Wrestling Emotions
~~~
Thanks for the reviews everyone! I'm glad you like it Suz and scarlett21. J AnnaSun, you were once again the fastest reviewer ever… Sorry it was confusing for awhile, CryHope. But as long as it made sense in the end… And valley-girl2, there are just no words. I couldn't believe it when I saw your review. And you typed that twice? Thank you so much. I loved it!
~~~
Chapter 7: Desire
For nearly two days, Sydney had two little boys to take care of, ignoring the fact that her own stomach was churning and catering to the both of them. But almost exactly forty-seven hours after he had given in to his fever, Vaughn prodded her from sleep with a long, lazy kiss, nearly suffocating her with the surprise of it, the desire it contained.
"Feeling better?" she asked with a laugh as he began to trail downwards.
It was amazing how he could make her forget everything else, almost making her feel better with just the touch of his lips. Sydney didn't plan on telling him that she didn't feel well; she didn't feel particularly awful, surely not as bad as Vaughn had been, and was fully capable of functioning. As sick as Vaughn had been, it had only been a couple days; she would be completely better soon. There was simply no need to worry him, for him to know.
"Mmm…" Vaughn moaned into her neck, removing his lips from her skin so he could look into her eyes, forcing her to disregard everything else and focus solely on him, not as if that was an especially difficult order to follow. "Does this mean I don't get waited on anymore?"
She grinned at him, loving how he responded in kind, leaning into her touch as she ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh, definitely."
He tried to frown, to stick out his lower lip, begging her to change her mind. But he only succeeded in widening his smile, leaning back down towards her and taking her bottom lip between his teeth.
"I'm starving."
There was no mistaking his tone, the harshness of his whisper as it vibrated against her skin. There was also no mistaking the way the blood stirred within her at the sound of his voice…or the way her stomach chose this unfortunate moment to once again begin its acrobatics.
"Well, that I can take care of," she responded, returning the kiss and taking advantage of the opportunity it afforded her to quickly slide from under him before he could fully trap her with his body. She slipped from the bed, glad she had made sure to stand far enough away from him so that he couldn't reach her when he stretched out his arm, knowing that she wouldn't have been able to refuse him no matter how she felt, as long as she was still conscious.
Immediately, his eyes snapped open, expression like a crestfallen four year old who has just been told that he can't get a puppy, bringing out the puppy dog eyes to try to convince that he should, to make her reconsider. For a moment she almost found her way back into his arms anyway, not caring about anything else. But after a tentative step in his direction, almost enough for his outstretched fingers to brush against her skin, she quivered, but did not go any further.
"Syd…"
And rather than giving in like he had hoped, finding his voice irresistible and dashing towards him, she laughed. Was Michael Vaughn actually whining?
It had to be true. That one syllable was stretched out perfectly, the pitch unmistakable. He had come close to matching it many times before, but never quite reached it. This time, he had perfected it, for a moment transforming into his surely adorable three-year-old self right before her eyes.
"Vaughn, it's almost 11:30…"
His bewildered glance at the clock only confirmed her statement, praying that she was wrong, that they had more time. Damn… He had been watching her sleep for quite awhile and would have kissed her awake a hell of a lot earlier if he had known it was that late.
"… I'm sure Ilya's hungry too, and don't you have to…"
"Yeah," he answered before she could finish, sighing and rolling out of bed. Of course she would have remembered what he had been trying to forget; she remembered everything, good or bad.
He was supposed to have gone into work yesterday to check on the progress of things and see if his verbal briefing would help. Sydney had called for him and changed it to this afternoon, allowing him time to fully recuperate.
Vaughn stood by the side of the bed, his right hand running up and down his other arm, his eyes not leaving the woman who stood before him. Sydney smiled, almost embarrassed, crossing her arms in front of her even though she was fully clothed. For a moment, he thought he had her, thought she had given up trying to resist, but then she turned and reached into a drawer, extracting a clean pair of his boxers from where they intermingled with her own things in the shared dresser, and tossing them to him.
"Get dressed."
He watched silently as she shivered, pulled a sweater on over her tank top and walked from the room; heard her footsteps as they stopped, her voice greeting the child that slept down the hall and not getting a reply. With a sigh, he headed into the bathroom, turning the water on almost as cold as it would go, not caring that he had just gotten over being sick.
~~~
Vaughn returned a little more than six hours later. The debrief had been slow and tedious, thousands of questions asked, but not many answered. They had almost called Sydney in, but he had just barely prevented it, more than likely scaring the young agent from whose hand he had torn away the telephone with harsh words and clawing fingers.
He had never thought it would come to an end. The minutes adding themselves slowly in his head the entire time, piling one on top of the other in his head, weighing almost more than he could handle. But the heavy burden dissolved the moment he turned the handle and opened his apartment door.
He went straight to the kitchen almost out of habit, but this time following his heart and not his stomach. Sydney was there, as he had known she would be, bending over and checking on something in the oven.
Smiling to himself, he remained in the doorway a few moments, admiring the view, but not with animal-like hunger like any other man would. Desire was there, that was an obvious given; and as stupid as it was, he always enjoyed seeing Sydney in this sort of normal, everyday situation: bending over the oven, with a dishrag in her hand, answering the telephone, walking through the front door…
He couldn't count the amount of times that she would begin a household task and be stopped in the middle of it, the number of times a dust rag had been forgotten and dropped from quivering fingers; the vacuum had been kicked off with a hurried foot or even left running, not moving from its spot; the bills, junk mail, magazines, and letters scattering across the room... All these chores abandoned as the two of them pressed into the floor, a chair, the couch against a wall, a counter, the table, in bed if they were lucky; whatever surface they had the most patience to reach.
These little chores were things he had dreamed about seeing before, but never thought he would actually get the chance. And even though he finally did get those opportunities hundreds of times a day, he could never get enough.
Vaughn remained in the door for only a handful of seconds, giving in the moment he could no longer take it. Powerless to resist contact with her, he crossed the kitchen floor in three long strides and placed a hand on her shoulder, shivering as he heard her startled gasp, not giving a damn about dinner as he pulled her up and closed the oven door, backing her insistently against the counter.
His lips were on her immediately, not giving her a chance to utter a word or perform any action in response. Finding her forehead, grazing her cheeks, brushing against her nose, discovering her neck… Any bare patch of skin he could find, anywhere and everywhere but her lips.
She laughed breathily, nearly fainting into his arms, her mind finally putting together a string of words that made sense, her lips breathing them out to him. "How was work?"
He took no notice of her words, continuing his sweet assault on her body and senses. She held him at arm's length, ignoring his protests, just managing to form his name into a question and keeping it from being completely smothered by a moan.
"Vaughn?"
His eyes met hers, the irises dark with passion, a bashful smile stumbling across his lips. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkled, and he knew that as soon as he told her how work was, she would have to let him have his way.
"Good," he answered, taking advantage of her fingers on his shoulders and turning his head to kiss them. "They're following a few leads, but have nothing definite quite yet. I gave Devlin our report."
She nodded, smiling at him. For a moment he felt like a little boy who had just given a spectacular oral presentation and had been praised by his teacher. His young, hopelessly attractive, female teacher, who he had somehow managed to fall deeply in love with sometime between homeroom and history class. And wasn't it just about time for show and tell…
Before he knew what had happened, Sydney was no longer holding him back, moving away from him to glance once more in the oven. For the first time in his life, Vaughn found himself madly jealous of a kitchen appliance, nearly considered smashing it to the apartment below so that he would be the sole owner of one Miss Bristow's hands and eyes, her full body, desire, and attention.
Reaching out with a quick hand, Vaughn shut off the oven, capturing her lips before she could voice a protest, his heart singing when she opened her mouth to him, pulled him closer. She was turning to clay in his arms and he could have molded her into anything he wanted, anything at all. But he was gentle, his touch desperate but soft, so insanely careful not to change anything about her, knowing he couldn't make her any more perfect than she already was.
"Dinner… later…" The only two words he managed to groan out when he moved his lips to the corner of her mouth. As much as he tried to deny it, air was still a requirement.
"Vaughn…"she murmured, whimpering as his hands slid further down her back, grasping at her possessively even though nobody else was there to take her from him.
"God, Syd… You're so… beautiful…"
He had said that to her countless times before. There must have been other words to describe her, words that would work better, say so much more. But he was too occupied on other demands and activities to think about rhetoric. Like trailing kisses up her jaw line, down her neck…
Two days on the mission, one busy day after (although for the life of him, he couldn't remember with what), and two more spent sick. It was only five days, but it felt like an eternity, truly was the longest they had ever gone without each other. Eric would have a field day with that one if he knew, once he had hidden the fact that he was jealous as hell…
Sydney tilted her head to give him better access and pulled him closer. Forgetting that there had been reasons why they shouldn't be doing this, couldn't understand why she had fought him in the first place; she had never put up a protest before, would never dream of it.
She didn't know what it was that screamed to her to open her eyes. Didn't know how her eyelids obeyed when she was wrestling desperately against the order. Instinct alone forcing her eyes open, winning the battle as she fought to keep them closed and widening them even further with what she saw.
"Vaughn…"
She froze under his touch; he noticed that even before he picked up on her change in tone. Something echoed in his ears. An almost too soft to be heard pitter-pattering, like raindrops on a roof at night, but not as natural and relaxing. Out of place in this context, the jumbled words of a sentence read pages before it should have been.
Tiny sneakers stumbling across the floor, the sound flooding over him like a torrent of icy water, stinging his skin and dulling his senses.
Ilya had left his television show in the living room, his bottle empty, and was now holding it before them, silently demanding more juice. Unaware of what he had interrupted and innocently sucking his thumb, he was the sweetest unwanted interruption that either Sydney or Vaughn had ever seen.
But as adorable as it was, it was still an interruption. Still unwelcome, exasperating, superfluous; something that shouldn't have been there.
Vaughn swallowed his frustration, sighing as Sydney left his arms and refilled Ilya's bottle. The little boy removed his thumb from his mouth and took it from her, plopping down on the ground and quietly drinking his juice, no intention of going anywhere any time soon.
"I'm sorry," Sydney whispered, staying a few steps away from him as the remorse came creeping up behind her once again. Vaughn could see its shadow poised over her head, fangs bared, lunging, preparing to bite.
But he held a hand out to her, pulling her into his arms as soon as her fingers touched his own, tugging her out of danger just as the snake of guilt jerked forward to strike, disintegrating when it found nothing to sink its teeth into, to poison with its blurring, black venom.
Vaughn put an arm around her and planted a kiss on her forehead, frowning at the warmth of her skin and letting his lips linger there to gauge the heat. When he replaced his lips with his hand, she knew exactly what he was doing and tried to slip out of his grasp. He wouldn't let go.
"Syd, you feel warm."
She realized there was no way out of it and offered him a small smile, trying to brush it off as something else. They had just been…
"No, I mean warm, warm. Fever warm."
He already had those adorable forehead wrinkles, the ones she used to dream about having the chance to smooth away before he had finally screwed protocol and kissed her. His genuine concern was liquefying her, reducing her to a puddle at his feet.
The guilt began to waver back into being with her next thought, flickering in and out of existence as if it couldn't make up its mind as to what to do, finally deciding to disappear into the shadows and try its luck from there…
It didn't really count as lying if it was to keep him from worrying… right?
"I'm fine." For the moment. But she left out the fact that she had already taken more than the recommended dose of Tylenol and was trying to come up with a way to get out of eating dinner without concerning him.
The guilt blinked its fiery eyes out from the shadows, thinking that it might just get its meal after all, hissing greedily at the thought, the sound buzzing in Sydney's ears…
But Vaughn had already left the room, returning with the thermometer and turning the oven back on as he passed it. He took her temperature with all the tenderness of a mother, pulling her head to his chest and kissing the top of her head as he read the thermometer. "99.6."
99.6? That shouldn't even be counted as a fever. Her temperature couldn't have been one damn degree lower…
"See? It's not that high. I…"
"You already took Tylenol," he stated, and she couldn't deny it. "Come on."
She gave in as he took her hand and brought her to the living room, leaving the guilt behind to slither slowly away. He sat her on the couch, lifting her feet onto the other end and covering her with the afghan. Ilya had followed them and remained standing, carefully examining the whispers and soft caresses that were exchanged.
Vaughn picked up the remote, flipping through the channels until he saw a bright blue dog jump across the screen. "This okay?" he asked, the question was posed to Sydney but he looked to Ilya as he said it.
"Perfect," Sydney mumbled, realizing suddenly how drained she was and trying desperately not to let her eyes close, not to fall asleep. She didn't want Vaughn to have to take care of Ilya, to feed him, to put him to bed… He would have done it all with a smile, but he shouldn't have to, it shouldn't be his responsibility…
But by giving in to Vaughn, she had given in completely. Sleep and sickness overcame her, taking advantage of this moment of vulnerability and stealing upon her like thieves in the night.
He watched her sleep; she was so calm, so relaxed. It was mesmerizing. He could have stood there for hours, long after the kids' TV shows had gone off the air, long after the sun had set, and even after it had risen again. Just watching her, nothing else. Her chest rise and fall as she sighed in her sleep, her face without a hint of worry, almost smiling…
A whiff of smoke sent him careening back to reality, startling him for a moment, his eyes dashing around as he tried to determine what was on fire. They hit on Ilya. The child was standing at his feet, so close that he was nearly on top of them, almost touching his legs, craning his neck so that his face was almost directly upwards in order to meet Vaughn's eyes.
But now was not the time for a staring contest, to pull out their swords and battle for the affections of the sleeping beauty who lay on the couch before them. The burning scent still hung in the air, stinging his nostrils.
Dinner.
Vaughn was in the kitchen and opening the oven door almost before Ilya realized that he had left the room. What appeared to be – or at least had been – lasagna stared back through the smoke to Vaughn's watering eyes, bubbling furiously. Grabbing a nearby dishtowel, Vaughn quickly removed it from the oven.
The lasagna now sat on top of the stove, a faint stream of smoke rising from its blackened surface. He followed the trail up with his eyes, dashing to open a window and grabbing the towel to fan at the dish before the smoke detector could go off. He didn't want it to wake Sydney, but even more than that, he didn't want her to know that he had… slightly burned their dinner.
Ilya had toddled into the kitchen some time during all of this and stood quietly regarding the scene. His eyes were a question, completely innocent to any casual viewer. But Vaughn read them differently, saw a hint of laughter gleaming there. Look what you did…
He put down the dishtowel and brought a finger to his lips, whispering loudly, "Don't tell Sydney."
The child sighed, seeming to consider this order and whether it would be worth his while to follow it. He put his thumb into his mouth, and Vaughn took that as a signal of agreement.
"Thanks," he murmured, carefully eyeing the dish that still sat on the countertop and glancing into the living room.
Sydney was out cold and he didn't have the heart to wake her. It would be up to him to either fix the lasagna or make something else for dinner. He could have handled this if left to himself, but he had little Ilya to think of as well, and as far as Vaughn was concerned, if Sydney had made lasagna for dinner then it was something that the little boy could eat if it were cut into small enough pieces.
Grabbing a spatula from the drawer, Vaughn stood before the blackened dish, brandishing the utensil like a weapon and considering his course of action. Bringing a hand down to steady the dish, he had the spatula about halfway to the lasagna before he felt the singeing pain of his burning fingers.
Yelping, Vaughn retracted his hand, bringing the tingling fingers to his mouth. Ilya took a step closer, his thumb still in his mouth, his eyes catching Vaughn's. It would have made a sweet picture, the grown man nursing his wounded fingers while the little boy stood sucking on his thumb. But no one was there to hold the camera.
Realizing how closely he mirrored the twenty-month-old child before him, Vaughn quickly took his fingers from his mouth. "Don't tell Syd about this either."
Trying again, and this time careful not to touch the pan, Vaughn succeeded in extracting the top layer of cheese and noodles from the lasagna, glad that at least the inner portions underneath had escaped the wrath of the forgotten oven.
Vaughn cut a piece for himself and took a square out of the direct center of the pan for Ilya, wanting to be sure that he didn't get any of the crispy, harder to chew noodles from the edges. After almost pureeing the lasagna in his effort to cut it into bite-sized pieces, Vaughn set the plate on the table, picked up Ilya, and sat him in his seat.
Placing his own plate on the table, Vaughn joined the little boy, his eyes sweeping over Sydney's usual seat, wishing that she were there, knowing that she would make the situation more comfortable. He started to eat. The lasagna was pretty good, all things considered, but across the table, Ilya hadn't touched his food.
Vaughn put his fork down, meeting the child's unending stare and deciding not to fight it. "Want something to drink? Some juice?"
Ilya didn't answer, but Vaughn got up and retrieved a bottle anyway, filling it half with juice and half with water as he had seen Sydney do earlier. He placed the bottle down in front of the boy and sat back down. Ilya watched him, but still did not touch his food.
Vaughn sighed. He had thought that they were getting on better footing after that first day. But while he had been sick, he hadn't seen the child at all. Two days was a long time when you weren't even two years old, practically a lifetime, plenty of time to forget.
"Sydney made it," Vaughn tried, piercing a piece of lasagna with his fork and holding it up. "I only took it out of the oven… And burnt it," he mumbled to himself.
The child grasped a noodle with his thumb and forefinger, holding it up and staring at it, nearly igniting it with his eyes.
And Vaughn almost panicked. He knew that the kid had to eat, but what if he couldn't get him to? What if he really was a failure at all this parenting stuff? What would happen if he and Sydney had kids of their own someday and…
With that thought, Vaughn took a deep breath, determined to succeed, to make things right. He picked up his plate, moving to Sydney's seat and sliding it closer to Ilya. "It's good, see?" he murmured, and his voice was as patient, soft, and kind as if the child had been his own. He ate what was on his fork, chewing deliberately and swallowing before smiling and adding, "Mmm…"
For a moment he thought that this course of action had been a failure as well, and he didn't know what else to do. But to his relief, Ilya finally put a piece of the lasagna in his mouth and began to chew. Maybe this pseudo-parenting thing wasn't that bad after all.
The two of them finished their meals in silence. Vaughn was afraid to chew too loudly lest that distract the child into not eating again. As soon as they were done, Vaughn brought the little boy back out to the living room, checking to make sure that Sydney was sleeping peacefully before heading back to the kitchen to destroy all evidence of his sorry excuse for a dinner.
It took him half an hour to scrub out the dish that the lasagna had been in. By the time he had finally tackled the entire project, the dish sparkled and the sun had almost set. He figured it was late enough to put Ilya to bed.
Changing the child was somewhat of a project; Sydney wasn't there to guide his actions and smile at him when he had finished, to offer encouragement just by her presence. Vaughn only put the diaper on backwards once before getting it right, changing Ilya into his pajamas and laying him in the crib.
The little boy was wide-eyed, with no intention of going to sleep any time soon, and if Vaughn had actually thought about it, he would have realized that he had no idea how to get a small child to sleep.
But he didn't think as he tucked the stuffed dinosaur in next to Ilya, running his fingers through the child's hair and crooning a lullaby he remembered his mother singing to him as a child. He didn't know the name of the song, and honestly couldn't have repeated any of the words if someone had asked, but he sang anyway.
Somehow the French flowed naturally off his tongue, as if the words had always been there, waiting. He continued the song even after Ilya had closed his eyes, letting the words finish themselves, trailing off when they were sure the child was asleep.
Back in the living room, Sydney was still fast asleep, cheeks flushed, but her forehead not too warm to his gentle touch. The sun had set completely; leaving the room bathed only in the flickering light of the television and the glow from the hallway.
Vaughn clicked off the TV, gently brushing a stray strand of hair behind Sydney's ear. It was still relatively early, but Sydney was utterly exhausted and there wasn't anything else for him to do. As carefully as if she had been made of glass, he took her into his arms, surprised at how light she was, and easily carried her down the hall to their bedroom.
She didn't wake as he lay her down on his side of the bed, her head on his pillow where it belonged, not bothering to change her out of the sweat pants and tank top she was already wearing. He stood watching her for a moment, marveling at what he had.
Dropping a kiss on the tip of her nose, he spun around, stripping down to his boxers and brushing his teeth before joining her in bed, throwing the covers over them both. Turning so that he was fully against her, he wrapped her in his arms, smiling as he surveyed the empty half of the bed. The two of them curled up to close together, that they could have probably gotten away with a twin bed… at least for sleeping purposes.
Vaughn lay there with her in his arms for hours, even when he had to battle away the Sand Man in order to keep his eyes open. As fantastic as his dreams were sure to be, they were nothing compared to this simple reality, to what he already had.
When he had almost given in to the waves of sleep that threatened to overtake him, was caught in the fuzzy, comforting world between sleeping and waking, Sydney twisted in his arms, buzzing him to full alert. He swept a tender hand against her forehead, but it seemed even cooler than when he had last checked it.
Brushing up against her neck, he placed a whisper of a kiss on her throat to comfort her. She sighed in her sleep, turning so that she was as close to him as she could be, so that they took up even less space in the bed. Vaughn held her tighter, holding his breath as he heard her breathing change, her voice mumbling to him as she slept.
He didn't know why, but he loved that she talked in her sleep. Not because he wanted to discover things that she wouldn't tell him; her words rarely made sense, leftover parts of dreams that had yet to finish. But because of the innocence and simplicity, the sweetness of it, her melodious voice echoing to him in the night. It was something else he had never thought he'd hear.
"Vaughn…"
She would only talk in her sleep if something were really bothering her, and he knew that these past few days had been taxing on everyone, but Sydney had taken on the burden of it. Vaughn tried his best to soothe her without having to wake her, knowing that this had been the most sleep she had gotten in one stretch in quite awhile.
"… Yes…"
His heart almost stopped when he heard her, thought that maybe he hadn't heard right, that she had said something else. He had heard that word from her numerous times before: followed by 'sir' when affirming an order, as a simple answer to a simple question, gasped in the throes of passion…
But never like this.
Of course he had thought about it before, thought about it every day. But something in the back of his mind, surely another whisper from the thought monster that had succeeded in frightening before, had hissed to him that Sydney didn't want it, would never want it, never want him completely.
They had only been living together for three months, almost. In a few days, it would be three months exactly to the first night that she had first been in his (theirs now) bed, locked tightly in his arms. They had been driving home from a hockey game. She had been mid-sentence, laughing about the Zamboni, and he had blurted it out: Move in with me… He hadn't even realized he had said it until the words left his mouth, loved that they had the second she had answered him, not verbally, but still with her lips, almost making him drive right off the road. And she had slept at his apartment (their apartment) since that night…
It had only been four months since he had first slept with her, since he had known for sure what he had suspected before: that he would never want anyone else. That very first time was too hurried and full of lust to truly be called making love; that was reserved for the events the entire night following, and every other time thereafter. Four months ago found them in the closet of the Ops Center, one hour and forty-seven minutes after SD-6 had been taken down, thirty seconds after he had finally cornered Sydney alone. He would have waited until they got home later, would have made the occasion more momentous, more comfortable, but Sydney's lips had been burning, her hands insistent and roaming, just as his were sure to have been. Neither of them could have waited, not even after Weiss had opened the door…
And it had only been four months and three and a half weeks since he had first kissed her, first felt her lips on his own. They had been in the warehouse after a mission gone horribly wrong, and he had been trying to console her. When an almost businesslike hand on the shoulder hadn't worked, and even a more friendly hug had failed, it had been the only thing he could think to do. She had responded almost immediately, hands rubbing his shoulders and back, tears quickly drying. He knew that it had been dangerous, had vowed never to kiss her again until it was safe for both of them, especially for her. But they had, each and every time they met in the self-storage center. Had almost gone much further than that countless times, and he was still surprised that they had been able to wait as long as they did…
But he had known her for almost two and a half years, and was so deeply in love with her now that he couldn't remember a time when it hadn't been like that, couldn't remember a time when he hadn't slept with her in his arms…
It was amazing how many thoughts had overrun his mind in those few seconds after she had spoken, as he tried to determine whether his question the other night had been completely out of line, or he had misheard her…
But when she spoke again, he could no longer doubt what she had said, what she would have said, and almost had…
"…Yes, Vaughn… Yes…"
He knew the question she was answering, knew that it didn't count for real, knew they had only been living together for three months, had only been sleeping together for four, had only kissed three and a half weeks before that, but…
His smile was so wide that he was sure either his face would split in two or the sheer radiance of it would wake her. He almost woke her himself with a smoldering kiss, and if he had he would have asked her for real without a second thought.
But he held it back; didn't have the heart to arouse her from her slumber, to awaken her from her dreams.
Sleep took even longer to find him than it had before; dreams, dreams that could very easily become realities, running through his mind at an alarming speed, each vying for his complete attention even with his eyes fully open. When he finally did allow them to flutter to a close, the dreams continued, almost too good to be true…
The shrill ringing of the phone woke him, only three and a half hours after he had finally closed his eyes. Startled, Sydney jumped in his arms, her stomach somersaulting. Vaughn grabbed her tightly, caressing her arm as he reached one hand over and felt for the phone, nearly knocking it off the nightstand before answering.
"'lo" he slurred, taking his free arm from around Sydney and attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Sydney burrowed further under the covers, squeezing her eyes shut in hopes that it would lure her back to sleep. She couldn't hear the voice on the other end of the phone, but she could tell who it was from the way Vaughn sprung to almost full alert as soon as he had answered, the formality of his tone.
"Yes… No, she's… No! She caught that flu virus… Oh. Yes, sir… I understand… In an hour."
He hung up with a sigh, not moving for a few moments before gently leaning over and kissing Sydney's lips to fully wake her. His voice was soft, nearly regretful as he spoke, his words opening her eyes, making her stomach flutter once again.
"Syd, baby, we have to go in." The phrase was punctuated with a tender kiss of apology, a soft hand on her shoulder. "They need us to bring Ilya."
