Title: Shaant
For other info, pls look at previous chapters. I want to thank everyone who reviewed right now:
AgentVick, valley-girl, twin*muse, Egyptian Kat, baby le, star, Konstantine, BronwynMaye, HoneyB, Cat, =) & me (whomever you are ;-) ), rach, Colly E., rossandrachelforever, Secret Agent Girl, Lara, SoccaSweetie17, Katty, Aimee, Lainie, mango19, fan_kitty, Brittany, Tasha, thesheeplove,r Amber, nana, kittyfantastico, Raina, Ryanne, snosamie6, Jubilee, i love this story, Moose, yumytaffy, maploc, zara, saccharine, Jasmine, Carly, jhfortier, Rachel, ptitelfe...
yes that is every single one of you that reviewed, and I want to thank all of you. you guys are great and are the reaosn I finished this story. And to someone who e-mailed me asking: the title means calm or peacefulness (or hehe stability) in Hindi. This is has been such a great story to work on... I originally imagined it as a one parter, then a three parter, and now finally it has ended with six parts and an epilogue. There's a a bit of POV and tense change in this epilogue, but I thought it was appropriate. Anyway, have fun reading this and thank you guys. Please do drop me one last review or note for this story. Also I do this a lot: if I have an idea that i think an author could pull of, I sometimes send it to them asking them to write it. If any of you have a loose plot, or an idea or a particular type of story that you would like to see written, send me a review telling me about it. Most probably, I'll take you up on it.
***************************************
You stretch and glance lazily around. He's out of bed, but the room, like it always does, smells like he did that night-- what had you called it? You still remember, because he smells just as good, if not better.
You had called it masculine, a midnight blue aroma, and it filled your brain with images of a moonlit bedroom, blue light streaming, images that later came to life.
You break out of your reverie to listen to the noise coming from the bathroom-- the shower running, the pitter-patter as water splashes in various directions, and if you listened closely, you think you can hear humming. It brings a grin to your face, one you think will be as wide as his will be when you tell him.
It's been nearly a year since the first night of your freedom, since you fell into Michael's (not Vaughn anymore) arms and never left.
And now once again, if dependency and want and utter need and all-encompassing love wasn't enough, yet another thing to cement your relationship.
You have a feeling he's going to propose. After that first night, you realized you had skipped around and over so many things in a normal relationship that you both needed to take it one step at a time. You both were in love with each other, that was true, but you had been seperated for nine months. Even before that, he was never part of your everyday life, and though it had been clear he would be fine with your friends, it had been a long time since you had a man in your life. Since Danny in fact.
You had skipped the casual dating, with the relationship growing with missions and clandestine meetings instead, but you very well couldn't just jump in. You had to accustom yourselves to a relationship with each other, and you had to tread carefully. Neither of you wanted to lose a relationship you'd wanted for so long, and you didn't think you could ever stand being away from him again.
So instead, even though the admissions of love were plentiful, and you barely spent even one night alone, you took other things slow. You had dates-- but they didn't ever end until the next morning, when he'd have to go to work or you had a class. Even then, they ended with "I love you"s, and never uncertainty as to who would call when. You met each other's parents-- but for your father, it was simply reintroducing your former handler as your boyfriend. For his mother, it was support for Michael, so that he could have the strength to make his mother understand that your relationship was not a betrayal. You didn't move in together-- but both of you had keys to each other's apartments. Michael would sometimes come over even if he knew you weren't there, and every single one of his neighbors knew you, from your name, who you were (and who you were to Michael, especially), to unfortuantely, what you looked like after a night with him when you retrieved his paper in the morning.
And though this is none of what you had before-- the secrets, the tiny precious moments, the utter confidence in each other-- it's okay, because it's so much more. You don't have secrets with him because you don't need to. He is not your sole source of trust out of neccesity, but out of choice. Those precious moments are probably more precious, but no longer tiny. You two might be in a normal relationship, but to you-- and to him-- that was what was extraordinary about it.
But the settling in and adjusting to stage has passed. It was so important for you two to establish a comfortable lifestyle with each other, and you did it (he did it mostly, you think. Your life was brand new, all the rules re-written, but he had to change his for you). You are comfortable in every sense, and with normal couples, it would be time to take a step forward. Maybe say those three all-important words. But you two aren't normal (and you love that it's only your past that keeps you abnormal) and that step was taken before any of this started. Which is why you've been anticipating a proposal.
You know exactly what you are going to say-- "Yes, I love you so much"-- and you have no doubts that it is the only answer that is right. But your anticipation comes from him. Where is he going to propose? When is he going to do it? How is he going to do it? He's been romantic, and attentive (bordering on clairvoyant) and well, perfect (or perfect enough) in all the years he's known you and even more so in the one he's been with you. He is amazing, and you thank whoever it is controls your life (because a year ago it sure as hell wasn't you) that they sent him. This victory wouldn't be half as much without someone to share it with-- it wouldn't have been half as great if you were celebrating acquired revenge rather than new hope, it wouldn't be half as much without him. You can't remember being as happy as you have been in the past year, and you realize its because you never have been-- not many people are. Despite the shaky start, things couldn't have been beter with him, and some how, like all your dreams asked for, it did all work out. You smile once more.
You think you know how he's going to propose, or at least how he will wind up doing it. It may not be in his plan, but he has no idea what you have in store for him, so all plans will be tossed out the window. You don't want to wait longer to be asked, so you get up from the bed and walk towards to bathroom.
He's inside, standing at the sink in nothing but a towel, shaving. He grins, as you sleepily mutter a greeting and standing behind him, wrap your arms around his waist. He briefly strokes you arms until you rest your chin on his shoulder, standing on your tip-toes. He twists his head, gives you a kiss that smears shaving cream all over your face, and turns back to the task at hand.
After you wipe the cream off, you stare at his reflection in the mirror. He's such a beautiful man, and he's only become more beautiful since you've been able to memorize every part of his body. You run a finger absentmindedly across his abdomen, chiseled and hard, and bury your mouth and nose in his shoulder, which is the same shade of gold as the rest of his skin. His face is still the same, bar a few wrinkles, and the boyish grin betrays his age. His mouth is still delicious, with his thin (and what you like to call oh-so-French) lips. His jaw is still angular, cheeks smooth and thin. But you like most (and always have) is his eyes. They've changed so much and so lilttle-- they're still the most beautiful part of the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and they're still his "tell", the dead giveaway to what he really feels. They're still what you love most about his body (and there's so much to love in that alone), but you love even more that now instead of unearthing worry and anxiety hiding love, you see happiness and contendness.
"How you doing, beautiful?" he asks, playfully. You wonder why he calls you "beautiful" when he's the embodiment of the word-- his mind, his heart, his intentions, everything is as beautiful as his looks.
"I have something to tell you," you say into his shoulder. He drops his razor, and wipes his hands before covering your arms with his and intertwining your fingers. An amused grin spreads on his face, the kind that is such a sexy smirk you would normally forget about talking. But you have something important to say, and if you're right about him (and you haven't been wrong since that day you first sat in his office and thought he was "playing" you), he'll have something important for you after.
"What is it, baby?" he asks. You giggle, and lean close to his ear.
"That's just it, Michael. I'm pregnant," you say, grinning widely and looking in the mirror for a reaction.
You don't get one, just that smirk that you love, and two words that shock you.
"I know," he says, smirk widening into a grin. You are still talking to each other through the mirror, and he is enjoying your reaction.
"What do you mean, 'you know'?" you ask. How does he know?
"I found the pregnancy test last week, and I figured when you cancelled lunch you were going to see the doctor," he says. He turns to face into, and kisses you deeply. "I'm so happy, baby. This is going to be perfect." There it is, you think. He's going to ask you.
But he doesn't, surprising you once again, by simply pulling you to him. He's happier than he ever has been, that you can tell, but you're stunned by the fact that he hasn't proposed.
******
It's around eight months later, and the baby is coming when you think of that moment again. He still hasn't proposed but instead the two of you now live together.
You talked everyday of the baby and your plans for it. You told of how when you were a little girl, you'd seen your parents in love (a lie, but one you still believed because of Michael) and always wanted to be there for their wedding. He made plans, built dreams along with a nursery and told everyone he could that he was going to be a father. He secretly hoped for a boy, and then it was confirmed. You talked of names and wishes that would come true and everything.
You had been surprised that he had not suggested marriage, or even brought it up (nevermind that you never did) but in the end you let things be. This was Michael, the father of your child, your savior, your lover, your everything, and things were quite perfect the way they were.
*******
Once again, nearly ten hours later, while holding your son, that you think of the moment you told Michael, but you think of it in another way. You often wished you'd been there when he'd seen the pregnancy test, but his reaction had been so brilliant (he'd taken the day off work, now that he was full-time CIA upper level desk jockey) that you'd never cared. And through every moment of the pregnancy, he'd been so cooperative, so understanding, so caring (it bordered on worship and both of you knew you loved it).
You couldn't ask for more in that moment (or any other moments with Michael, and now your son).
Lucas William Jonathan Vaughn. He is beautiful, a small baby, sleeping quietly in your arms. He was named after both your father's (Michael's and your ideas), but Lucas had been a name that somehow through all the jokes (Michael said it was in honor of Luke Skywalker, you said it was in honor of Luke Perry-- you'd loved 90210 once upon a time) it had shone through and lasted. So Luke Vaughn sits in your arms, opening his beautiful green eyes (you were so happy about those) when his father walks in the door. He doesn't cry but gazes adoringly at Michael as he motions for you to move over so he can sit on the bed with you.
Michael looks at you seriously, intensely and takes a breath before he begins to speak. You know this signals something imporant.
"All our lives, we've had to deal with not being there for enough of our parents lives," he begins. You would cringe on the inside except you understand that his words have another purpose and that he is very much at peace with whose daughter you are. "And you told me once that you wished you'd witness their love, their marriage. Which is precisely why I delayed this moment by nine months."
And there, in that hospital room, with your new family, your whole life, Michael Vaughn proposes to bring another Vaughn into the family-- Sydney Vaughn.
You asked for stability so long ago, and like he does with every thing that he possibly can, Michael Vaughn delivers it long after you stop asking.
The End
For other info, pls look at previous chapters. I want to thank everyone who reviewed right now:
AgentVick, valley-girl, twin*muse, Egyptian Kat, baby le, star, Konstantine, BronwynMaye, HoneyB, Cat, =) & me (whomever you are ;-) ), rach, Colly E., rossandrachelforever, Secret Agent Girl, Lara, SoccaSweetie17, Katty, Aimee, Lainie, mango19, fan_kitty, Brittany, Tasha, thesheeplove,r Amber, nana, kittyfantastico, Raina, Ryanne, snosamie6, Jubilee, i love this story, Moose, yumytaffy, maploc, zara, saccharine, Jasmine, Carly, jhfortier, Rachel, ptitelfe...
yes that is every single one of you that reviewed, and I want to thank all of you. you guys are great and are the reaosn I finished this story. And to someone who e-mailed me asking: the title means calm or peacefulness (or hehe stability) in Hindi. This is has been such a great story to work on... I originally imagined it as a one parter, then a three parter, and now finally it has ended with six parts and an epilogue. There's a a bit of POV and tense change in this epilogue, but I thought it was appropriate. Anyway, have fun reading this and thank you guys. Please do drop me one last review or note for this story. Also I do this a lot: if I have an idea that i think an author could pull of, I sometimes send it to them asking them to write it. If any of you have a loose plot, or an idea or a particular type of story that you would like to see written, send me a review telling me about it. Most probably, I'll take you up on it.
***************************************
You stretch and glance lazily around. He's out of bed, but the room, like it always does, smells like he did that night-- what had you called it? You still remember, because he smells just as good, if not better.
You had called it masculine, a midnight blue aroma, and it filled your brain with images of a moonlit bedroom, blue light streaming, images that later came to life.
You break out of your reverie to listen to the noise coming from the bathroom-- the shower running, the pitter-patter as water splashes in various directions, and if you listened closely, you think you can hear humming. It brings a grin to your face, one you think will be as wide as his will be when you tell him.
It's been nearly a year since the first night of your freedom, since you fell into Michael's (not Vaughn anymore) arms and never left.
And now once again, if dependency and want and utter need and all-encompassing love wasn't enough, yet another thing to cement your relationship.
You have a feeling he's going to propose. After that first night, you realized you had skipped around and over so many things in a normal relationship that you both needed to take it one step at a time. You both were in love with each other, that was true, but you had been seperated for nine months. Even before that, he was never part of your everyday life, and though it had been clear he would be fine with your friends, it had been a long time since you had a man in your life. Since Danny in fact.
You had skipped the casual dating, with the relationship growing with missions and clandestine meetings instead, but you very well couldn't just jump in. You had to accustom yourselves to a relationship with each other, and you had to tread carefully. Neither of you wanted to lose a relationship you'd wanted for so long, and you didn't think you could ever stand being away from him again.
So instead, even though the admissions of love were plentiful, and you barely spent even one night alone, you took other things slow. You had dates-- but they didn't ever end until the next morning, when he'd have to go to work or you had a class. Even then, they ended with "I love you"s, and never uncertainty as to who would call when. You met each other's parents-- but for your father, it was simply reintroducing your former handler as your boyfriend. For his mother, it was support for Michael, so that he could have the strength to make his mother understand that your relationship was not a betrayal. You didn't move in together-- but both of you had keys to each other's apartments. Michael would sometimes come over even if he knew you weren't there, and every single one of his neighbors knew you, from your name, who you were (and who you were to Michael, especially), to unfortuantely, what you looked like after a night with him when you retrieved his paper in the morning.
And though this is none of what you had before-- the secrets, the tiny precious moments, the utter confidence in each other-- it's okay, because it's so much more. You don't have secrets with him because you don't need to. He is not your sole source of trust out of neccesity, but out of choice. Those precious moments are probably more precious, but no longer tiny. You two might be in a normal relationship, but to you-- and to him-- that was what was extraordinary about it.
But the settling in and adjusting to stage has passed. It was so important for you two to establish a comfortable lifestyle with each other, and you did it (he did it mostly, you think. Your life was brand new, all the rules re-written, but he had to change his for you). You are comfortable in every sense, and with normal couples, it would be time to take a step forward. Maybe say those three all-important words. But you two aren't normal (and you love that it's only your past that keeps you abnormal) and that step was taken before any of this started. Which is why you've been anticipating a proposal.
You know exactly what you are going to say-- "Yes, I love you so much"-- and you have no doubts that it is the only answer that is right. But your anticipation comes from him. Where is he going to propose? When is he going to do it? How is he going to do it? He's been romantic, and attentive (bordering on clairvoyant) and well, perfect (or perfect enough) in all the years he's known you and even more so in the one he's been with you. He is amazing, and you thank whoever it is controls your life (because a year ago it sure as hell wasn't you) that they sent him. This victory wouldn't be half as much without someone to share it with-- it wouldn't have been half as great if you were celebrating acquired revenge rather than new hope, it wouldn't be half as much without him. You can't remember being as happy as you have been in the past year, and you realize its because you never have been-- not many people are. Despite the shaky start, things couldn't have been beter with him, and some how, like all your dreams asked for, it did all work out. You smile once more.
You think you know how he's going to propose, or at least how he will wind up doing it. It may not be in his plan, but he has no idea what you have in store for him, so all plans will be tossed out the window. You don't want to wait longer to be asked, so you get up from the bed and walk towards to bathroom.
He's inside, standing at the sink in nothing but a towel, shaving. He grins, as you sleepily mutter a greeting and standing behind him, wrap your arms around his waist. He briefly strokes you arms until you rest your chin on his shoulder, standing on your tip-toes. He twists his head, gives you a kiss that smears shaving cream all over your face, and turns back to the task at hand.
After you wipe the cream off, you stare at his reflection in the mirror. He's such a beautiful man, and he's only become more beautiful since you've been able to memorize every part of his body. You run a finger absentmindedly across his abdomen, chiseled and hard, and bury your mouth and nose in his shoulder, which is the same shade of gold as the rest of his skin. His face is still the same, bar a few wrinkles, and the boyish grin betrays his age. His mouth is still delicious, with his thin (and what you like to call oh-so-French) lips. His jaw is still angular, cheeks smooth and thin. But you like most (and always have) is his eyes. They've changed so much and so lilttle-- they're still the most beautiful part of the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and they're still his "tell", the dead giveaway to what he really feels. They're still what you love most about his body (and there's so much to love in that alone), but you love even more that now instead of unearthing worry and anxiety hiding love, you see happiness and contendness.
"How you doing, beautiful?" he asks, playfully. You wonder why he calls you "beautiful" when he's the embodiment of the word-- his mind, his heart, his intentions, everything is as beautiful as his looks.
"I have something to tell you," you say into his shoulder. He drops his razor, and wipes his hands before covering your arms with his and intertwining your fingers. An amused grin spreads on his face, the kind that is such a sexy smirk you would normally forget about talking. But you have something important to say, and if you're right about him (and you haven't been wrong since that day you first sat in his office and thought he was "playing" you), he'll have something important for you after.
"What is it, baby?" he asks. You giggle, and lean close to his ear.
"That's just it, Michael. I'm pregnant," you say, grinning widely and looking in the mirror for a reaction.
You don't get one, just that smirk that you love, and two words that shock you.
"I know," he says, smirk widening into a grin. You are still talking to each other through the mirror, and he is enjoying your reaction.
"What do you mean, 'you know'?" you ask. How does he know?
"I found the pregnancy test last week, and I figured when you cancelled lunch you were going to see the doctor," he says. He turns to face into, and kisses you deeply. "I'm so happy, baby. This is going to be perfect." There it is, you think. He's going to ask you.
But he doesn't, surprising you once again, by simply pulling you to him. He's happier than he ever has been, that you can tell, but you're stunned by the fact that he hasn't proposed.
******
It's around eight months later, and the baby is coming when you think of that moment again. He still hasn't proposed but instead the two of you now live together.
You talked everyday of the baby and your plans for it. You told of how when you were a little girl, you'd seen your parents in love (a lie, but one you still believed because of Michael) and always wanted to be there for their wedding. He made plans, built dreams along with a nursery and told everyone he could that he was going to be a father. He secretly hoped for a boy, and then it was confirmed. You talked of names and wishes that would come true and everything.
You had been surprised that he had not suggested marriage, or even brought it up (nevermind that you never did) but in the end you let things be. This was Michael, the father of your child, your savior, your lover, your everything, and things were quite perfect the way they were.
*******
Once again, nearly ten hours later, while holding your son, that you think of the moment you told Michael, but you think of it in another way. You often wished you'd been there when he'd seen the pregnancy test, but his reaction had been so brilliant (he'd taken the day off work, now that he was full-time CIA upper level desk jockey) that you'd never cared. And through every moment of the pregnancy, he'd been so cooperative, so understanding, so caring (it bordered on worship and both of you knew you loved it).
You couldn't ask for more in that moment (or any other moments with Michael, and now your son).
Lucas William Jonathan Vaughn. He is beautiful, a small baby, sleeping quietly in your arms. He was named after both your father's (Michael's and your ideas), but Lucas had been a name that somehow through all the jokes (Michael said it was in honor of Luke Skywalker, you said it was in honor of Luke Perry-- you'd loved 90210 once upon a time) it had shone through and lasted. So Luke Vaughn sits in your arms, opening his beautiful green eyes (you were so happy about those) when his father walks in the door. He doesn't cry but gazes adoringly at Michael as he motions for you to move over so he can sit on the bed with you.
Michael looks at you seriously, intensely and takes a breath before he begins to speak. You know this signals something imporant.
"All our lives, we've had to deal with not being there for enough of our parents lives," he begins. You would cringe on the inside except you understand that his words have another purpose and that he is very much at peace with whose daughter you are. "And you told me once that you wished you'd witness their love, their marriage. Which is precisely why I delayed this moment by nine months."
And there, in that hospital room, with your new family, your whole life, Michael Vaughn proposes to bring another Vaughn into the family-- Sydney Vaughn.
You asked for stability so long ago, and like he does with every thing that he possibly can, Michael Vaughn delivers it long after you stop asking.
The End