Chapter Three

Sandals

She and Francie live on an island of the coast of France now; they wear sandals all the time and they never have to look over their shoulders. Or atleast that's what she tells Francie. Looking over her shoulder is part of her nature, and she doesn't think she will ever be free of it.

Especially not since SD-6 still exists.

Her cover had been blown nearly a year ago. The CIA had gathered up Francie and her as quickly as they could and put them on a boat with new names, new lives. Will was gone, simple gone. She never knew where, but maybe it was better that way. She could still remember how cold a morning it had been, standing on the pier and gripping Francie's hand. Waiting for the boat. Waiting for Michael Vaughn.

But Vaughn never came, and she had left without even a goodbye.

Francie had forgiven her in time. They had opened their own restaurant in the tiny village, and built new lives. Here, everyone knew their names, but no one asked questions; they simply accepted the two young women with unfailing hospitality. But she had never forgiven herself. Or Vaughn.

She watches her sandals shuffling along the rocky ground while Francie, or Isabelle as she was known now, discusses something she is considering putting on the menu. The cool wind yawns around her, pulling strands of brown hair into view. She reaches out a hand and stuffs it back behind her ear.

Isabelle's feet come to stop beside her own, and Sydney can almost feel her put on her most charming smile.

"Pardon, mademoiselle," a familiar voice says, making her head shoot up at a dizzying rate. "I'm looking for, um, Juliette Jolivet."

He's smiling one of his once-rare smiles, unable to keep it of his face as he watches her expression. Even his use of her alias stroked fires down her spine she'd rather not be feeling.

Isabelle covers smoothly, not seeing any of what passes silently between the two people around her. "Well, you've found her! May I ask your name?"

"Um...'Belle, this is my old friend..." she begins, flustered as she remembers the other woman's presence.

"Christophe Dupont," he interrupts, offering his hand.

Isabelle takes it, looking up at him under her lashes. "Isabelle. It's a pleasure." She pauses, obviously picking up the uncomfortable feeling hanging between her friend and this strange man. "Well, mmmm, I guess you two have some catching up to do." She winks suggestively at them and strides off, swinging her hips.

He takes her arm firmly. "Walk with me a little."

She can hardly find it in her to refuse, not when he won't stop smiling at her like that. He shouldn't do this to her. He hadn't loved her like she thought. It was like when you tell a child they can't have something; it's all they want until they have it.

So why was he back now?

The question haunts her as she leads him almost blindly to her own café. She sits down hard in one of the chairs, her legs unable to support her. She gestures vaguely at him, and he takes the seat across the table from her. It's a few more moments before she can gather her wits about her. Whatever happened to the Sydney Bristow that could talk herself out of any tight spot?

She got caught. End of story.

"Why?" she finally manages. Why didn't you come? Why didn't you love me enough? She could have screamed, cried, thrown something, but that would have caused a scene.

He reaches across the table to hook a strand of hair behind her ear, taking her breath away with his unexpected gesture. It brings back memories she had drowned long ago in her tears.

"Why?" he repeats easily, like he has no idea of the affect he has on her. "Why am I here? Because I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't breath without you."

That didn't sound like him at all. "Don't say that. You know that is exactly what I wanted to hear. Tell me why you're really here. Why you didn't come before."

He doesn't seem surprised by her response, just begins tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. "No, I didn't think that would work on you, but, hey, it was a nice sentiment." He takes a long breath. "I didn't know what I wanted, Sydney-Juliette, whatever--, you took care of that. From the day I met you, the world had all sorts of new depths I wasn't ready for. You don't know how deep still waters run until you jump in, right? Well, it took me a little longer to make that jump than you. I've never been as brave as you. I had to set things in order; my family, my friends, my job, and you. But I made a choice, and I might regret it once in awhile, but believe me, Sydney, I will never, ever give up on you. For the rest of my life I choose you, whether you want me or not."

He draws another unsteady breath and smiles again, not quite so bright or so happy as before, but still a smile. "Besides, it took me a long time to convince Eric to adopt Donovan."

Even with his words, it is still hard to let go of her anger. It hurt, too, that he hadn't been able to take that leap, even for her. Still, the magnitude of what he gave up doesn't evade her. He gave up his life, and she couldn't give up her grudge? What kind of spoiled brat was she?

That noise...that noise is starting to wear on her nerves. Her hand snakes out to cover his fingers, stops them from drumming on the table. He looks up at her, eyes raw and bleeding.

She smiles at him, finally letting it all go and feeling lighter for it. "You-You gave up Donovan for me?"

He laughs, a beautiful sound that makes her world fall into place. This was right; she was finally home.

Their lips meet, and they draw into their own cocoon, oblivious to the passing stares.

So much for causing a scene.



A/N: Terribly sappy, right? But atleast it was happy. It's only setting us up for the final scene, anyway...Don't stop now, keep reading!