Everyday Peril
Chapter 13: The Awakening

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See, Whitelighter's got it! Knight in shining armor to the rescue!... It's not that I forget, it's just that I remember when it's not convenient (like when ff.net decides not to work…). But it will get better. Right now, in fact. Well, it's still kinda sad, but it's get better sad. It only goes up from here, and there's only like 2 more chapters after this, so…
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Michael drove straight to his mother's house, intent on dropping the kids off there so he could go himself to find Sydney. This was something only he could do, that he needed to be alone for. Because he knew that this would be his last chance; and as much as he loved his children, their children, he couldn't risk breaking the moment, breaking Sydney beyond recognition and out of his grasp.

But the second he pulled into his mother's driveway and saw her closed garage and darkened house, he knew he had to come up with another plan. Because it had to be Thursday. Because Thursday had to be Bridge Night. And because even if his mother was running a temperature of 104 and coughing up a lung, she was willing to risk the health of both herself and her fellow bridge players rather than miss Bridge Night.

It would have been much too simple if he could have just dropped the kids off there and hurried on his way. And someone seemed hell bent on making his life as difficult as possible.

But some quick thinking and a few extra miles down the road brought him his solution. He got the children out of the car and rang the doorbell. Someone yelled from inside, and Michael knew that his friend's fiancée had yet to return home. He opened the door and ushered his kids inside. "Eric?"

"Mike! Hey!" Eric sounded instantly relieved to hear his friend's voice. Little did he know that for him, things were about to get much worse. "Can you help me out for a sec? I think Drew swallowed a penny, but…" He paused when he finally came into view. "Man, you look like hell."

Drew immediately ran from Eric over to Jonny and William. Apparently, spending quality time with his father had taught him how to change the channels on the TV using the remote, and he was excited to demonstrate his new skills to his friends.

The three boys left the room, followed by Hailey. It didn't matter that Drew was two years younger than she was. Hailey knew how to change the channels and adjust the volume, and she intended to show the younger kids her superiority.

"Can you watch the kids for me?"

Oh, Eric was going to hate him. But Michael knew his friend wouldn't deny him this request. Even if he did, the three Vaughn children would be staying at the Weiss/Calfo residence for as long as needed. Michael Vaughn was on a mission. The only way Eric could have gotten out of this one was through death or absence, and Michael already knew that he was home, so…

"Sure, but this penny thing. You know, he seems okay, but… Whoa, wait, what?"

His eyes bugged out of his head. Michael could practically see the gears working as Eric rewound his friend's former statement and did the mental math. His own son, a four-year-old girl, and both twins… That made four kids. Three more than he had (or planned on ever having) and three more than he was used to dealing with…

"I need to go find Syd, and…"

Eric held up a hand to stop him. As much as he teased Michael about his love and concern for his wife, Michael knew that he had a soft spot for her as well. "You need to find Syd? I thought she took the kids to the playground."

Michael took a deep breath and scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, but we… we kinda had a fight…"

"And so you need to go "find" her and "make up." Eric crossed his arms and tilted his head, giving Michael "the look."

"Yes… no!" Didn't he wish it were that simple…

"Oh, come on, man. Don't give me that I haven't had sex in weeks! look. I know the two of you," he said with a sigh. "A little more than I would have liked to thanks to that little exhibition in the…"

"Eric." Michael's tone was warning, but his gaze even icier. Any other time he was game for his friend's teasing and eager to shovel it right back, but now…

"Holy s***!" Eric exclaimed, glancing over at the kids and immediately lowering his voice, his face lighting up. "You haven't had sex in weeks, have you? That has to be like the longest you two have ever gone without…"

"We're not discussing this now," Michael said firmly.

"Later then?" Eric asked hopefully, but at Michael's look, gave in. "Okay, jeez."

"Just watch them for me," Michael implored, nodding in the direction of the living room and starting to walk out of the house.

"Wait, Mike," Eric began frantically, suddenly realizing that there weren't just four kids in his living room. There were four kids that were going to be alone with him in a matter of seconds. "You know how I said I don't do the whole playground thing? That's because there are way too many kids there… And by "way too many" I mean more than one."

"Please, Eric. It's not that hard. You can handle it."

He was going to have to handle it, because in thirty seconds, Michael planned on walking out that door, and he didn't plan on having his children with him…

"Dude, you were the one who was going to have four kids, not me."

These words froze Michael, chilling him to the core, numbing his bones. Even the slightest movements: his heartbeat; his diaphragm moving up and down with his steady, controlled breaths… threatened to break him, shatter him like icicles breaking off the edge of the roof and plunging to the frozen snow below.

Eric's voice trailed off at the end of his sentence, noticing his friend's expression. Michael could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest. He had made his peace with it, he had been over it. He had, really. But having his friend mention it so casually, realizing that he could have and would have had four children, that none of this would ever have happened if…

"…plant is found in shady… girl couldn't remember where… the chocolate makes…"

The volume on the television had increased to such a high level that it was surprising the kids hadn't blown out their eardrums. It quickly quieted, but those few seconds were enough to jolt both men back to reality.

"Oh s***. I-I wasn't thinking, Mike… I'm sorry… How're you both holding up?"

He knew that Eric hadn't meant it, had only been teasing him. He knew by his quick, stammered words and red face that he was genuinely sorry. He knew that it shouldn't have bothered him, but…

Michael sighed and offered his friend a small, sad smile. "Just watch the kids."

He didn't wait for Eric's answer before walking out the door, leaving the poor man to wonder what the hell he was supposed to do with three extra children, and when in God's name Francie was going to get home.


Michael got in the car and drove, not needing to stop and think, never taking a second to consider that she could have been anywhere, that he had no idea where she was. He knew. Without a thought, he knew.

Which was why he wasn't surprised or relieved to see a lone figure standing at the pier, gazing into the water. It didn't take a second glance to tell him that it was her. He didn't know how or why he had this uncanny ability to find her whenever he, whenever they, needed it most. He was simply grateful for it, unwilling to question such a miracle any further.

Sydney knew he was there without turning back. She had known he would come, wanted him to find her. Perhaps that was why she had come to the pier in the first place. He would follow her to the ends of the earth; she knew that from experience. But more often than not, he had followed her to this very spot, where they had spent some of their first quiet moments, veiled with mystery and forbidden from action.

He waited before coming to her. She thought that perhaps he didn't want to, that he hadn't really wanted to find her, but felt he had to out of duty.

And her heart broke. She longed more than anything to turn to him, to run up to him and let him comfort her; but she was planted in place, her neck refused to turn, her legs wouldn't move. She didn't know that he was afraid to come to her, thought that if he approached her, she would run like a frightened animal into the forest, never to be seen again.

Like a whisper in the wind, he appeared beside her, finally giving in to the anxiety gnawing at him. She could see his reflection in the rippling water, close enough to her own to be considered near to her, but far enough to give her space. Far enough so that she couldn't feel him, couldn't feel the heat radiating from his body, the warmth that she needed to melt her, to take away the chill.

It was Sydney who moved closer to him, who put her hand on top of his own on the railing. Michael didn't say a word, almost afraid that if he did, it would all vanish into vapor, would all be a dream. But it was real. He could feel her hand on his own, hear her soft breaths next to him.

Somehow, the words found their way to her mouth. Not the words she wanted… I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry… But words nonetheless.

"Do you remember," she began, her voice a whisper, "when I found out I was pregnant with Hailey?"

"Of course," he answered quietly. How could he ever forget? "It was one of the happiest days of my life."

He didn't need to tell her that the only ones that had beaten it were when he had felt her lips on his own for the first time, when she agreed to and finally became his wife, when he had held his children in his arms for the first time. She knew it just as well as he did. Both of them did.

"I thought you would be angry," she continued shyly, as if the day were playing over that moment, as if they were suddenly almost five years younger. And then going back further, as if they hadn't spent the last seven years together, as if they had just met, as if they were gawky teenagers all over again.

"I could never be angry about something like that," he replied, wanting to tell her that he would have a thousand kids with her for no other reason than they were half hers and half his, theirs together.

"I know." And I love you, I love you, I love you…

She loved him for it, because of it, in spite of it. Because there were times when he should be angry. Like now. God, like now. He should be cursing, shouting, at least trying to put her through even half the hell she had dragged him through over these weeks.

But he wasn't. He was better than that, better than she deserved, better than she should have ever had. He should be with someone else, someone who was as sweet and kind and understanding as the man before her was. But not with her, not with her even though… I love you, please, I'm sorry, don't leave me…

The tears welling up in her eyes were from frustration this time. Because she knew what words to say, but they had forgotten the way to her mouth, wouldn't come out. She didn't understand it, was becoming unnerved by it. The numbness still held her and she couldn't shake it no matter how hard she tried.

And she was trying now, harder than she had ever tried anything before. But the thing was, she had let it have its way with her for so long, had let it mold her, shape her, punish her. She was its child now, beaten into obedience and afraid to step out of line, to do anything that would give it cause to cut a switch off the willow tree and smack it against her bare, baby-soft skin.

It was the most in depth conversation they had had since their happiness had been washed away, and the closest they had come since then to discussing what they needed to the most. But that appeared to be the end of it. He wasn't sure what else to say, what ground was safe to tread on and she didn't volunteer anything else, at least not verbally. The pressure of her palm on his hand was wavering, her hand shaking.

That one small detail told him how close he was to breaking what was holding her, that seized her with a grip so strong and vice-like that love alone was nearly not enough to banish it from her.

"Syd…" he murmured softly, not knowing what he wanted to say, but needing to whisper something to her, to tell her that he was still there, would always be there.

She could feel that one simple syllable seeping into her, filling her with warmth. She longed to be set free, to run from herself and into his arms, to completely escape the numbness that had overtaken her so completely. She tried to answer him, to mumble his name in return, but couldn't find the breath to make the word a reality.

She closed her eyes, letting the words play over and over in her head, the words she wanted to say, the words that she was somehow unable to. …I want you I need you I love you I want you I

She knew the right ones now. Knew how she had hurt him, hurt everyone else. Why couldn't she make it right? Why couldn't she try?

need you I love you I need you I need you I need you I need you

"Baby…" he whispered, trying again, so used to calling her that that the word flew out of his mouth before he could stop it. As hard as it had been to remember, he hadn't said it since then, hadn't even uttered that word within her hearing.

But he remembered how she had hissed at him when he called her that after the accident, how hurt and angry she had been. And all he could do now was hope that she wouldn't lash out at him this time.

She didn't say a word, good or bad; didn't move away from him, didn't take her hand from his. And he silently thanked God for that, wanting to whisper so much more to her, knowing that there was so much more to talk about, so much more that had to be said, but suddenly unable to remember anything at all aside from one simple fact.

She was still his.

She was broken and bleeding and so close to the edge. But she was still his. And in that moment he knew that he had really had nothing to worry about all along. She was just as incapable of leaving him as he was of leaving her. The bond between them, forged from the intertwining ores of friendship, marriage, parenthood, and love drew them inextricably together.

No matter what, they would be together; nothing that either of them said or did, nothing that tried to eat away at it or draw them apart would be able to. The bond would never be broken; they both realized it suddenly, as if they had somehow known it all along.

Sydney couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Everything seemed to be rushing around her. The coldness melting from her leaving a void so large that it seemed it would never be filled. The numbness had been all she had, all that kept her from feeling, all that kept her at once both alive and dead.

But just as suddenly as the hole ripped itself inside her, the emotions she hadn't been able to feel, hadn't allowed herself to, came fighting in, too many and too strong for the space to contain. She was bursting with them, and they fought against the flimsy fence that the numbness still kept around her, the only thing that kept her from finally giving voice to her feelings, the only thing that kept her from completely falling apart in Michael's arms.

Her hand squeezed his as she tightened her grip on the railing, fought against the emotion that threatened to bowl her over. Her chest was on fire, and she suddenly remembered that she needed to breathe, quickly gulping in more air than she could handle, almost choking on it.

She struggled against the numbness and herself, at the same time wanting it to stay and longing to rip it from her chest. Without it, she could feel. At last, she could feel; both a blessing and a curse. The rush of emotions was painful, almost too much to take.

Michael felt her grip on his hand increase, knew that she was only trying to grab onto the railing, to keep her balance, but hoping there was something more to it. Hoping almost against hope that she wanted him, she needed him, she… she loved him.

He finally stole a glance at her, allowed himself to look at her, needing to see her face, to remember that she was still there, it was still her, still his Sydney. That one quick glance confirmed his wishes.

He never thought he would be so happy to see her so close to tears.

And he suddenly knew what he should say, what had to be said, should have been said long ago. There was only one thing left, one thing that would break the numbness from her completely, that would save her and bring her back to him again.

So, tearing his gaze from her, he cleared his throat and took a deep, shaky breath. His forehead furrowed with wrinkles and had he been capable of further movement, if he hadn't thought his knees would give out if he so much as lifted a finger, he would have brought a hand up to nervously ruffle his hair.

"You really did want this baby… didn't you."

And there it was. He had spoken the words so softly that he didn't think she had heard him. Her hand still shook, she was still silent, frozen. He focused his gaze on the water before them, afraid to look at her if she had heard his words, had seen the anger lurking within her eyes, dying to break loose. He knew it would have to be unleashed to run rampant with her other emotions, but still didn't want to see that look in her eyes. The one he had seen during their fight earlier, where she looked lost and frightened, enraged and betrayed, where it seemed as if her world had crashed and she was the sole survivor.

If he had looked over at her, he would have been able to put all his fears to rest; would have seen the lone tear trickle down her cheek as the numbness melted almost completely, and the emotion leaked from within, quickly finding the small hole in the fence.

The guilt grabbed hold of her first, coupled with its henchmen: regret and sorrow. It shrouded her with thick, dark blackness, blinding her from the world, making it hard to breathe. She felt something around her neck slowly tightening, chilling her with fear, overwhelming her.

Sydney had to rid herself of the numbness completely, had to speak before she was punished by her own guilt. It was already too late, had been too late for days. But it was better late than never, better than not said at all.

Her voice was soft and harsh, not a voice he would have recognized as hers at all. It was as if these were the first words she had actually spoken in two weeks.

"I'm sorry, Vaughn."

And she looked at him then, actually into his eyes and not beyond them or through them. Like he was the only thing in the world, in her world, like she wasn't the sole survivor, wasn't alone after all. Her eyes were swimming with sadness; she was trying to maintain her composure, wanted to say more to him.

"Don't," Michael choked out, the rest of the words lodging themselves in his throat. It was almost better that way. Even if he felt that he didn't need this apology, there was no question that she did.

Before he could say anything else, Sydney was in his arms, fitting perfectly against him as she always had, her arms tight around him, afraid to let go. But it didn't matter, because he wouldn't have let her even if she tried. At the same time, it felt so right and so wrong. It was always where she belonged, where they belonged, but never with such guilt and sorrow, never for such a reason.

Michael Vaughn's persistence had won out once and for all. His love and determination, his whispering of her name had drawn it out. This time, a flash of emotion was all she needed, the sorrow and guilt so strong that they beat down anything in their way, pouring out of her and never ending, taking control of her now as the numbness and anger had before.

And suddenly the bottom dropped out from under her feet, hurtling her downward, even after she had launched herself into his arms. The tightening around her neck was painful, the jerking of the cord that held her above the ground nearly her undoing, nearly stealing the air from her entirely.

Because those words weren't enough, would never be. Because the guilt was too much for one person to handle, because she had hurt he people she loved more than anything in the world: the man before her and their three beautiful children.

They had been her spark, her light, leading her as she crawled across the frozen wasteland. But her journey had hurt them as well; she hadn't prevented them from getting frostbite, but had aided in its painful and freezing quest.

And that's what led her to the gallows of guilt, what took the platform out from under her and left her swinging on its coarse, dark rope. But despite his own pain, Michael was there to cut her down, to save her from her guilt and from herself. He was there to hold her in his arms, and wasn't going to let go, wasn't going to give up.

She was only able to utter two more words before she broke down completely, knew in an instant that she wasn't worthy of his forgiveness, of him. Only two words before the heart-wrenching, guilt-ridden sobs wracked her body and soul, before she buried her head in his chest and collapsed against him, shaking so hard that he thought she would break.

"So sorry…"