This "Chapter": Symbolism runs ramped, Syd passes out, Vaughn carries her to the motel…possible Spy!Sex?
Suggested Soundtrack: "Send the Pain Below" by Trapped, "To You I Belong" by BWitched, "Lose Your Way" by Sophie B. Hawkins, "I'm With You" by Avril Lavigne, "This I Promise You" by 'N Sync
Epilogue
It did eventually end, though.
The kiss, not the feeling.
Because as soon as they pulled away, both of them instantly hated space of any kind between their two bodies. They'd had a slice of heaven; now each wanted the whole pie.
That was when Sydney started to shake uncontrollably. Her chattering teeth were audible over the sounds of the storm, and he could feel her shoulders vibrating against his chest as he held her close. Without a second thought, Vaughn slid his coat off and sat the sodden material around her in an attempt to warm her. When her chills only increased he tugged her reluctantly to her feet, struggling against the suction of the deep mud. The storm was only worsening, the clouds becoming a natural black; if he had closed his eyes, the same colour would paint the underside of his lids. Streaks of lightening decreased in randomness and increased in numbers and proximity. Rain drops felt more like ice pellets when they hit exposed skin (that is, if the skin was not already numb). Wind screeched in their ears no matter which way they turned their heads. It bombarded them from all sides with no respite, bringing with it salt spray even colder and harder than the rain. It was no wonder why Sydney was cold.
Vaughn somehow made himself heard over the slam of thunder that he chose to interrupt. "We need to get you out of the rain! Come on, there's the inn down the road!"
She nodded mutely, no longer able to meet his strong gaze. Sydney was embarrassed. She'd had everything planned out, everything accounted for…except for him. He was not supposed to find the letter and follow after her like the Knight in Shining Armour she though he was in her innermost fantasies; no, that was just in her mind, a fantasy. It was not actually supposed to happen. And now that it had, she was embarrassed. Her mask had cracked, her second thoughts validated, and her yellow belly exposed. He was not supposed to see her like this, all weak and trembling and needy; she was strong both physically and emotionally. At least that was what she wanted to portray to the world and had…up until now.
'Damn you, Vaughn. Damn the world! Why couldn't you let me be happy? Why couldn't you have let me die? It would have been better without me. It will be better without me.'
willHe began running over the treacherously slippery terrain, scooping up her small suitcase as he passed it. Somehow regaining the use of her legs, Syd began creeping along behind him at the pace of melting ice cream in Alaska, more depressed and dejected then when she first arrived. The gap between them steadily grew, and he was more than a hundred paces in the lead before he realized that she was not on his heels. He stopped dead in his tracks, his feet almost losing their traction, pushed aside his impatience, and waited for her to catch up.
But she never did. When Sydney was about ten feet away she stopped cold, started swaying on her locked knees, and crumpled in a heap into the pool of mud at her feet. Forgetting about the luggage, the wet dirt, and his health he scrambled back to retrieve her.
"Syd! Come on, wake up. Don't do this to me now, damn it!" Vaughn commanded, kneeling in the muck and cradling her head in his lap. He slapped her cheeks in an attempt to warm them up, to help her regain consciousness. She had fainted, whether it was a result of the cold or her emotions he could not tell. But she was unresponsive, and that wass what was worrying him. He needed to get her out of the rain and those wet clothes as fast as possible. Deciding to abandon her suitcase entirely, he carefully slid his arms under her shoulders and behind her knees, lifting her unconscious form and confidently striding towards the inn.
"Please, sir, you have to understand," Vaughn pleaded softly with the male innkeeper. He had adopted a heavy Irish accent to establish his connection with Breena Calhoun and was currently beseeching the man to give them a room for the night. "I explained it all to yer wife earlier. Breena's me wife. She just had a wee bit too much ale this evening and is out of service at the moment." Suddenly he wished he'd had a drink himself so that each of them smelled of alcohol.
The man looked extremely doubtful. His gaze wandered to the incapacitated woman slumped on a bench in the entryway. Running a hand through his greying hair he replied uncertainly, "I dun know sir. I have no record of a Mister Calhoun stayin' 'ere. Ms. Calhoun checked out this marning and—"
"Cael, what're ya yammerin' on about, you big lummox? Oh. Customers." The female Vaughn had dealt with earlier waddled into the room clad in a large flannel bathrobe, slippers, and a sleep mask poised on her forehead. She smiled brightly at the latter and asked, "Did ya find yer wife? Oh, I'm guessin' you did." She saw Sydney on the bench and winced. "Guessin' she was a li'l too happy to be seein' ya, Mr. Calhoun. I'll be getting' you two our mos' comfy room as soon as me husband is handin' o'er the books."
"Keaira!" Her husband whispered sharply, his eyes never leaving the anxious young man in front of him. "How can we be sure?"
She looked at him harshly and jabbed him in the side with her elbow. "Oh, shut up Cael. An' hand o'er the books so we can give these nice people a room!" He grunted once in a final protest and stalked back to his own room in defeat. Keaira did not pay any heed to her grouchy husband. Instead she began shuffling papers and keys, looking for both the registration book and a pair of the metal objects. "Ne'er you mind Cael, there, Mister Calhoun; he's always a wee paranoid after his bedtime." She winked at him as her hand alighted upon the desired metal. Handing it over to him she inquired, "Will you be needin' anything else, sir? Doesn't seem like ya have any luggage with you."
Vaughn had expected this. "I was jus' supposed to surprise Breena and fly home with her, but as you can see—" He pointed at his unconscious companion "—she's not fit to be travelin'. I couldn't find her at the cliffs, but I met up with her at the pub. An' when I did, she didn't have anything with her."
The woman nodded knowingly. "Ah, yes. She coulda left it at those cliffs. I'll send Cael up with some extra blankets and clothes for the both o' ya. Don't worry," She added, seeing that he was about to object, "no extra expense." Keaira smiled a toothy grin and waddled back out of the room, leaving Vaughn and Sydney alone.
He sighed heavily in relief and slogged with squelching shoes back to his "wife". Lifting her in the same fashion as before, he sidestepped awkwardly down the hall to a room in the very back of the inn; suddenly he was very grateful that she had not given them a room on the second floor. The room was the only one on the level that had a connecting bathroom, Vaughn noted gleefully. Hopefully she would wake up in time for her to take a warm shower by herself. Otherwise…well, he would give her a warm shower in her clothes. The room contained a queen-sized bed, two chairs, a table, a bureau, and a small TV. 'She'll get the bed,' He decided without hesitation. 'I'll sleep in a drawer or the bathtub if I have to.'
Laying her languid form on the bed, he started for the bathroom but stopped when he heard his name. He spun around, thinking he would see her sitting up and rubbing her temples, but instead she was tossing and pitching on the bed, grabbing at fistfuls of comforter and arching her back like she was in pain.
"Vaughn! Vaughn! MICHAEL!"
He rushed over to her side, assessing the situation. When her arms started flailing and head began thrashing, he decided the best course of action was to pour water on the fire. Vaughn smothered Syd's body with his own, pinning her arms to the bed and her legs together.
Immediately her eyes snapped open, took in a deep breath, the air rattling around in her lungs, and arched into his torso subconsciously. When her vision cleared she asked, "Vaughn? Where are we? What happened? And why are you…up there?"
His face an immaculate shade of red, Vaughn released her appendages and backed up against a wall. "You fainted. I carried you to the inn; you're in no condition to fly right now."
Her face became unreadable, too many emotions flooding it at once. "You—You carried me?" He nodded, thinking nothing of the gentlemanly action. Suddenly, her mask fell away completely and she began to cry, more than she ever had in her entire life. He simply held her to his body, stroking her damp hair and not even flinching when she would bite his neck in rage. What she was crying for was not even clear to her. She supposed it was out of anger, hostility, sadness, embarrassment, and her own stupidity. How could she have doubted him? How could she have doubted anything? A man who would fly halfway around the world, sit with her in the rain, carry her unconscious body about five miles in said rain, and let her cry all to save her from herself…well, he was a keeper. A man not to die for.
When the well in her eyes had gone dry, she pulled away ever so slightly, running her convulsing fingers over the purple marks she had made on the side of his neck. A feeling of childish wonder overcame her, and she maneuvered her head to peer into his eyes. The concern for her wellbeing and pure, unbridled love for the woman in front of him snapped something deep inside of her. She began a murderous and unprovoked assault on his lips, tearing into the flesh like a lioness. Pushing him back upon the bed she straddled Vaughn and ground her hips into his with a strength and passion that even she did not know she had. Their sopping clothes did nothing to hide their mutual arousal, and soon enough mere contact was not enough for Sydney; she needed all of him. Her hands flew down and started dancing at the fly of his jeans.
Vaughn felt her fingers playing lightly over his erection and instantaneously knew things had gone far enough. With incredible strength of body (and even more will power), he rolled Sydney off of him, their lips separating and instantly feeling naked, and backed away towards the bathroom with his eyes never leaving hers.
She had to take a second to regroup. She never thought — never in a million years would she think — that he would reject one of her advances, that he would turn down sex with Sydney Bristow. But he was and now she was mad. "What the hell, Vaughn? I thought this is what you wanted! I'm practically throwing myself at you, here! Now get on that bed and prove that I'm worth something! Fuck me."
Closing his eyes and shaking his head slowly, he pressed his back up against the wall for strength and responded, "Syd, you're not thinking straight…"
"I'm not thinking straight? Are you kidding me? I just about fucking killed myself out there, you talk me down from the edge, I ask for validation, and now you get cold feet?! This is the easy part! Fuck me, Vaughn. What's so hard to understand about that?"
"Look," He began in a whisper; "I want this just as much as you; probably even more. But it's not as simple as that. This isn't where or-or when and most definitely not how! You're not in your right mind at the moment—"
"How dare you assume to tell me how I think!"
"I'm not assuming, Sydney, I know!" He cried, his raised voice startling her into silence. "We have a connection, Syd. Don't think I'm ignoring it. But this isn't how it's supposed to happen. You — we — deserve better than this. You're scared, hurt, tired, cold, overwhelmed, angry, and spiteful. For you this would be just a physical act but for me…For me, there are just too many emotions that come along with it to let it be just an act. I don't want to fuck you, Syd: I want to make love to you. I want to make love to you like there's no tomorrow. But not tonight. I won't let you make this mistake. I do love you, Sydney Bristow. I love you too much to let this happen, no mater how much I want it to."
Just then there was a knock on the door. Vaughn answered it and Cael stood there, a deep scowl on his face with a pile of blankets, towels, and clothes in his arms. The younger man thanked him shortly, shut the door, and turned back to Sydney. She was still livid, and on her way to the bathroom she wrenched a towel from his grasp and stalked inside. Soon enough he heard the shower switch on and steam started to emanate from the crack underneath the door.
Sighing heavily, he unfolded a blanket for himself and laid it on the arm of one of the chairs; that was where he would be sleeping for the night. His socks and shoes were carefully laid out on the floor near the table, which was already laden with his jacket and dress shirt. Both his shoulder and hip holsters were laid across the other chair, which left him in a wife-beater and his dirty jeans. He separated his new clothes (a pair of flannel pajama pants for the night; overalls and a simple blue t-shirt for the next day) from hers and laid them to rest beside a towel of his own before flopping down on the bed and flipping on the TV. The only channel that came in clearly was Nick at Nite, so he settled back against the headboard to watch "I Love Lucy" until it was his turn for the bathroom.
Sydney finished her shower in better spirits than when she started. The scalding water had not only burned away the numbness but also her extreme temper and malice. The embarrassment that she had felt before was nothing compared to what was running through her mind at that moment. Realizing that she had nothing to change into only added to her humiliation. She poked her head out of the bathroom door to ask where her luggage was but stopped short.
Vaughn was lying down on the bed with his hands clasped behind his head, chuckling lightly at the TV as Desi bellowed his infamous line. The warm glow of the black and white screen fanned out around the room, turning everything within its reach a mottled grey. The scene was so domestic that even though she thought she had cried all there was to cry, tears blurred her vision.
Before she lost the use of her voice she cleared her throat to catch his attention. Hiding shyly behind the door she asked meekly, "Clothes?"
He looked up and she saw the heat rise in his cheeks. Crossing the room, he handed her the clothes that Keaira had sent up for her with his eyes glued in the opposite direction out of respect. She took them with a hint of smugness and changed quickly before reappearing. As soon as the door opened again, he hurriedly brushed past her to take the warm shower his muscles sorely craved. A small smile lit her face as the door clicked; she knew it would only be a matter of time…
She turned off the light on the only nightstand and climbed onto the left side of the bed, sliding under covers that had been warmed by Vaughn seconds before. Snuggling deeper into the lush pillow, Syd inhaled the scent that was uniquely him; somehow he had retained some of his cologne, despite the tempestuous rain. Sydney closed her eyes and let her mind wander.
Vaughn threw his towel and extra clothes down onto the floor as he hastened to turn on the shower. After waiting a few minutes for the water to warm, he stepped in only to jump right back out; all the hot water was gone. He sighed heavily and settled for toweling off whatever was wet in the still-foggy bathroom. It was then that he glanced at the wall-to-wall mirror. The steam was just beginning to recede around the edges, but he could still clearly discern the message that had been written there in the fog. The towel almost dropped out of his grasp as he read the note.
'Vaughn —
I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you feel like you had to follow me out here; I'm sorry for putting you in that situation. But I'm glad you came. Jumping would have been a mistake; I was wrong to despair. You've given me what I wanted most: a reason to live, a future. Thank you. And what you described — our first time — it will happen. Someday we'll make it happen. Together. I love you. By the way, we can share the bed.
— SB'
Slapping the clothes onto his person, he rushed out of the bathroom in the hopes of catching her before she fell asleep. But as the door slipped from his fingertips and closed itself behind him, he saw Sydney stretched out under the sheets. The glaring TV was the only source of light, with the curtains closed to shut out the now-waning storm. He fended off a guttural groan as the feeling of innocence she radiated permeated his very skin, solidifying his protective tendencies towards her and encasing them in cement. Vaughn padded over, turned down the covers, and climbed in as smoothly as possible. He could not keep his heart from fluttering in his chest. This was the way it was supposed to be: just the two of them, no holds barred, being normal and domestic, and living life the way everyone else lived it. And he felt the overwhelming need to tell her that, despite the fact that her back was to him and she was fast asleep. So he uncovered the remote, switched off the TV, and turned to her.
"Sydney," He whispered solemnly, "I don't know what the hell possessed you to think that you weren't wanted here. But you're wrong. I want you. I need you, Syd. I've said it before and I'll say it again: you can lean on me. With your love, I'll never fall. I can be your ally. If you just let me in, Syd…! Tell me what's on your mind, how you're feeling…then this whole ordeal—" He gestured weakly, knowing he was merely talking to himself "—can be avoided. I don't want to have to talk you down again.
"And yes, Sydney, we will be together someday. As long as we hold on to our love and look forward instead of back...who knows what will happen? All I know is that the fairy tales are true: love does conquer all. It really is as simple as that. And you know what? That day just might be here sooner than you think."
Vaughn paused, reaching out an unsure hand to stroke her head of luscious hair. A sweet smile spread like molasses across his lips before he breathed, "Good night, Sydney Bristow. See you in the morning." He turned onto his right side, buried his head in his pillow, and almost instantaneously fell asleep.
Sydney opened her eyes slowly, the difference in blackness almost null and void. An identical smile crept over her over features (the first in a long while, she noted somewhere in the back of her mind) as she rolled over to face his strong back. She whispered, "Good night, Michael," before wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head upon his shoulder.
The last thunder bolt crashed and the last raindrop fell from the eaves of the inn. The storm had ended at last.
END
