DISCLAIMER: Quotes from "Finding Nemo" are not mine,
exactly like the movie itself is not mine, rather sadly...
Thanks so much for all the reviews!
*
Chapter Two
The first thing she tells you, the first thing that
lets you know that she's still alive, is "I don't want to go anywhere I've been
before."
You understand her reluctance to go anywhere she's been before – because, after
all, you have ghosts lurking in the most inexplicable places as well. You've
never told Lauren about what Santa Barbara means to
you, and you don't think you ever will, just like you'll never take her to
Trattoria di Nardi.
"All right," you say to her. "Where are we going?"
"Australia," she
says slowly. "Australia," she
says again, repeating the name like she likes the taste of it.
"Okay." And you don't ask her why you're going there, because you know that all
she needs right now is answers, not more questions. And because after all, you've
always wanted to see Australia, haven't
you?
*
You fly out on a commercial flight, and for once, thankfully, the Agency's
sprung for business class for you both.
You watch Finding Nemo on the flight, since it's just been re-released
before the premiere of its sequel, and it's the first time she laughs since her
return. You spend the rest of the flight trying to make her laugh again by
imitating Dory, with more than a little success. She can't stop giggling at the
quotes you still remember from the first time you saw the movie, sick with
grief while looking after some of your cousins in the long months in France after her
death. But there are two quotes you don't share with her, two lines that had
burned itself into the hard drive of your brain the moment you'd heard it,
lines that still haunt you to this day.
"And-and I look at you, and I...and I'm home! Please...I don't want that to
go away. I don't want to forget."
"I'm sorry, Dory. But I...do."
And when the scene plays out before your eyes on the little screens in front of
you both, it's all you can do to fix your eyes straight ahead and try not to
look at Sydney, knowing
that she's doing the same. It's too close to home, too harsh a reminder of her
forgotten years and your time spent drinking your way steadily into oblivion,
too reminiscent of a nightmare you had when she told you that you were home,
and you believed her, because ohgod you wanted
to believe her, wanted to believe that the twisted up mess that you'd dug
yourself into had never happened, that Lauren wasn't your wife and that Sydney
was home, because she was home for you. And that's why the plane seat next to
her feels like more natural a place for you to be than the home that you've
spent nearly a year building with Lauren. Because she was there, and that's
really all that matters anymore.
She eventually falls asleep, and you tuck a blanket around her shoulders before
you join her in rest.
And as you fall asleep next to her like you've dreamt about doing for two
years, albeit in adjoining airplane seats, you can't help but realise that
you've never slept this well next to your wife – never felt quite as safe as
you do as you lie beside her now.
And when she wakes up and smiles at you, her dimples broad, it's hard for you
to remember why you married your wife at all.
*
You walk through Customs easily, even with the increased security that you're
so accustomed to even four years after 9/11. Sydney's warmer
than you remember, although it's December, after all, during the Southern Hemisphere
summer, so you suppose it's not that surprising that you've walked into a city
in the grips of a heat wave, even by LA standards.
And then you realise that none of the clothes that either of you have brought
will be suitable for this sort of weather, that you had packed for muggy,
overcast, humid LA-in-winter weather, not this sunny-bright-glaringly hot
Australian summer that you've being confronted by.
So you go shopping, which is much easier said than done, because even
depressed-battered-bruised Sydney is Sydney, the worst shop-a-holic you've ever met, even worse than one of your
ex-girlfriends in college, a woman who couldn't go shopping for anything
without coming home with at least three new outfits. No, Sydney was
unquestionably the worst shop-a-holic that you'd ever
met, not because she bought so much but because she bought so little and looked
at so much. You'd gone shopping with her maybe three times before, but
three times was more than enough to last you a lifetime, you'd thought. She'd
tried on everything in the entire mall, and then bought only two
t-shirts and a skirt.
It had been an exasperating day, but it had still been one of the best of your
life, you know – because it had been spent with her.
Today she's a bit better, you think thankfully, as she selects t-shirts, skirts
and shorts more suitable for the weather.
"Get a jacket as well, Syd," you say quietly in her ear.
She jumps, but you're more surprised than she is. The Sydney Bristow you knew
would never have let you get that close and still have been surprised by
your presence. "Vaughn, it's over 100 degrees already, and it's only 10am."
"It'll get cold at night. Believe me, you'll need the jacket," you reply matter
of factly.
She grudgingly picks out a blue fleece jacket, and adds it to the rapidly
accumulating pile of clothes.
"Oh, and flannel pyjamas."
"How do you know I haven't already packed flannel pyjamas?" she asks you
with a slight smile in her voice.
"Because I packed your bags, that are why," you reply with a small grin,
enjoying the banter.
"Okay, okay," she says, picking out a pair of flannel pyjamas with ducks on
them.
"Ducks, Syd, ducks?" you ask with amusement.
"Do you have a problem with duck pyjamas, Mr. Vaughn?" she asks coquettishly,
and you wonder where the battered woman you'd comforted in her hospital bed
only the day before has disappeared to.
"No, not at all, Syd," you say, muttering just loud enough for her to hear, "If
you're 12 years old, that is…"
"Vaughn!" she punches you lightly on the shoulder, and you cover the place
where she hit you with one hand, recoiling back as if in pain.
"Hey, that hurt!"
Her face falls, and suddenly you know where the battered woman has gone. Her
voice quietens again, and her head drops. "Sorry," she whispers meekly.
You change the subject quickly, redirecting her away from the woman's section
of the large department store you were in, and into the men's. Hey, you need
clothes as well, after all…
You both end up with quite a heap of clothes, and you're just thankful that the
Agency's bankrolling this trip for the both of you, although you've got no idea
how Jack managed to wangle that one.
He hadn't tried to stop you going with her, to some surprise, but instead
almost encouraged you to accompany Syd. Whether it was out of guilt that he
couldn't get away himself, or just some sort of sixth spy sense, you've still
got no idea, but you're just glad he hadn't tried to put up a fight when he'd
heard about it.
As a matter of fact, all Jack had really said was,
"Take care of her, Agent Vaughn."
"Would I do anything else?" you had asked him, still slightly sour after your
conversation with Lauren, and walked in the other direction.
*
You end up in a small beach house north of Sydney, a fact that makes you grin
just a little when she's not looking, just because the fact that you're with a
woman named Sydney in a place called Sydney is more than a little amusing to
you, even though you're really not sure why. It's a beautiful place, and you
idly wonder as you first tour the place why the government owns such a stunning
place, until you realise that surely if you weren't there, some senior agent
and his family would be in your place, there on their summer vacation.
"I had no idea the Agency owned anything so beautiful," she sighs, fingering
the edge of a delicate wood frame containing a picture of a magnificent blue
whale rising up out of the water.
"Neither did I."
"Do you need some help carrying those bags in, Syd?" you ask her, seeing the
look of strain on her face as she struggles with her bag.
"Could you?" she asks in return, offering one of her bags to you.
"Oof! This is heavy, Syd! What'd you pack, rocks? Do you want to take a look at the bedrooms?"
And then you realise what you've just implied, and you stutter slightly, "I
mean, to decide who sleeps where?"
"All right," she says, a slight grin on her face from
your misspeaking.
You follow her up the rather bizarrely orange coloured metal and wood staircase
which, while a strange colour for stairs to be painted, works surprisingly well
with the Balinese style house.
You walk upstairs into a large, airy room partitioned only by white sliding
doors shutting off a bathroom with a deep bathtub and open windows, and a small
living room with a large stereo system. There's only one bedroom up here,
although you know that there are two more downstairs and another one what the
real estate agent called a "granny flat" when you picked up the key to the
house.
"Do you mind if I had this room, Vaughn?" she asks you quietly, sounding almost
afraid that you'd object.
"No – I was just about to suggest it, actually, Syd."
You deposit her bag on the king-sized bed lying against the furthest wall of
the room, a wall of windows next to it, showing a large backyard with the
largest collection of palm trees that you've ever seen, as well as what looks
like a cubby house at the back of the yard.
She stands at the window, watching the trees move in the wind and a golden
retriever run from the neighbours' yard into your own. You can tell that she's
listening to the children playing basketball in the neighbours' backyard,
because that's what you're listening to.
This place is normal, you realise with a shock. It's nowhere special,
nowhere notorious, nowhere dangerous. The CIA doesn't
exist here. Protocol doesn't exist here. Danger doesn't exist here.
It's just you and her.
And suddenly you think that you'd be in less danger if it was you up against
dozens of armed assailants with a gun in your hand and her at your back.
Because you can fight armed gunmen better than you can fight
your own heart.
*
Well....there you go.
As for Chapter 3, I forsee a walk
along the beach, a visit to one of my favourite restaurants in the world, and a
nightmare. Sound interested? Well, tune in next time for Chapter Three
of Black and Blue....
Thanks so much for all the reviews! You're all wonderful! Please review again!
J
Em