the people who had influenced his life and made him into the person that he was.
She had learned other things about him too. She now knew that his favorite color was blue, his favorite city was Florence, that he spent three years working in the CIA's Paris field office, and his pet peeve was slow drivers. In turn, she told him plenty of things about herself, so now he knew that she was a notorious snooze-button pusher, that she had briefly considered majoring in drama at UCLA, that she secretly loved the glitz and glamour of Monte Carlo, and that her favorite color was green. She hadn't felt the need to tell him that it had been red, until about a year ago.
He had laughed his ass off when she told him the story of how she and Sarah Miles were almost expelled from boarding school for sneaking into the boys' dorm and pulling the fire alarm at 3:30 in the morning. He could practically picture the expression on Jack's face when he was summoned to meet with the headmaster, and he loved seeing the mischievous twinkle in Sydney's eyes as she recalled the story.
Vaughn had often wondered whether he and Sydney could have a normal, non-espionage related conversation outside their work setting. Now he knew. They had traded anecdotes back and forth, trying to top each other's stories and see who could make the other laugh harder. In a way, being with her felt like spending time with an old, familiar friend. But every now and then, they would look up at each other and both feel their heartbeats quicken. Mentally running down his list of close friends, Vaughn knew that none of them looked as good in a dress as Sydney Bristow. No matter how comfortable he felt talking to her, there was something about her that still made his palms sweat.
He put his credit card back in his wallet and slipped it into his back pocket. "Are you ready to go?" he asked her.
"Yeah, I guess we shouldn't hog the table all night, right?" Sydney tried to sound cheerful, and hide her disappointment. Truthfully, she wasn't ready to leave yet. She was afraid that if she left the table, she would leave behind all the new things that she had learned about him, as well as the normalcy of two people having a night out together. But more than anything, she wasn't ready to let him go and return to her room alone. She knew that for sure when he walked over to her side of the table, pulled her chair out, and took her left hand in his, pulling her up from her seat. She could feel the tingle run the entire length of her body as his warm hand wrapped around hers. Her legs almost felt weak as he led her out of the restaurant and towards the elevators. As they waited for the elevator to arrive, she was afraid that he would remove his hand, but he didn't. Instead, he squeezed it even tighter and smiled down at her. He was making her dizzy with happiness, and he probably didn't even know it. She turned her head away from him so he wouldn't see the grin that was spreading across her face. Michael Vaughn was holding her hand! Part of her felt like a teenage girl again, but part of her felt very much like a woman who was struggling to contain her desire for him.
They rode the elevator in silence until they got to her floor. When the doors opened, Vaughn let go of her hand, much to her dismay. Sydney led the way until they reached room 716.
"This is me," she said softly. She bit the inside of her lip. She couldn't bring herself to say goodnight to him. He was standing behind her as she faced the door, and she could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck before she turned around to face him. "Vaughn, I -- "
"You're not going to thank me for today again, are you?" He asked teasingly. "I didn't do anything. You don't have to keep thanking me, I should be thanking you. You made my day better, too."
"I did?"
"Yeah, you did." His face was so close to hers now that she could practically count his eyelashes. Luckily she was leaning against the door, because she wasn't sure that her legs would have supported her. He was so beautiful and all she wanted to do was pull him towards her and . . .
"Are you tired?" she asked.
"No, why?"
"Do you want to come in?"
He wanted to, more than anything in the world. But he didn't trust himself to go into Sydney's room and leave before the sun came up. Their bodies were so close that he could practically feel the heat emanating between them. He was already fighting the urge to wrap his arms around her and kiss her for days. It had been well and good to forget protocol for the day, but he knew that he was dangerously close to crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. "Syd, I shouldn't."
She looked deep into his eyes and sighed. Nice to see you again, Agent Vaughn, she thought. Now go run along and tell Michael to come back. "No, you probably shouldn't. But I could use the company." She threw him her most dazzling smile.
Vaughn silently cursed himself for being unable to resist her. He had done so many crazy things for this woman. He'd broken into the Vatican, almost died in Taipei, broken her free from FBI custody, and all because he couldn't say no to her. All those things were child's play, however, compared to what she was asking him to do now. He wasn't sure that he had the kind of self-control necessary for this kind of operation. This was Mission Impossible: safely get in and out of Sydney Bristow's hotel room without giving into the urge to ravish her. He took a deep breath. He could do this, he could strong. He could say goodnight to her and go back to his room alone.
"Okay, but just for a little while."
She beamed at him, and, as she unlocked the door, he knew that he was going to fail this mission. He, Michael Vaughn, was about to go down in flames, and he was going to enjoy it.
As Sydney opened the door, she decided to leave the lights off. While they were at dinner, housekeeping had come by and started a fire in the fireplace and turned down the bed. She quickly averted her eyes from the bed; she knew she couldn't let herself think about that. Instead, she focused on the fact that the room was bathed in a soft orange glow, and that it felt warm all around her. She was unsure what to do or say next. She had been so focused on not saying goodnight to Vaughn that she hadn't even stopped to consider what would happen once he was in her room.
"Do you want something to drink?" she asked as he closed the door behind them. "I'm a notorious mini-bar fiend. I can't believe the accounting department at SD-6 hasn't called me on the carpet for that yet."
Vaughn couldn't help but laugh at the image of Sydney sitting on the floor of a hotel room surrounded by chocolate bars, pistachio nuts, and those ridiculously expensive bottles of soda. He was about to answer when he heard her gasp.
"Oh wait," she said breathlessly. She walked over to the ice bucket on the table across the room, and picked something up. "I forgot that I had . . . this!" She held up a bottle and two champagne flutes.
Vaughn's eyebrows shot up. "You have champagne in here?" If she had strawberries too, he knew he was going to be in trouble.
"Compliments of Francie. It was here in my room when I arrived, along with a sarcastic note about being free of the bank for four whole days. She told me to find a hot guy and get drunk," she giggled. "I don't plan on getting drunk, but you're a fairly hot guy, and I *did* offer you a drink. I'm paying up now."
"I'm just a *fairly* hot guy? Are you sure you don't want to go back downstairs and find a *really* hot guy to drink this with?"
"Fishing for compliments, Mr. Vaughn?" she asked as she joined him in front of the fireplace. She handed him the bottle and held out the flutes. "You're not as hot as Lambert or Kendall, but you'll do in a pinch."
He laughed as he opened the champagne and poured it into the glasses. "Are you saying that I'd only be second runner-up in the Mr. CIA Pageant?"
"Well, first runner-up. Kendall would probably be disqualified 'cause he's FBI," she grinned. "Hey, I didn't mean to bruise your ego. If it makes you feel any better, I'd vote for you."
"I don't want your pity vote," he said with mock indignation.
"It wouldn't be a pity vote. Honest!" Her laughter trailed off as she cocked her head and took a long look at him. When she spoke again, her voice was soft and quiet. "Vaughn, you're . . . no one could compete with you."
"Thanks." He marveled at the way that a simple compliment from her made his heart feel like it would jump right out of his chest. He nodded toward their champagne glasses and asked, "Shall we?" He began to raise the glass to his lips until Sydney reached out and grabbed his forearm. Even through his sweater, the soft touch of her fingers sent a thrill through him.
"Wait, we have to make a toast. You do it."
He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Okay, a toast. What do you want to toast to?"
"C'mon, Vaughn. I'm sure you can think of something without my help."
He looked closely at her. "I loved seeing you smile so much today, Sydney. So if today was the happiest you've been in a long time, then here's to a lot more days like today."
"Cheers," she said as she clinked her glass with his and took a sip of the champagne. She would give anything to have more days like today. Days where she didn't have to worry about all the people she loved, where she didn't have to choke back her disgust as she smiled at Sloane, where she didn't have to lie to anyone. But more than anything, she wanted more days that she could spend alone with Vaughn. She would gladly put up with all the other crap in her life just to be with him.
She sighed and sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace and set her glass down next to her. She reached her hand up to Vaughn's and pulled him down to sit next to her. He stretched out his legs in front of him and leaned back on his right hand. They were silent for a few moments as they both stared at the fire.
"When I was a kid, " Sydney began, "I used to love to sit in front of the fireplace and just stare for hours. I loved watching the flames dance around and hearing the wood crackle. Sometimes, my nanny and I would roast marshmallows. I usually ended up burning mine, though," she laughed. "It's weird, the things you remember."
"Yeah, " he said quietly. "I remember going out with my father to get firewood one day. I guess it was a few months before he died. I begged him to let me use the axe to chop the firewood even though the axe was almost as big as I was. So he stood behind me and wrapped his arms around mine and helped me chop the wood. I was so proud of myself when we got home, but my mom was horrified that he had let me do that." He laughed. "I haven't thought about that in such a long time."
She studied his profile as he got a far away look in his eyes. She wished that she could read his thoughts.
"Vaughn, why do you think we ended up here together?"
He turned his head to look at her. "You don't think it was a coincidence?"
She shook her head. "No, I don't. When Sloane gave me time off, I could have stayed in L.A., or I could have gone anywhere else in the world. But I didn't. I ended up here, where you were, without even knowing it. That can't be a coincidence, especially not on top of everything else."
"What do you mean?"
"Of all the handlers in the CIA, why was I assigned to you? I could have been assigned to Lambert, or someone more senior, but I got you instead, the son of a man my mother killed. When we found out the truth about my mother and your father, I realized that our lives were connected even before we met. It almost feels like fate pushed us together, like we were bound to intersect at some point. Do you ever feel that way?"
"Sometimes," he admitted. He was unsure whether to continue with what he was going to say. Sydney had been so happy today. He didn't want to ruin that, but he needed to have this discussion with her. It was something he had been thinking about a lot lately. "Sometimes, but I don't think fate was what killed Danny, and we never would have met if it weren't for that."
Sydney bit her lip and looked away, and he cursed himself for mentioning Danny. He didn't mean to be insensitive, it was just that he had so many questions about the man she had almost married. He wanted Sydney to open up to him, but not if it meant making her relive the pain of Danny's death. "Syd, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. I shouldn't have said that."
She smiled softly. "Vaughn, it's okay. Really."
He took her right hand in his left and squeezed it. "You've told me so much about yourself over the past year, but other than the things you wrote in your statement, I know almost nothing about him.
"You want to know about Danny?" she asked with surprise.
"Yeah, I guess I do. But if it's too hard for you to talk about him, I understand."
Sydney sighed. "With anyone else, it would be easy to talk about him."
"But not with me?" He was surprised. He thought that he and Sydney could talk about anything.
Sydney echoed his thoughts. "Vaughn, you're the only person in my life that I can be completely honest with, and I know that I can tell you anything. It's just that every time I think about Danny, I feel so guilty."
"Syd, it's not your fault that he was killed." Vaughn's voice was soft but vehement. "The only person who should feel guilty about his death is Sloane."
"I know," she said looking down into her lap. "I still blame myself for his death sometimes, but that's not the main reason why I feel guilty." She looked up at him. "Are you sure you want to have this conversation?"
"Yes," he answered even though he was almost afraid to hear what Sydney was going to say.
"Danny was a great guy, a really good guy, and I loved him so much. I was ready to spend my life with him, and have kids with him. I figured that when I finished with grad school, I would quit SD-6, and become a teacher, and Danny and I would have this wonderful life together. But when he proposed, I couldn't stand lying to him about what I did, and then . . . then they killed him, and I found out the truth. I found out that everything in my life had been a lie. Then I met you."
She looked down at her right hand, still enclosed in his, and slowly entwined her fingers with his. "Since I've known you, Vaughn, you've done all these amazing things for me. You've risked your career and your life to help me -- more than once. Every time I've felt like giving up, you've reassured me that what we're doing is actually having an impact. You go out of your way to protect me and support me, and I don't think you know how much appreciate that, because I never tell you. But I do appreciate it. I know I take you for granted, but I'm so grateful that you're in my life."
"Syd," Vaughn's voice was choked with emotion.
"No," Sydney cut him off. "I need to tell you this. The reason why I feel guilty when I think about Danny is because I know that I wouldn't know you if he hadn't died, but I can't imagine my life without you in it. You've been such an incredible friend, and I trust and depend on you more than anyone in my life, ever. I know that Danny would be happy that I have someone like you in my life. And that makes me feel even guiltier, because if someone told me that I could either keep my life the way it is now, or go back to the way it used to be when Danny was still alive, I know that I wouldn't go back," her voice was a whisper now. "The day that I walked into the CIA office, I was hellbent on taking SD-6 down, on avenging Danny's death. When we started, that was what kept me going, the thought that I was fighting back, for him. But somewhere along the way, things changed, and I know now that he's not what I'm fighting for anymore."
Vaughn gently removed his hand from hers and reached up to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face. Sydney shivered as his fingertips brushed her face. "What are you fighting for?" he asked her.
"For this. For more days like today with you. That's what I'm fighting for."
Vaughn was still taking in her words when she suddenly jumped up and moved away from him. She buried her face in her hands, and exclaimed, "I can't believe I just told you that! Oh my god."
He stood up and walked over to where she was, and she turned her back to him. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Syd, it's okay." He stepped around to face her, but she tried to turn again. He placed his hands on her upper arms and turned her back to him, gently but firmly. She kept her hands over her face, not believing that she had let herself say all those things to him. She was mortified, even as Vaughn softly kissed her forehead. "Sydney, look at me." His voice was low and insistent.
"I can't, Vaughn. I wasn't supposed to tell you all those things."
"Why not?" he asked.
"Because. Because SD-6 could have us killed, and the CIA could reassign you, and I don't even know how you feel about --"
"Sydney, you can't be serious. I haven't exactly been doing a great job of hiding the way that I feel about you. I know it's written all over my face whenever someone mentions your name. You must know by now that I . . ." his voice trailed off.
She finally removed her hands from her face and looked at him. "That you what, Vaughn?"
"That I . . . care about you. A lot."
Sydney made a face. "You *care* about me? Great." She noticed that he wouldn't look her in the eye. She thought about telling him goodnight and pretending that none of this had happened, but she couldn't. She had already put out there. It was too late for her to take back all the things she had said, and there was nothing left to do now but be completely honest with him. She moved her right hand to the back of his head, holding it firmly so he couldn't avert his gaze from her. She looked deeply into his green eyes. "I wish I could say that I care about you too, but I don't. I love you, Vaughn."