Here's another chapter folks! I'm hoping to continue to update more regularly now but will be going out of town tomorrow, but hey I'll try for y'all! Thank you so much to all my readers for sticking with this and especially those who reviewed, Joey Bing, girldevil, zrodezina, jennycraig10, and serendipity112233. I really wanted to finish this fic before school started but it starts on Monday so we'll see. I predict there will be four more chapters after this so I hope you enjoy them. Thanks again!
He had gotten the call. He drove recklessly back to L.A, silently cursing himself on moving so far away. He looked to the clock that seemed to stare up at him from his dashboard, 3:15 AM. The freeway was desolate, save for a few lonely cars littering the landscape. He swallowed as he fought back tears. Suicide. The word floated around in his head, bouncing through his brain. He clenched his jaw, his foot increasing pressure on the gas pedal. His emotions torn. Torn between the feeling of her utter desolation and between his own anger. She had no right. She had no right to kill herself. Didn't she know he loved her?
He scolded himself for even thinking that she could. He had done almost everything to convince her otherwise. Vaughn took in a deep breath before letting out a loud cry of frustration, his own voice filling the interior of his car, echoing back into his ears.
A silence soon followed, only disturbed by the low hum of his engine. Vaughn looked down at the speedometer. 79 MPH. His eyes strained against the darkness the lay in front of him. A small circle of light provided by his headlights brightly lit up the painted stripes of the freeway, the radiant glow contrasting to the darkness of the night. He thoughts wandered as him imagination got the better of him. Was she okay? Was she dying? Was she in pain? He pictured her in a hospital bed, fighting for the painful life she never wanted, nor deserved.
He swallowed, straightening himself in his seat. Get a grip. He told himself. He determined to be strong. Him breaking down in front of her was certainly not going to help. He sighed anxiously; the drive to L.A would take about three hours at best. He momentarily fixed his gaze on the clock again. 3:23.
Time was never on his side.
~~~***~~~
He had made it to the hospital in two and a half hours.
He now found himself just outside her room, Jack informing him on her condition. A broken wrist, concussion, multiple fractured ribs not to mention a plethora of scarring scrapes, cuts and bruises. He felt a literal pain in his heart as he had heard the words. He hated this. He absolutely hated it. He had always despised her returning from missions with a new bruise every week. She didn't deserve to be in pain.
He looked at her body, lying frailly on the bed. The color had drained from her face, a bandage covering her forehead. Her beauty now marred. Marred because of him. He swallowed as he felt an onslaught of tears threaten to take him hostage. He shook them away as he turned back to Jack.
He listened to his words, but was too preoccupied to hear them. He discreetly studied Jack as he rattled of orders to a doctor. He looked tired, beaten, as if life had thrown him for a loop once again. Vaughn paused as he took in his face, his eyes were slightly red, as if he had been crying, however his usual stoic face prevailed through it, allowing him to appear strong.
Minimal staff occupied the halls considering it was near six in the morning. They stood outside her room, when a shrill noise coursed through the near desolate hallways. It took him a moment to realize the noise was being emitted from his pocket. He picked up his phone, noticing Jack mirroring his actions, no doubtably in answer to the CIA.
"Vaughn." He answered curtly as he sat down on the bench. He vaguely listened to the voice on the other line, his thoughts somewhere else. He ran his hands over his face as he heard the words 'urgent' and 'report immediately'. He swallowed, nodding into the phone as the voice continued. He gave a deep sigh when he heard the voice cease, and hung up his phone.
He felt the stress welling up inside of him, his mind struggling to understand the mind-set of Sydney Bristow while his heart thumped loudly in his chest. He looked at the hallway, light reflecting off the impeccably shiny floors. The scent of ammonia and sterile cleaner seemed to permeate his senses, as he brought his hands to his knees, feeling the course threads of his jeans beneath his fingers. The air seemed to suffocate him, while a quiet alarm rang in the background. He rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head with his hands as his felt the world start to spin. He shut his eyes tightly to shut out the dizziness, the harsh light and most of all the reality of his life.
The sound of rapid footsteps and a nurse's cry jerked him from his trance. He stood up quickly, too quickly as blood rushed to his head, his eyes momentarily showing him only darkness. He blinked as the world came into focus but the scene portrayed before his eyes seemed entirely fantastical.
Chaos had erupted, he saw a nurse fly out of the room, running to the nurses station, calling out for someone to call security. Vaughn looked in the hospital room, at first seeing nothing unusual but then discovered the disconcerting fact that the hospital bed lie empty, and the window lie opened.
Fear gripped him as he felt it tingle down to his toes, fearing the worst. He rushed to the window and saw the form of Sydney Bristow lying on the ground struggling to get to her feet. His breath constricted in his chest at the sight of her, and he tried to call out her name, but nothing escaped. He watched in horror as she pulled herself to her feet and started running towards the street. Finally he was able to find his voice as he called out to her.
He watched her spin around as her eyes met his, her brown orbs filled with terror and panic, his own filled with sheer sadness and confusion. Their hearts seemed to join for that spilt second, both terrified of what was to come.
Suddenly she turned again, running away from him. He leaned out the window and called her name again, but this time she didn't turn around. And it broke his heart.
~~~***~~~
"Honey, will you pass the salt?" The woman's voice called to him. He was unresponsive, yet again lost in thought. "Michael."
He looked up at the sound of his name, "What?" He asked simply as he looked up at his wife, abandoning his baked potato that was being massacred on his plate rather than eaten.
She looked at him with her blue eyes, although oblivious to details, she knew something had happened. She had known it ever since he had come home one day about a month ago after leaving abruptly in the middle of the night. She knew it was something with work, she trusted him completely, but she never had seemed to figure out why he had become so forlorn. She looked down at her plate as she paused, "I just asked if you could pass the salt." She repeated, looking back into his green eyes.
"Sorry honey." He said as he passed the small shaker across the table. He felt a sudden remorse, not for the salt incident, but how he had been unfair to her. He had been distant from her, although trying to hide it, he couldn't shield his emotions from her. She had understood, to a certain extent. But after a week had passed and he was still distracted, she had become sad. He would have expected her to become angry, but she didn't. She wasn't the type, besides, she could never hold a grudge.
He paused and took a breath, "How'd your presentation go today?" He asked, genuinely interested.
"It was fine, the client really like the bit about the new building." She spoke. He nodded and gave her a weak smile.
"Good." He replied simply.
"Did you finish the paper work on the Mathese case today?" She asked as she stood up from the table, clearing her plate.
"Yeah, it's good to finally be through with it." He said, getting up to clear his own plate. He worked as a lawyer now, at a small firm not far from their home. But thoughts of work only brought on thoughts of the CIA, and inevitably, Sydney.
The CIA had searched for her, but she was an expert at disappearing, an expert at becoming someone else. He absent-mindedly kissed his wife on the neck as he came up behind her while she stood by the sink. He took his place next to her as she started washing the dishes. This was their routine, every night she'd wash, and he'd dry.
The lull in time it took her fill the sink gave him an opportunity to let his thoughts wander back to Sydney again. He too had searched for her, but eventually the daily trek into the city became too much for him, for his wife. He had given up on it, but not on her. His mind reeled at what could have happened to her, what she could have done to herself. Grotesque images plagued his mind and he winced at the possibilities.
Every night he prayed she wasn't dead. That was his only prayer.
TBC….
