A/N: A HUGE thanks to susan for editing it like crazy and trying to dig into my brain to figure out what I wrote. And a huge thanks to angelbleu for helping me with the flow, correctness, and the amazing encouragement.

Sorry if this is bad. It's short I know. It's a filler. And if it sounds funky, it probably is because there are tense switches. Susan did an fantastic job of trying to edit it out though.

Thank you to:

nattie700: err… well… from what I've been told, people do think that it has a happy ending. But no promises along the way… ;) don't worry… I'm a diehard SV shipper

Brynne: I can't say who wrote the card, sorry. It'd give it all away.

leo's l'il sista: I update everyday :) please tell me what you've written I'll I'll go read!

liz: well I guess you'll find out with this update ;)

valley-girl2: hehe… well… I only posted the first 6 chapters on ff.net so you couldn't have read far… you'll soon read the stuff you haven't read! Thanks for continuing :)



Chapter 3

December 18, 2004
Los Angeles, California
Sydney's and Vaughn's house
6:47 PM PST

One month had passed before Sydney fully recovered from her hospital stay. The message on the vase still haunted her. Pour mon ange, mon amour. I do not blame you. Don't cry. Je t'aime. Toujours. She had sent the silk missive to the CIA forensics lab. Like she had predicted, there had been no usable fingerprints—they had all been smeared. There had been no usable DNA strands either—they had been hers and Weiss'. The identity of the person was still officially unknown. Unofficially however, in her dead heart, she knew it was he. He: her love, her guardian angel, her eternity. Her life.

Her dreams were filled with a masked man suffocating her with his memory. The loving kisses, the lazy mornings, hockey, Russian literature, the long conversations in bed, his blue boxers, his soulful glances, his obsession with my nose… The never-ending cycle of thoughts, all centered on him.

Je veux.

And love. A love that was supposed to last a lifetime, but never stood the chance. Instead, it had only been enjoyed for a year.

Je désire.

And a child. A child that would have been loved and cherished. Maybe if the baby had lived, I could survive… but not now… not anymore. There would be no more in the future. That had been her last chance. And now it was gone… It was all my fault. No matter what anyone says. It was my fault.

Je souhaite.

The month had almost pulled her until she was teetering on the edge. She had cried every hour that she had been awake. Oh Vaughn, are you still alive? But I saw you dead! I swear I did… the blood. All that blood… I love you… When the tears had refused to shed and only dry hiccups had remained, all she had been able to do was cry. No tears did not equal no crying, unlike what she had thought before. All there needed to be was a resounding sorrow, a dead heart, and a wailing anamnesis. The misery that she had felt plunged into her depths like a cold murderous knife.

Toujours.

Her house had been drenched with a blinding darkness ever since she'd left for the hospital. It had been a month since she'd stepped inside her house. The happiness that had once dwelled there flew out long ago. All that had been left was anguish. A layer of dust had coated the picture frames and tabletops, obscuring the reflections. Another memory of him. The silver antique picture frame he gave me. Always treasured. The frame contained their first picture together; it was one that Weiss had taken. They were holding hands, but distracted. They were lost in their own little world full of magic and love. In a time when life had been kind and generous. She was staring into his eyes, and he was reciprocating. The background was of a gracefully calm clear lake.

Je t'aime.

She walked around the house, relearning all its hidden places and details.

The once warm blankets of their bed turned frigid with the absence of his body heat. The satin sheets gave no comfort for they turned callous. The kitchen had piles of dishes filled with carbon. His presence as a cook also disappeared. The living room couch, where they had loved, gave an ambiance of loneliness.

Où êtes-vous?

Her mind was reeling. There are too many memories in this house. But I don't want to leave it. All the good memories are here. This is the home we started to create together. This is where we loved each other. But in the end, is this home without him? In his arms is where I felt safe. In his eyes is where I felt safe. In his proximity is where I felt safe. So is he my home? Then I have no home. I have no safe place. I took it all away… It was all my fault.

And the tears started again. Tears that were lacking. Tears that were not real tears at all. But blood. Her blood, his blood, mingled together. Trailing down her cheek together. Always together. Always each other's allies. Always partners, in everything.

But she was still empty.

~*~*~

December 19, 2004
Los Angeles, California
Sydney's and Vaughn's house
5:18 am

Hidden in the shadows of the bedroom, a wraith sat. Almost transparent, but unable to be detected in the dark. An array of words spilling out onto a sheet of paper from an old Kings pen. Writing.

The letter was finished.

The wraith brought the letter to the pillow next to where his love lay dying. Dying from a broken heart. Two droplets rained from each eye landing on her dull hair. A quiet whisper rose as he stroked her cheek. Je t'aime.

And on top of the letter, two flowers were set.

A lily and a rose.

Transparent, diaphanous. He disappeared.

~tbc~