Wrestling Emotions

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Thanks, IamVulcanLady, doubly, because I didn't get to thank you for the last one. And yep, I remember Balls of Steel ;)… Everyone should check out Faelai's A Pale Flame. It's wonderful… Oh man, lightning bug, that sounds awful ;)… Thanks Liz, CryHope, and AnnaSun! I love your reviews!… Again, valleygirl-2, there are no words. J Thank you so much!

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Chapter 10: Near Perfection

Sydney's voice was a hair below a whisper, her grip tightening on his hand just as he was about to let go.

And that was all he needed to pull his arms tighter around her, showering a few kisses against her skin before resting his head on her shoulder, waiting for her to answer the question he hadn't asked, wondering what had kept her up the night before, had caused the tears.

"Vaughn," she stated, rolling so she could look into his eyes.

He propped himself up with his elbow, his face inches from hers, resisting the sudden overwhelming urge to kiss her, unsure how he managed it. His eyes told her that he was ready and waiting, willing to wait all day, forever, for her to continue.

"I was thinking last night," she began, the fingers on one hand playing absently with the small expanse of sheet between them. He didn't know that the way she finished her sentence was not what she had intended. The truth, but not the one she had been burning to share, had meant to tell him first. "About that woman."

"Domaslavov?"

She nodded as the phone rang again. Neither of them moved to answer it or even acknowledged its piercing tone. That damn ringing had ruined enough moments between them; they weren't going to let it steal this one as well.

"Her eyes…" Sydney looked down, finding her fingers on the sheet and stilling them, not returning her gaze to Vaughn's until he tilted her chin upwards.

"Syd, don't…" Don't relive it, not now, not again. Don't let it burn within you forever. Put the fire, the memory, out. I'll give you a thousand happier ones to replace it…

"They're Ilya's eyes," she cut in, this time not looking away from him, letting her eyes pierce through his own as they flashed in understanding. "I didn't realize it until last night, when I was thinking everything through, remembered seeing Ilya so terrified when we first brought him into the van…"

Vaughn didn't have an answer for that, any words that would make it better. But he could slide out from under the covers, sit up, and pull her into his arms, her hands flat against his chest, her face buried in his neck.

He could feel her lips move against his neck as she continued to mumble to him, her shoulders shaking as she held back the tears, finally giving in as they slid down his neck, hot and angry, the melted fire of the memory, the hurt, the pain.

"She… she knew she was going to die… Put the documents in Ilya's coat… Hid him in the bushes and… And then she was killed, Vaughn… N-not knowing whether he lived or died… Her own child…"

She told him all she could, all she could whisper out, the pain obvious in her eyes, frothing angrily and boiling over with a sharp hiss. There was no mention of what had sparked the memory, what had brought the little boy's frightened eyes flashing behind her nearly closed lids. But he didn't ask for that, didn't push any further, didn't require anything more than she offered.

"Syd, baby…" He spoke into her hair, wanting desperately to reassure her, to will away the sadness, scare away the demons.

But she sprang from his arms, running to the bathroom; not even bothering to close the door behind her; lucky, because she would have slammed it in his face. He was up almost as soon as she was, following after her and repeating his actions from yesterday, one hand running circles over her back, the other holding her hair.

Sydney sunk onto the bathroom floor when she had finished, rinsing her mouth with the mouthwash he handed her and spitting it into the toilet, for the moment, legs too wobbly to get her to the sink. He thought he heard the phone ring, but there was no way in hell he was going to answer it, no way he would leave her like this.

He tried to think back, to find anything that had upset her as much as this, and to remember how he had handled it. Quickly drawing a blank, couldn't remember one time she had been upset even nearly to the point of sickness, edging him almost over the blurred line into panic; but he held strong, one foot firmly planted on the side of strength and sanity, willing the other to be pulled back.

"Vaughn," she whispered, leaning into him as he knelt beside her. "A little boy doesn't have a mother… And I could have…"

"Sydney."

His use of her full name stopped her, his tone somehow soft and harsh, the two tones juxtaposing into something irresistible, a force to be reckoned with. He waited until he had her full attention, until her tear-filled eyes were peering into his. Perhaps a bad idea, because as emotionally strong as Vaughn liked to think he was, as most men liked to think they were, seeing her like this was almost enough to make him cry.

"God, Syd…" He gently pulled her face to his, her eyes fluttering closed as he kissed them, her nose, ending on the corner of her mouth. "No one's harder on themselves than you are."

A spark of hope flashed in her features, a ray of light that he had put there, catapulted from his eyes to hers. Melting her just enough for him to shake her loose from the frozen fingers of pain, anger and sadness; pull her into his arms and his alone, where they both knew she would always be safe, where not even the slightest worry could yank her away.

His lips were on hers then, hard, insistent, melting her even more, always impossibly more. Running his tongue along her lips until she opened to let him in, reveling as she sighed into him, tugging her hopelessly closer. Not pulling away until they were both out of breath, chests heaving, hearts beating crazily, foreheads resting against one another, each breathing in the other's breath, wanting nothing more than to stay that way forever.

"Thank you," she whispered.

A tender hand found its way to her neck, a thumb stroking her cheek, his lips curling into a smile as she leaned into his touch. He answered her with another kiss, softer, gentler than the first.

"Syd…"

But he had broken the spell of her sadness with his kiss, set the beautiful princess free from the fire-breathing memories that had held her captive. She didn't want to talk about it anymore, her eyes finding his, her smile soft but genuine, flickering in her eyes like a candle about to go out.

"What were you singing last night?" A breathy question, almost childlike, the way she asked it, so innocent, so soft and tender.

He let her lure him away from the subject at hand, trying to remember anytime he might have been singing within her earshot; couldn't think of a single instance when she might have heard him sing in all the two years he had known her. It wasn't like there had been ample opportunities for it while they had still followed the rules, still upheld protocol.

"Last night?"

"When you put Ilya to bed."

There was the slightest of pauses before she said the child's name, small enough for him to pass it off as almost nothing, the fact that it was there enough to tell him that not all the pain had been erased.

But he didn't have time to contemplate any further as he suddenly realized what she was talking about. Last night… Ilya… the lullaby…

"Oh." His cheeks flushed, ears reddening as he looked away. "You heard that?"

Sydney nodded, suddenly shy, as if she wished she hadn't asked, deep down still glad that she had. "The baby monitor's pretty loud," she explained, jerking her head in its direction. "I heard it through the door."

Vaughn offered her a shy smile. He had forgotten about the baby monitor, didn't know why it embarrassed him, why he cared. It was only Sydney. If he had to pick one person in the world to share all his secrets with, it would be her. Come to think of it, he already had…

"Just some lullaby my mother used to sing to me."

Here he was, a grown man, a CIA agent, and somehow he still remembered his mother's lullabies. He thought for sure that she would laugh, would make fun of him, knew that any of his former girlfriends would have found it amusing. Almost forgot that this one was different, special, amazing…

"It was beautiful."

But he was the one who laughed, softly, her whispered honesty tickling his ears. "To tell you the truth, I really can't even remember the words. They just kind of came to me. Maybe I can si…" he paused as he became conscious of what he had been about to say, almost let his heart speak instead of his mind…

Maybe I can sing it for our kids someday

Talk about getting ahead of himself. They had only been living together for three months and already he was planning a life for them. Of course, it had only been three months, but three months that he wanted to stretch out into forever…

Pushing all thought of it from his mind, he swallowed before continuing, running his fingers lazily through her hair. "Maybe I can sing it for you someday."

But her eyes sparked in understanding, her heart heard the words that his had almost spoken. He had gone too far with his sentence to try to change it, try to take it back, he should have known that, should have said it anyway…

"Vaughn, I…"

The phone rang, stopping her mid-sentence. He was beginning to hate… No, hate wasn't a strong enough word for his feelings towards the telephone at the moment. Even a cruel mixture of detest, despise, abhor and loathe didn't seem to do the trick… Alexander Graham Bell was sure as hell lucky that he was already dead.

"Syd?"

He prayed that she would continue, that he wouldn't have to ask her again, that they wouldn't have to lapse back into…

"We should get that," she answered, her voice still soft but with a forced happiness, eyes averted as she moved to stand. "We need to tell them that…"

"I'll do it," he murmured, kissing her forehead before rising. "You go ahead and shower."                                                    

Sydney watched him leave, sighing as she turned on the water, watching as her reflection disappeared into the fog of the bathroom mirror before stripping down and stepping into the shower, the streams of water so hot they almost burned her, turning her skin red wherever they touched. But she liked it that way; it seemed to wash everything away.

She didn't know he was in the room until the curtain moved aside, startling her for only a moment until she saw his shy smile. He stepped in beside her, pulling the curtain closed and pouring shampoo into his hand.

"I need to shower, too," he said softly, his lips right next to her ear. But just as quickly he removed them, massaging the shampoo through her hair and then his own, pulling her directly under the spray with him to rinse. "God this water's hot."

 "We can turn it down," Sydney reasoned quietly, her voice hardly carrying above the thunder of water on tile. She placed a gentle kiss on his chest, so light that he could barely feel it against his skin, and then pulled away, reaching for the knob.

But that whisper of a touch was enough. Enough to make him forget that he had just put her back together once again, that she had just been sick, that this probably wasn't the time to…

He captured her lips with his own, reaching out with one hand to turn the water off, using the other to open the shower curtain and lead them both blindly out of the tub. Leaving puddles wherever their feet hit the ground, splashes of water even where they did not, as they stumbled haphazardly to the door.

Why he had even left the shower was beyond him. Maybe it was because they had learned from all those times when they hadn't even made it close to the bed and tried to reach it whenever they could, savored the experience. Maybe because it had seemed like an eternity since they had last made love and he wanted to do it right…

Somehow Vaughn found the door handle, must have memorized its position from all the times he and Sydney had stumbled from the bathroom exactly the same way. But this time, instead of continuing their usual sloppy trail to the bed, both of them froze in the doorway, a seeming cacophony of sounds assaulting their ears through the silence.

Screaming and thundering, simple if separated from each other, but mingling together in such a horrific way it sounded as if the world were on fire, as if all life were about to come to an end.

"Ilya," Sydney mumbled into Vaughn's chest.

"The door," he muttered in response, picking out the other noise.

In the time it took Sydney to dry off efficiently, Vaughn had already thrown on jeans and a t-shirt, shouting to whoever was at the door that he was coming, but first stopping to relieve the screaming little boy, heart melting when he saw the bright red cheeks stained with tears.

"Hey… buddy… Shh, it's okay, just the door…"

The door continued to bang, not helping the situation. With all that the little boy had seen and heard, Vaughn could just imagine the pictures that the pounding of the door lured to his little head, had to close his own eyes to will them away. If they were too much for a grown man to bear, then the poor child…

"Coming!" Vaughn yelled, suddenly ten times angrier at whoever felt the need to hammer on the door with such force. He picked Ilya up, smiling as the child wrapped an arm around his neck, and whispered to him reassuringly, soft words that the little boy most likely didn't understand but still worked to soothe him.

The two of them answered the door together, the perfect picture of a father and son on a lazy morning. Vaughn was unshaven and barefoot, his hair still wet, and dressed in the jeans and white undershirt he had pulled off the floor. Ilya had on a t-shirt and diaper, a thumb in his mouth and his little face hidden in Vaughn's neck.

"Hi," Vaughn spat out, a tad impatiently, opening the door to find a man dressed in a dark green uniform, the logo on his shirt and gear clearly marking him as an exterminator. "Can I help you?"

"Your neighbors," the man replied, jerking a thumb at another door, "have rats. You got any problems?"

This was worth scaring the hell out of a little boy and interrupting… Someone up there either must have really had it out for him or was a sucker for sick practical jokes…

"No, we don't…Ernie," Vaughn answered civilly, reading his nametag. "But if we do, you'll be the first person we call."

The man sighed impatiently, seemingly upset that he had had to drag his supplies the few yards between the two doors and was not going to get paid for it. But he merely shrugged, the thought probably shoved backwards by the idea that he would now get to go home earlier.

"Yeah, whatever. They just asked me to check, the Harpers. Nice couple." His eyes narrowed for a moment, one eyebrow raising in question as he leaned against the wall. "Said you didn't have kids though."

Vaughn tried to think of a quick explanation, so used to everyone assuming that Ilya was theirs that he didn't know what else to say. It didn't even occur to him that he could have been watching the child for a friend, a neighbor, a sibling, anyone…

Luckily, Ernie the Exterminator's shrug saved him from any quick thinking. "Nice couple. A little lacking in the brain department, wouldn't ya say?"

With a grin, he brought a dirty finger up to Ilya's chin. Vaughn pulled away instinctively, wanting to shield the child from whatever foreign diseases this man could be and probably was carrying. He was an exterminator after all.

"He looks real enough to me," Ernie chuckled. "I got one about his age crawling around the house, little Ernie junior. What's your name, kid?"

"Ilya," Vaughn answered for him, not realizing until he saw the man's reaction how foreign a name it actually was. "His mother's part Russian," he added, trying to shrug it away as nothing. It was true enough, no matter which 'mother' he was talking about.

Ernie scratched his head, still trying to puzzle the name out. "Interesting."

"Okay, well, thanks Ernie," Vaughn rambled, backing into the apartment and already beginning to shut the door. The conversation was past over, they didn't have any rats, and he hadn't even had the time to get dressed properly. It was time for Ernie to leave. And he did, muttering a goodbye as the door closed behind him.

Vaughn sighed, carrying Ilya back to his room to change him. Sydney came into the room as he was pulling off Ilya's shirt, ready to replace it with a new one. Completely dressed and ready by now, of course gorgeous, as always… but… completely dressed…

"Who was at the door?"

"Exterminator." Damn all exterminators! Damn Ernie for talking so damn long that Sydney had time to dress completely! Damn… "Wanted to know if we have rats."

"Oh… I'll do that," she murmured, reaching to take Ilya's clean clothes from him.

"I've got it, Syd," he responded, pulling away and smiling into her unsure eyes as he ruffled Ilya's hair. "Male bonding time, right Ilya?"

The little boy noticed Vaughn looking at him and moved into his lap, patting a hand against Vaughn's leg as he gazed up at Sydney. "Bahn."

"See?" Vaughn laughed, turning his eyes from the little boy to Sydney. "Go rest, baby." He pulled her down by the wrist to kiss her cheek. "I'm sure," he added, reading her gaze and answering before she could open her mouth to speak.

Sydney smiled her thanks, bending to return the kiss he had given her, hers placed gently on his forehead. She walked from the room; turning and taking one last, lingering glance before leaving the two boys alone.

~~~

Early that afternoon, there was another knock on the door. The telephone had been eerily silent since they had finally picked it up that morning, but the banging door seemed more than ready to make up for that, eager to declare itself the day's new interruption.

Vaughn had been watching TV with Ilya, trying to teach him to say something more, but carried him into the bedroom where Sydney was reading, not wanting a repeat of what had happened at the door earlier, not wanting to have to try to explain the child to another random stranger. Thankfully, gruff Ernie the Exterminator did not greet him this time, but…

"Will, Francie… Hi."

"Hey, Michael."

This setup definitely had the potential to be much worse. It was like a science experiment, everything depending wildly on action and reaction, on what was done and said, what ingredients they decided to add to the mixture. He hoped that he would somehow find a spare second to get to Sydney, to see what she wanted to do, how much she wanted to tell.

"See?" Francie stated, almost not giving Will enough time to finish his greeting by jabbing him with her elbow. "I told you they would be home."

"Yeah, we… have a few days vacation. Syd's not feeling well, though; she's resting in the other room. But come on in."

Vaughn stepped out of their way, holding the door as they walked into the living room. So far, so good. The complete truth, not a lie anywhere to be found, even under the smallest of rocks, in the tiniest shadowy corner. Not yet…

"You know," Francie began, "Will saw the craziest thing yesterday. He was at the park on his lunch break, and he swore that he saw you and Syd with a little kid…"

"Francie wanted to barge over here as soon as I told her but…" Will trailed off, eyes narrowing as they spotted the television. "Hey… you're watching Blue's Clues?"

"I… How'd you know the name of it?" Avoid a direct answer at all costs. It was a good enough diversion tactic. Besides, he hadn't heard of it until he watched it with Ilya; how the hell did Will know what the show was…

"He watches it on his days off," Francie explained with a smile.

Will's eyes widened and his head snapped in Francie's direction. Evidently something had been shared that wasn't supposed to be… "Hey now, I…"

"I've seen you," Francie stated, not willing to let him get off that easily. "You got all into it, doing the little kid songs and dances. Sing that song they did at the end…"

"Francie…" Will's face was bright red, couldn't have been any redder if he had transformed into a tomato right before their eyes.

"Oh, come on. You were so cute when you did it the other day."

"I thought you were…" he began, turning to Vaughn. "I thought she was in the shower."

Vaughn nodded politely, compassionately. Men had to stick together when it came to things like this. At least when Sydney wasn't in the room; then he was by her side and on her side, always. Not only was it the safest option, but there was really no other place he'd rather be.

"I was, but people get out of the shower sometimes, Will. It happens." Francie gave Will a look; one that made Vaughn shudder, that he had heard horror stories about and luckily had yet to experience, was hoping he never would. "I'm not even asking you to do the dance, just sing the song."

A deadly embarrassing silence followed this demand. Poor Will's face turned an impossibly darker shade of crimson, his eyes averted to the carpet as he stepped away from the group. He was actually going to…

"Vaughn?" Sydney's voice carried down the hallway a split second before she appeared, the exact moment that Vaughn realized how dangerous silence could be. Ilya was in her arms. "Who was at… Hey guys."

"Hiii…?" Francie's single syllable dragged out into a question, ending in silence.

Will, however, was not at a loss for words. He looked from Vaughn to Sydney, before resting his gaze on the child in her arms. "Is this for some kind of spy mission thing? Because, seriously? The kid's perfect. He looks just like the two of you."

"Not exactly," Vaughn stated, walking the few steps that separated him from Sydney, putting his arm around her and giving her a quick, reassuring kiss on the temple.

Sydney sighed, brushing her cheek against the top of Ilya's head in a small caress, reassuring the poor little boy who was once again being scrutinized. "We found him on a mission in Russia. He was in the bushes, and I guess I'm…"

"We're," Vaughn interrupted, changing her sentence not so that he could get credit for helping her, but so that she would know that he was there alongside her, always would be, and wanted everyone to know it.

She looked up at him gratefully, smiling softly, that one gesture saying more to him than a thousand words would have. "We're babysitting for the CIA until they can locate his family."

This was followed by a frightening stillness, so deathly quiet that Sydney was brought back into the briefing room, thought that her friends would react the same way as all the senior agents had, that the child would be an awkward block between them, painfully, numbingly out of place...

She felt Vaughn's thumb rub against her shoulder and leaned further into him. Ilya looked up into her eyes, his own a question, and she couldn't help but smile in return, to tell the little boy that everything was okay.

These were her friends, not the critical, demanding agents of the CIA. In reality, the silence lasted only half a second, probably less. Francie was the one to break it. "What's his name?"

"Ilya," Vaughn answered, glad that he wouldn't have to think of any further explanation for it this time.

"Ilya," Francie repeated, bringing a hand to the little boy's head and patting it, smiling when he shyly hid his face in Sydney's shirt. "He really likes you, Syd."

"I know." The words were Vaughn's, adoration there, but just a twinge of envy running through it.

"Is that a hint of jealousy I detect there, Michael?" Francie teased.

Sydney laughed, loving how all the important people in her life had melded together so perfectly. "Vaughn knows that no man could ever steal him from me," she murmured, answering her friend, but her eyes on Vaughn's, in them, a world of unspoken meaning carried along with the words.

"Seeing the two of you with a baby… It's…"

Weird? Unbelievable? Nice? Odd? Scary? Millions of adjectives could have been placed there, and Sydney desperately longed to hear which one her friend would choose, wondering whether it would make things better or worse…

"Hey Syd," Will interrupted, trying to find his way back into the conversation after wandering over to the television, entranced by the cartoon dog and her friends. "When are you going to start calling him by his first name. It's seriously getting to the point of weirdness…"

This question had become familiar these past three months, naturally replacing Why don't you quit your job? And she had gladly let it. Only this time, Sydney wished it hadn't been asked, wished that she had heard the rest of what Francie had been saying. Vaughn sensed this, kissing the side of her head, and she swore she heard him say Amazing, knew his lips hadn't moved, that he hadn't really spoken…

Francie had launched into her usual comeback; namely, if Will's last name had been half as sexy as Michael's then she wouldn't hesitate to call him by it either. And that was that. The four adults spent the afternoon chatting and laughing over children's television programs. Sydney and Vaughn curled up on one end of the couch, Francie and Will seated on the nearby loveseat, and little Ilya in the midst of everything, as if he actually did belong.

Will and Francie stayed through dinner, marveling at how Vaughn and Sydney truly cared for the boy as if he was their own, somehow made it look like he had been with them since the nine months before he was born. When they left, Sydney and Vaughn put Ilya to bed together; she changed him and let Vaughn sing him to sleep, eyes darting back and forth between the little boy's fluttering eyelashes and Vaughn's lips as the sweet French lullaby poured from them.

They returned to the living room afterwards, curling back up on the couch, closer this time than they had before, not having to worry about anyone watching. At Sydney's bidding, Vaughn turned on the hockey game they had been watching yesterday, knowing that she had only asked him to because she knew how much he wanted to finish it, and loving her for it.

As they lay there, Vaughn's arm around her, his hand drawing circles on her skin, Sydney's eyes quivering closed… both of them realized how normal this was, how absolutely perfect. But neither spoke, neither alluded to it, not wanting to crack what seemed a living dream and transform it into something else, something less than perfect.

With her thoughts on the man who was behind her, wrapped not only around her body but her heart, Sydney reveled in what he had said and done earlier that day, how he had appeared not to mind having a child with them, actually seemed to like it. Fighting off the wraithlike doubt flickering through her mind, she let Vaughn's soft touch on her skin soothe her to sleep.

The second he felt Sydney nod off, Vaughn carefully and quietly picked up the remote and muted the sound on the television, not wanting to wake her. The house was silent, except for Sydney's deep breathing and the beating of his own heart as the blood rushed past his ears; there weren't any other sounds he would rather hear.

He knew the peace had to be broken eventually, but the instantaneity of it nearly killed him, the soft knocking on the door nearly shattering his ears. Carefully, Vaughn slipped from behind Sydney, gently laying the afghan over her before tiptoeing to the door and opening it. It was nearly 9:30, who could be…

"Jack."

"Vaughn."

There was a beat. Then two. And three. What in the world was he supposed to say? Jack, hi. I wasn't aware that hell had frozen over. Otherwise I would have had drinks and hors d'oeuvres all prepared. Just give me a second…

"Sydney's asleep."

That worked too. And was a lot less dangerous now that he thought of it. Definitely the better alternative.

Jack nodded, regret flashing across his face for just a moment, so quickly that if Vaughn had blinked he would have missed it. "There's some new intel. Devlin was going to call you, but I told him I'd stop by on my way home."

Vaughn stepped aside and ushered him into the kitchen. Jack's gaze swept across the apartment: Sydney's shoes placed next to Vaughn's at the door, a picture of the two of them from Sydney's birthday, the muted hockey game on the television, and finally falling on his daughter's sleeping form on the couch.

"Nice place you have here." The small talk sounded too polite, too forced, too much of an effort. But he was trying.

Vaughn had thought that he would have had to be married to Sydney for at least ten years before he would ever be having anything resembling a conversation with Jack Bristow outside of the workplace; twenty before it would take place in his apartment...

"Thanks. Want something to drink?" Polite, but not too polite. Careful, always careful. Was it wrong of him to be so suspicious of this man?

"No, I'll only be a moment… I wanted to tell you first that I… I admire the way you stood by Sydney yesterday..."

What?

"… She needs someone like that in her life."

Vaughn had no words that were fit to respond to this. Not when the man who had just walked in his door, was standing in his kitchen, and leaning against his counter was Jack Bristow. Not when the nicest thing he had ever said within his earshot prior to this moment was addressing the ingenuity of a rogue terrorist cell…

Luckily, Jack saved him from having to speak, turning what might have been an awkward, almost heartfelt moment into purely business, without waiting for so much as a thank you.

"We followed your lead this morning. Hospital records confirm that Katja Domaslavov gave birth to a son on April 7, 2002. She named him Ilya Mikhail Domaslavov. Nothing definite on the father, but Domaslavov was believed to be involved with Akim Kavalek for some time."

Vaughn could see where this was going, where this intel was going to lead. And he was glad that Sydney was asleep, that she could dream for a few more minutes before those dreams were smashed to smithereens. They had known, both of them, that it was going to lead to this, that it had been temporary, that eventually, he would leave, go away, go back home…

But that didn't mean they had to like it, didn't mean they were prepared. At least he knew he wasn't, and if he was right, if Sydney really did feel the way he thought she did…

Jack took a deep breath before he continued, and perhaps there was a tinge of remorse with his words, but Vaughn wouldn't have noticed; he had taken his eyes off the older man's face, given up trying to gauge his emotions and thoughts, and was bracing himself for his words.

"We have contacted a woman by the name of Devora Domaslavov, Katja's mother. She's flying over now for questioning. We need you to bring the boy in tomorrow afternoon... It's most likely that his grandmother will be taking him home."

Vaughn waited for the I told you so, for Jack to ask if the confrontation yesterday morning was really worth the day and a half that it had gained him. But there was something nearing kindness in Jack's eyes, could even be considered compassion.

His voice was soft when he spoke his next words, still somewhat harsh, somewhat cold, but more out of habit than real feeling, the words rusty, foreign issuing from his tongue. "I'm sorry."

If Vaughn had thought about it, he would have recorded those words in his memory as two he thought he would have never heard this man speak, would never hear him say again. But that wasn't what was on his mind as Jack spoke, a sudden sadness filling him like an unexpected and unwelcome gust of wind on an already frigid day.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Thank you, Jack… I'll tell her," he added, following the older man's glance into the living room.

The two men exchanged a few more civil words before returning to the front door and muttering their goodbyes. The kindness seemed strange now, replaced with the somehow comforting coolness of businesslike habit, the farewells nearly as frosty as they would have been between two enemies.

Vaughn stood by the door, forehead leaning against it when his hand simply could not hold his weight. He felt as if somebody had popped his balloon, not hard enough for it to burst with a heart stopping explosion, but so the air fizzled out of it, hissing and squeaking as it became wrinkled and deformed, slowly and steadily floating to the ground. It took longer that way, was more painful, pitiful to watch, even worse to experience. Better to go out with a bang than whither away, better to never say anything to the one you love than to break their heart…

Slowly, he made his way to the couch, kneeling next to it and watching Sydney sleep, waiting for something to tell him how to do this, what to say to make it better for her. But there was nothing there… nothing but the truth.

Brushing his fingers against her cheek, he kissed her softly, letting his lips linger on hers for just a moment before pulling back to watch her eyes flutter open. She stretched and smiled sleepily at him, waking from a dream to find herself in another one, completely oblivious to how their life had suddenly changed.

And he wondered if he really had it in him… if he had the strength to tell her the truth, to break her heart.

"Syd, baby…"