Wrestling Emotions

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Sorry, guys. I don't have time to respond individually, but I want to thank you all so much for your reviews. I can't tell you how much I love them. But here's the next chapter. I figure you want that more than my author note anyway. We're getting there; there's only one more left…

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Chapter 11: Last Words

"Hi."

She smiled as she said it, her voice so soft and sweet, still filled with sleep, ready to go right back to it as soon as her head hit their pillow in the bedroom. When she first woke up, he felt the most need to protect her, the strongest urge to wrap her more tightly in his arms.

Eyes blinking, voice soft and low, muscles lazy, not yet warmed up. Before her senses were at full alert, before she was ready to take on the world, speak and understand almost any language presented to her… Smile genuine, her entire face lighting up with it, brightening the darkest room even more than whatever daylight might have been flitting through the curtains.

This was the true Sydney, the one who didn't have to worry about disarming bombs, killing three guards in two seconds, or saving the world. This was the one that only he got to see, that she allowed for him alone.

"Hey."

Vaughn had almost come to terms with the fact that he couldn't control everything in her life, couldn't save her from every danger during a mission; never would give in to the fact completely, with all his heart and soul. Almost, but not quite, not really.

This Sydney, however, was his to protect, to soothe away any lingering nightmares, to hold in his arms for as long as he wanted, willing morning to stay away, always afraid to roll over and glance at the clock, never wanting to leave her side.

But this time, he couldn't whisper softly in her ear, the tender French that would sometimes lull her back to her dreams or lure her into his; would sometimes quicken the beating of her heart, the stirring of her breath, the tingling of her skin until…

This time would be different. Whatever language the words were said in, however softly they were spoken, he knew it wouldn't smooth their rough edges, knew they would break her smile, that the shards of it would slice into his skin, penetrating his heart and spilling sadness over the both of them.

Vaughn wondered if he could just wait until tomorrow. Get Jack or Weiss to call early in the morning and tell her then; could just whisper to her that it was time to sleep, that she would hurt her back if she stayed out on the couch, and carry her to bed. Knew that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he did that, that to keep something from her was almost worse than lying, and that he could never lie to her, even if his own life depended on it.

He would be strong, strong enough for them both. He had done it before countless times and there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to here.

Sydney sat up, noticing the regret and sorrow that was in his one spoken syllable, running a hand across his forehead to smooth the wrinkles that sometimes seemed nearly permanent. Vaughn sat down next to her, pulling her into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder, her fingers linking with his and coming to rest against his heart.

Like a child, she hid her face in his shirt, lips vibrating against him as she murmured, "It's over… Isn't it?"

And he knew by her tone, by the way her chest shuddered as she said it, the way she sighed deeply in order to suck in the tears, that she wasn't talking about the hockey game.

"Yeah, Syd." His leaned down so he could plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head and closed his eyes, cradling her more tightly against him. "It's over."

If he hadn't been so in tune with her, hadn't felt her hand barely perceptibly tighten against his own, hadn't heard her breath catch in her throat, hadn't felt her heartbeat quicken, he wouldn't have thought she had even heard him. But he sensed, felt, heard all those things; knew everything about her, knew that it would hurt more if he didn't tighten his hold on her than it would if he did.

He murmured her father's news to her, even telling her what Jack had said to him first. She smiled at that, he could feel her lips against his skin; she was glad that her father had finally turned around, but it was not quite enough to bring any happiness or satisfaction to the moment. It was the delicious frosting on a cake that neither of them liked, good enough to be licked off and savored, but not enough to redeem the cake as a whole, not satisfying in and of itself.

The two of them sat for a few moments in silence, each having so much to say to the other but couldn't seem to get the words to fit in their mouths: too large, too small, too oddly shaped; none that would seem right in the moment, none that would fit. The only one that did was that which neither of them cared to speak about, wouldn't be able to even if they could have.

It took awhile, but they found the words to murmur, those that meant nothing and everything to them both. Soon, soft kisses and caresses took the place of reassuring whispers, each finding something besides words to tell the other that it would be okay. Strange how something so simple could mean so much, could throw the whole world, their whole world, completely off balance.

Together they stood, as if they really were one person, connected not in the most intimate of ways, but by something better, something indescribable, something more. Together, they made their way down the hall, stopping right outside Ilya's roo… the office. That's what it was now, had been all along, they tried to tell themselves unconvincingly. A room with a desk, a computer and a few file cabinets that only happened to hold a crib just for now…

"Vaughn… I…"

She was hushed by Vaughn's fingers on her lips, his voice whispering in her ear. "Another day."

He didn't know whether what she had been trying to say was adding to the shadow that had cast itself over them in the past few minutes or would be darkened by its dimness; whether it was good, bad or somewhere in between. But he did know that whatever she was stumbling to say was troubling her, didn't want anything to add to her pain, didn't want her to furthering it by speaking, by saying something she didn't want to.

Sydney nodded, kissing his fingers before he took them away. Another day. Another moment. Not now… They stood outside the door for a few minutes, a few minutes that seemed like multitudes more, that they wished could be, would stretch to so many that it would become forever.

Vaughn broke the silence, putting to words what they both were thinking, just to be sure that he was right. "Do you want to…?"

"Yes," she breathed, glad that he had been the one to ask it, that she didn't have to, knew that she probably wouldn't have, didn't want to bother him with anything else. He had been so good to her thus far, so much so that it seemed too good to be true, that she was afraid to press her luck…

She watched as he walked into the room, finding his way to the crib without turning on the light and picking up Ilya with such careful tenderness that he didn't wake. Vaughn carried the child as if he had every night for twenty-one months, would continue to do so until the little boy was no longer so little, only stopping when he was too big to be carried, when he woke up and mumbled that it was silly, daddy, and please not to do it anymore...

Sydney's arm linked through a space at his elbow; Vaughn's arms not around her for the simple reason that he needed both to hold the sleeping child. She changed first when they reached their room; he watched, averting his eyes at all the right moments, knowing what he could and could not see with the little boy sleeping in his arms.

Sydney took Ilya when she had finished, smiling when he sighed and snuggled up against her in his sleep. Vaughn's arm was around her before she had even looked up, ready for bed. She handed Ilya to him and slipped under the covers, sighing with satisfaction as he put the little boy at her side and lay down next to her, arm draped around them both.

~~~

"Ready, Syd?"

Vaughn's hand snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, his mouth brushing against her ear. They stood on the steps of the CIA building, right outside the front door, the entrance Sydney always insisted on using now that she could. This was the first time she had ever hesitated outside it, the first time she had stood looking through the glass rather than pushing it aside and marching straight through, head held high, one foot in front of the other.

Ilya had his head on her shoulder, thumb in his mouth, like always. But something was different, somehow. It was as if he knew that this was it: the last day, hour, minute, second... Or maybe it was only that she did. All too well. Knew on top of that, that she should be better than this, that it shouldn't bother her, that she shouldn't let it. But that didn't stop it, didn't stop her…

"Syd?"

"What?… Yeah." Both words shot out quickly, happily. She didn't want to show any weakness, even in front of him, especially in front of him. She was strong, and he should know it; she wanted him to know it.

"It's okay, Syd. To feel…"

Sad? Angry? Frustrated? Confused? So many different emotions that she couldn't even keep track. Some pointed at the CIA, at Devlin, the child. Most of them at herself, for becoming attached, for feeling the way she did, for knowing better deep down and not caring, not wanting to. For not talking to Vaughn, telling him once again how much she loved him, that…

"Vaughn…"

A quick turn of the head and his lips were on hers. She could have sworn that she was the one who initiated it, but then again, it could have been him. Either way, it didn't matter. It was love, reassurance, trust, hope, honesty… anything and everything that the one could offer and the other would take, melding two to one in a promise of forever.

They pulled apart, but only by a whisper, only enough to let a breath of air between them, shared by both and relished for its necessity, but not savored as it had been when they were breathing solely each other.

"Thanks, Vaughn."

The kiss had been the I love you. She couldn't say the words now, and it wouldn't have mattered even if she had. Simple words could not have spoken the volumes that her heart had shared with his in that simple kiss; there just wasn't enough time in the world, never would be.

"Syd…"

Tiny fingers against his cheek stopped his words, silencing him as a little hand brushed against his skin. Ilya had taken his head off Sydney's shoulder and his thumb out of his mouth, peering up at them both.

"Bahn."

Quietly, the one familiar word broke from the child's lips as he gazed into Vaughn's eyes. His stare was gentle this time, not dominating or commanding; his tone soft, somehow containing a hint of goodbye. But then again, perhaps that was only the way the two adults heard it, how they wanted it to sound. Maybe he would have acted the same way with his own mother and father; maybe goodbye had nothing to do with the child's actions at all.

The little boy looked to Sydney, his hand on her chin now. He paused for a breath of a second, his mouth forming into a perfect "O", and then pressed it ever so quickly against Sydney's cheek, his lips against her skin for so little time it could barely be felt. But that didn't stop the moment from freezing, the tears from springing to Sydney's eyes.

She blinked them away, Vaughn's hand brushing under her eye to keep them from falling. Foolishly, they let themselves think that this was it, this would be their moment of goodbye. They thought that there could be no heartfelt emotion within the CIA walls, forgot that that was where they had first met, where they had…

They forgot that it would take more than the harsh sterility within the CIA building to kill emotion, that it was probably the one thing in the world that didn't follow the rules of logic and reason, wouldn't be so easily squelched. The two of them should have known that better than anyone, but it was just as well that they had forgotten. Had they remembered, neither would have been able to walk inside.

"Ready," Sydney mouthed, her voice not even strong enough to be considered a whisper.

But Vaughn heard her anyway, let his lips linger against her temple for a moment before opening the door and leading her inside, arm around her waist, diaper bag slung over his shoulder as it had been two days before, knowing that it wouldn't be there when he walked out.

Silence slinking through the hallways, following their path, meeting them with stares and whispers. Those who knew what was happening informed others, a domino effect rippling through the building, the very edges of the trail of gossip receiving a story that was not entirely true, but definitely more entertaining; involving more sex, intrigue, and scandal than any that had ever found its way through the rumor trail before.

Without a word to any of the other agents, not even Weiss when they passed him, Sydney and Vaughn made their way to where they knew Jack had been for hours already, watching the questioning of Devora Domaslavov on one television, the translation of her words lighting up a second screen.

The string of Russian hit Sydney's ears as soon as she entered the room, floating through the air as unintelligible gibberish for a few seconds before transforming itself into words, words to sentences and sentences to complete thoughts. The words intermingled with tears and pauses for deep breaths, the woman on the screen nearly an exact copy of the image that had been flashed on a similar one the other day, only a few time-telling wrinkles and gray hairs showing any difference.

"… I did not want her hanging around with that boy, Akim. He and his friends, they had ideas… ideas that were filling her head and taking her away from me…"

Sydney had walked into the room with a hardened heart, hoping more than anything that the woman would be a fake, not wanting to believe a word she said, anything about her. Not wanting to give Ilya up to someone she didn't know if she could trust, to have to leave the office without the little boy in her arms.

But the woman's tears and soft words were already beginning to melt her resolve, were worming their way through her soul. Sydney could not have been considered human if they had not…

"…When she was seventeen, she… she ran away with them… It was almost three years ago…"

Vaughn's arm slinked tighter around her, his cheek pressing against the top of her head, his body holding her up. The sickening irony of Katja Domaslavov's running from her family to join a group called Family United was not lost on either of them; especially with the way the story had turned out.

Sydney glanced at Ilya, watching as the little boy's head lifted off her shoulder, his eyes locking on the screen before him. She wondered if he recognized the face, if the voice was familiar, perhaps so similar to his mother's that…

"…I heard from her only once in all that time… She sent me a picture six months ago… of her and a baby… a little boy that had… had to be hers… There was no return address… no letter… and only a single word written on the back…"

Brushing the tears out of her eyes, Devora pulled something out of her purse. Its edges were wrinkled and torn with all the hours she had held it in her hands, looking, searching, hoping to make her little girl appear before her. The picture black and white, faded, stained with what could have only been tears. But despite all of that, there was no mistaking the figures in the picture: the woman, her little boy…

"… Ilya…"

There could also be no mistaking the way little boy squirmed in Sydney's arms, how he struggled to get closer to the screen that was now showing a close-up of his mother's face, how he began to whimper, so confused as to what was going on.

"… It was her father's name… He passed away… when she was fourteen…There was a shooting at the factory where…"

And that was all Sydney could take, all that any of them could take. She could feel Vaughn swallow against her, heave a sigh, didn't know that Jack was actually looking away, pretending to focus his attention on a report in front of him. The picture was replaced with the woman's face; Ilya gave up trying to struggle out of Sydney's arms with a heart-wrenching sigh, laying back against her chest and sticking his thumb in his mouth, tears lingering in his eyes.

"Dad…"

The first word any of them had spoken since they had entered the room. It seemed to echo throughout, unwanted, disappearing into the steady stream of Russian coming from the speakers. She had given up trying to understand what it meant, didn't want to anymore. The thoughts came apart into sentence, loosening into words, unraveling into sounds that were suddenly foreign to her ears.

Sydney's other words were lost, but Vaughn finished them for her, knowing by instinct, through his heart, what she wanted, had been trying to say. Knowing what she needed, what all of them needed, knowing, too, that…

"That's enough, Jack." His voice was a demanding whisper, almost matching that dangerous tone he had used a few days before, but soft this time, not as harsh. "Turn it off."

Jack nodded, clicking off the screen and speakers, the room falling into an almost uncomfortable silence without the steady buzz of words, the hum of the lights deafening, nearly unbearable. The woman had been questioned for hours, cleared of every possible threat, acknowledged as who she said she was, as the child's true grandmother. His shoes echoing as they crossed the floor, Jack left the room, the door shutting with a soft click behind him.

Vaughn didn't say a word as she brought a tender hand to the back of Sydney's head, pulling her forehead into his lips, gentle and comforting, just what she needed to stand on her own, to walk towards the door when Jack opened it and said her name, adding Vaughn's this time, without pausing.

The introductions were quick and simple, the questioner offering them politely before hastily leaving the room. "Devora Domanslavov… Agents Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn."

The woman's eyes lit up when she saw the child, sparkling with joy and unshed tears. She stood up, lunging forward, clearly wanting to cross the room and take him into her arms, but stopping. "Is this him? My Katja's little boy?"

"Yes," Sydney answered, unsure how she willed her voice to be strong and steady, how she remembered to use Russian and not English, how she was able to move a few steps closer to the woman. "This is Ilya."

The little boy had hidden his face in Sydney's chest as they entered the room, peering out shyly, hesitantly, suddenly as frightened as he had been the day she had found him. They were close enough to the woman now for him to see that it was not his mother, not exactly, and the almost-but-not-quite face seemed to frighten him even more than a complete stranger's would have.

"Ilya…" Devora whispered, repeating it in awe, "Ilya…"

"We found him in the bushes outside an intelligence compound," Sydney added slowly, knowing the information had to be given, trying to force it past the lump in her throat. "I was there when…"

But she couldn't finish, those words lodging themselves inside her and refusing to come out, nearly choking her. Only when Vaughn slipped his arm around her, neither of them caring where they were, who was watching, was she able to force her voice out in a whisper. "I… I'm sorry."

Sydney didn't need the older woman to tell her all the days she had spent wishing she had her daughter back with her, all the hours she had tried to find her, all the time she had wondered if she should just let her live her life, if she even had been alive. Knowing that she would have never been able to let her go…

"Thank you," Devora answered, filling the silence with a tear-laden whisper. "For giving me back my family. I am forever in your debt."

And then the time came. The moment when Sydney would have to remove the little boy from her own arms and place him in someone else's, the second she had been holding her breath waiting for, hoping it would never arrive. She still couldn't believe how far the child had managed to lodge himself into her heart, her being, in just a few short days.

Sydney placed a gentle kiss against Ilya's forehead, surprised when Vaughn leaned over and did the same, glad that he had because that somehow made it easier. Maybe everything would be okay after all.

They whispered their goodbyes to the child, Sydney's in Russian, Vaughn's in French, the words sweet and tender, flowing naturally from their lips; neither remembering what they had said, but knowing it had been right. And with that, Sydney handed the little boy to his grandmother; she would never have him in her own arms again.

Ilya tensed, finding himself in a new, yet somehow recognizable place, his lower lip quivering, the familiarity of the embrace and the woman's whispering words keeping the sobs from wracking his body, the fear from completely overcoming him.

His dark eyes found their way over to Sydney and Vaughn, questioning, wondering what was happening, why they were giving him up. Sydney didn't see him watching her; her own eyes fixed on the ground, examining her shoes, the carpet, the legs of the table. Vaughn met the child's gaze for the last time, smiling softly, sadly, arm tightening around Sydney as he dropped the diaper bag and turned to lead her out of the room.

"Bahn?" The single word trembling, encompassing a thousand questions, a million fears: I don't get it. Why are you leaving me? Help. I don't understand

Vaughn stopped at the sound of his name, shoulders stiffening, heard Sydney's sharp intake of breath. Don't turn around, don't turn around, don't turn around…

And they weren't going to, were going to stay strong; they were agents, spies, they knew they could do it, they had to. They had heard that word before, wouldn't let the thought that they would never hear it again even cross their minds. But then…

"Tyd?"

This word was nearing a wail, the tone sad enough to break the darkest of hearts, would have nearly shattered Sydney's no matter how it was spoken. The whispered French was in her ear this time, but no matter what Vaughn said, it wasn't enough to cover the echoing stutter of the little boy's voice stumbling over her name.

She turned and Vaughn didn't stop her, didn't pull her from the room this time. He knew what she was going to do, what they should have done before turning to leave. He let go of her waist, still following close behind her as she closed the distance between them and Ilya, tried to smile at both him and his grandmother, failing, but not miserably.

"Ilya," she whispered, reaching a hand out and brushing it against the boy's cheek, leaning into Vaughn as he pressed against her back. The boy sighed under her touch, and Sydney quickly retracted her hand before he could reach out for it, her heart aching, so close to splitting into a thousand tiny pieces. "This is your grandmother. She's going to take care of you now."

Ilya's lip quivered, his wide eyes telling her that it would take more than that, that he didn't understand, wasn't convinced. Sydney had willed her voice to be strong, not to break; the Russian had been perfect, rolling easily off her tongue…

Then why had her words seemed to quiver, fluttering with each shuddering beat of her heart? Why had she barely believed herself?

She had brought numerous grown men to tears thousands of times before, but she couldn't stand those few that were dripping down the cheeks of the little boy before her. This was something she couldn't handle. Not by herself.

But Vaughn was there, always was and always would be. He brought a hand forward, touching the tip of Ilya's nose as he had done that first night, the gesture melting her even now.

"Hey buddy," he murmured, and the little boy watched him expectantly, wanting him to make it better, trusting that he would. "Everything's going to be okay. You're going home."

Home… With his family. His real family… Home…

Sydney was lured into believing with his words; they were spun so perfectly from his lips that it would be impossible not to. He had even smiled as he said them, lending his strength to every person in that room. His hand on Sydney's shoulder, holding her up; his voice soothing the little boy, who probably didn't even understand his words, and calming his grandmother.

Devora murmured her thanks, and Vaughn didn't need to know her language to understand her. She kissed the child in her arms with such tenderness that although the uneasiness was still there, Ilya began to forget to be afraid, to think that perhaps her familiarity could be comforting, that she wasn't such a stranger after all.

Sydney felt a gentle kiss on her neck, a whisper of warmth right at the top of her suit jacket. A glance over her shoulder rewarded her with another on the corner of her mouth, Vaughn's eyes piercing hers, telling her it was time to go. Reaching a hand behind her, instinct found his fingers and laced them with her own.

They whispered their goodbyes yet again, blending them with reassurance this time, each kissing one of the little boy's chubby cheeks for the last time. Vaughn's grip on her hand tightened as they turned and walked across the room, holding their breath, neither daring to look back.

Closing the door behind them, pausing after they had made their way halfway down the hall, Vaughn turned to face her. "Syd… You okay?"

Asked just to check, just to make sure, to ease the doubt in his mind, to let go. Ensuring that her pale face and unusual silence was not due to illness, that she was at least physically feeling better than she had the days before. Because he knew that she was anything but okay at that moment, that the moment had somehow been harder on her than on him, that she was at risk of shattering at his feet.

"Vaughn… thank you."

She meant for everything, and he knew it. She was trying to tell him that he hadn't had to help her, hadn't had to let the child stay in what was technically his house; that no one else had or would ever do such a thing for her, that he was the only one who…

"Syd…"

He wanted to tell her that she didn't have to thank him, that since it had been her responsibility, it had been his too, that he promised to do anything and everything with her, together, for the rest of their lives.

And suddenly he didn't care that they were in the middle of the CIA building, that this was not the place for anything that had to do with their relationship although it had ironically brought them together. Vaughn's lips parted, and the words that would issue forth would have meant so much to the both of them, would have been something to ease the pain and turn tears of regret to joy, would have guaranteed that dreams could come true and she would be his for…

"Hey guys…" The two words were said almost with regret, as if for once, Weiss was actually sorry that he had spoken, knew what he was interrupting, didn't want to be the one that had to bring the bad news. "Debrief time."

Vaughn nodded, swallowing with difficulty, the words still caught in his throat, wanting to break free. But his mind had quieted his heart, told it that this was definitely not the right time or place, no matter how the blood was coursing through its veins, despite the emotions that were pulling at its strings.

With a sigh, he leaned against her, his forehead brushing hers, and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His mind, his eyes, his heart, even that simple gesture screamed I love you, shrieking it so loudly that he was sure the entire building had heard him, that the words were echoing down the halls.

But words that are not spoken cannot be heard. At least not by those whose hearts they are not meant for. The woman before him caught every word, shouting them back to him just as loudly, mirroring the curious and oddly intoxicating mixture of love and sadness that stirred within his eyes.

"Guys, seriously."

Weiss was still standing there, and Vaughn was almost angry, the sudden urge to shout at his friend almost too strong to suppress. But he quickly swallowed his irritation; without this reminder, they would surely have remained out in the hall, would not have gone to the debrief at all, and…

"Asses will be kicked. Or at least chewed out." Weiss raised his hands in mock surrender to ward off the two pairs of eyes shooting fire in his direction. "Don't kill the messenger… Let's go."

They went, of course, following the instructions they had been given, glad that all of this would soon over. But neither could honestly tell much of what happened during the debrief, words spoken and flying around, touching eardrums just enough to be heard, but not etching themselves into memories. For once they were going to have to count on Weiss to tell them what had happened, instead of the other way around.

Both Sydney and Vaughn were acutely aware of the setting sun, the darkness that eventually began to overtake the world outside the briefing room. It was the longest debrief either of them had ever gone to, would have been even if it hadn't lasted as long as it did, had only been three minutes instead of stretching for hours.

But they made it through, paying enough attention to answer those questions they were asked, to offer information that they knew only the two of them had. Neither cared that they were finishing each other's thoughts and sentences right in front of the higher-ups, a string of junior agents, and even Eric Weiss. If they hadn't borrowed from each other's strength, neither of them would have been able to finish a coherent thought, neither would have been able to survive.

A few ideas actually passed the defensive barrier that had somehow set itself up over Vaughn's brain, pushing past his ears and penetrating into understanding. Only a few from the thousands and millions that must have been said, all of the thoughts, pieces of information and hypotheses:

Family United had twenty-seven members between the ages of seventeen and thirty-six. Whatever the group had been, thought they were, had aspired to be; whether they were a joke, a moving force, or a band in name only… it didn't matter anymore.

They had made a difference this one time, maybe the only time they ever had or would, and it had cost them. All twenty-seven members and the nineteen family members that had stayed with them, most of them young children, had been at the compound that day. All twenty-seven adults and eighteen of the children were dead…

Ilya Mikhail Domaslavov was the only survivor.

He was sure there was more to the story, but that was all Vaughn remembered, all he could have recited back to anyone who asked. He didn't know what the name of the terrorist group they had pinned this activity on was, or if they had even narrowed it down to one. Maybe Sydney would know, but he doubted it. For some reason, he felt that they were both on the same page on this one, that if he had asked her, she would have recited the information back to him exactly as he already knew it, words and pauses perfectly placed, nothing more and nothing less.

When everything was finally finished, Devlin left and the others began filing slowly out of the room. Weiss was one of the first to leave, afraid that Vaughn was still angry that he had interrupted them earlier and not wanting to stick around to find out.

As Vaughn was helping Sydney out of her chair, Jack approached, as stoic as ever. "Tomorrow, we'll begin work on…"

"We're not coming in tomorrow," Vaughn interrupted, his eyes never leaving Sydney. He didn't care what Jack thought. As far as he was concerned, they had reached a certain level of understanding. If that's not how Jack saw it, so be it, but… "Tell Devlin we'll be back on Monday."

Sydney gazed up at him, questioningly at first, thankfully a moment later. Vaughn knew they both needed a real vacation after all of this, just a few days off to get themselves back together. He could see the edges Sydney's jigsaw puzzle crumbling before him, knew that these words helped to pick up some of the pieces; he shoved them into his pocket, saving them for later when he could truly put her back together again. But not here, not now…

If Jack was taken aback by this statement, he didn't show it. Something nearing understanding flickered across his features, and he merely nodded before turning and leaving the room. "See you both Monday."

This time, as Sydney and Vaughn made their way out of the building, the little boy was not with them. They still received the blatant stares, heard those around them murmuring, keen ears picking up the vibrations of their own names. They didn't look; didn't notice that this time no one was smiling; didn't want to see in others' eyes how strange it was for the two of them to be walking out alone, without the little boy clinging to Sydney's neck.

At least that way, without the added barrier, Vaughn could hold her more tightly as they left, so close that for anyone else, it would have been nearly impossible to walk; for them it was as if they belonged that way, would have been unnatural to see them any further apart.