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Chapter Two:
Broken Lives
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He sat alone in the darkness. He couldn't know how many hours had passed, how many days; weeks and months had passed in this fashion. Sitting alone in his empty apartment, bottle in hand and dark thoughts consuming him. A cigarette dangled from his fingertips, the smoke drifting lazily to the ceiling. He took a long drag with a grimace, he had always detested the idea of smoking but since her death, he had done a lot of things he never thought he would.
The acrid smell of the smoke reminded him of that night. He had collapsed amidst the rubble of her building and the ashes of her life. The ashes of their life together. In some twisted way, this bad habit brought him closer to her. He was dying more and more every day he woke up without her, everytime he took a drag off the cigarette, everytime he took another drink.
Music was playing softly in the background, so low he could barely hear it but he had it memorized by now. Every word, every note. It hadn't left his CD player in the three months since she had left it at his apartment, her favorite CD. He had felt so honored in a weird giddy way when she had let him borrow it. The fact that she trusted him with her prized possessions had made him ridiculously happy. The fact that she had trusted him with her life had once done the same thing, now it filled him with unspeakable anguish. Her life had been in his hands that night, but he had not known it. For perhaps the millionth time since his phone had rung that night, informing him of the fire, he cursed himself for not going into the apartment with her. For not following his gut instinct and leaving at that very moment for Santa Barbara before anyone could stop them. He could have saved her a hundred different ways but he had not. And now she was gone.
'She is gone. Sydney is gone. My love…' His thoughts circled in endless patterns similar to this. The disbelief was gone and now his mind had settled into the agony of acceptance. She was gone. She was dead. They would never have the life together that they had so long hoped for. They would never have a wedding on the beach, barefoot at sunset with all of their family and friends as witness. They would never have children with green eyes and dark hair and the ability to kick any bully's ass.
There were pictures of her scattered on the coffeetable in front of him. After SD-6 had been destroyed, he had been emphatic on capturing their moments together on film. These tattered photographs had been memorized by now, silent frozen moments in time. Sydney in bed, sleeping peacefully with a smile on her face after a long night of making love. The two of them laughing together over dinner, a picture Will had taken during one of their double dates. A picture of their first kiss, amidst the wreckage of SD-6 that Weiss had taken, most likely to be used as blackmail against him at a later date. After the fire, Weiss had handed the picture over to him without a word; grief etched in his eyes and sorrow for his two friends whose lives had been destroyed in one night.
It had been three months to the day today. Vaughn knew that in his heart but the date didn't matter. Every day was the same as today, every day was filled with grieving.
The cigarette was burning his fingers, but he didn't care. He considered stubbing it out in the palm of his hand for moment, just to feel a pain that came from a source that was not buried deep within. He decided against it and instead flicked the dying butt into the ashtray next to him. The bottle slipped from nerveless fingertips as he leaned forward over the collection of photographs.
He picked up one of the photographs, his favorite, creased and faded from hours of him clutching it for strength. She was looking up at him with such love, laughter in her eyes and a smile on her face. She was standing on the beach, waves washing around her legs as she held up the hem of her dress to keep it dry. The sun behind her lit her whole form with a dazzling radiance. She looked like an angel. And now she was one.
"I cant help but wonder if you're out there somewhere, watching over me," he addressed his quiet thoughts to the woman in the photo. "There's some sort of bitter fucking irony to the idea that maybe right now you are my guardian angel." His words were clear despite his inebriated state and the fact that he was talking to a picture. A bitter smile touched his lips briefly but vanished as soon as it had appeared. "But no, you would be guarding me much better than this. You would appear in a white light and tell me to get off my ass and pull myself together." He sighed heavily and dropped his head into his hands, the photo fluttering back down to the table. Sydney remained smiling up at him, dimples in full force, aglow with love. The Sydney he would never see again except in these frozen memories.
"Why did you have to leave me, Syd?" The tears were coming now as they always did, seeping through the cracks of his fingers. Michael Vaughn had always prided himself on being strong. But his strength had vanished the moment he had seen her charred and broken body lying amidst the rubble of her former life. He had cried more in the past three months without her than he had since his father had died.
The doorbell rang shrilly, startling from his reverie. He jerked upright, looking around him with wild eyes until they landed on the door to his apartment. A pale light filtered through the cracks from the hallway outside and he could see a shadow lingering there, waiting for him to answer. He remained where he was; wishing that whoever it was would go away. It was probably Weiss again, checking up on him, making sure that he hadn't yet succumbed to the urge to join Sydney in the next life.
The person outside pounded on the door, a harsh banging noise that reminded him of gunshots. He jerked with every knock, as if the bullets had entered his heart. Wearily, he pushed himself up from the couch and trudged to the door. In his heart, a wild hope arose that Sydney would be standing on the other side, with a smile and an explanation for everything that had happened.
He opened the door and squinted out into the bright light of the hallway, when his eyes met those of the figure standing on the other side he stepped back in surprise. This was possibly the last person he had expected to see, aside from Sydney Bristow herself.
Jack Bristow stood quietly on the other side, waiting for Vaughn to speak. He looked almost as bad as Vaughn did; his normally implacable façade had vanished, leaving a tired and beaten down old man in his place. His wore a bland sweatshirt and slacks, wrinkled as if he'd slept in them for days. His eyes were rimmed with red and there was a look of complete and utter anguish that lingered there. He was a man with nothing left in the world; everyone he loved had either betrayed him or died.
"Jack," Vaughn wasn't aware that the greeting had left his lips until he was stepping back into the apartment, switching the light on as he did so. Jack entered wordlessly and Vaughn let the door swing shut behind him.
"How are you doing?" The question was pointless and Vaughn knew it before the words had left his lips. Jack was doing no better than he was, if not worse. He was perhaps the one person in the world who understood what Vaughn was feeling right now.
A harsh laugh escaped Jack's lips as he turned to face Vaughn. "I'm doing no better than you are, Michael." It was as if he had read his mind or perhaps, knew that it was the precise truth, just as Vaughn did.
Vaughn was slightly taken aback by the use of his first name, he hadn't spoken to Jack Bristow since Sydney's funeral and even then neither men had barely said two words to anyone.
"Please, sit down," Vaughn was ever the polite host and as much as he desired solitude right now, there was something comforting about the presence of this man. Jack had often intimidated him but there was nothing menacing about him now. They shared a bond through Sydney now and they both knew it.
"Do you want something to drink?" He asked, already pulling out another bottle from the cabinet. He had three months of empty bottles in the trash and another three months worth full in the cabinet. He could barely remember the last time he had been fully sober and didn't want to remember because it would bring too many other memories rushing back.
"A scotch would be good, or whiskey." Vaughn pulled out bottles of both and set them down on the table before Jack. Carefully, reverently, he slid some of the pictures of Sydney aside to clear space.
Taking the seat next to Jack, he noticed that his eyes were fixed on the photographs on the table. Vaughn groaned inwardly, these photos would be killing Jack as much as they did him but he couldn't bring himself to put them away.
"She was so beautiful, wasn't she?" The emotion in Jack's voice surprised him, though he had expected it coming. He didn't think he had ever heard any emotion in Jack Bristow's voice other than anger.
Vaughn nodded, turning to look at Jack. "She was the most beautiful woman I've ever known."
Jack nodded dully, leaning forward to grip the bottle and take a long swig. "She was always a beautiful child, I was terrified when she hit high school. But she kept the boys away all on her own, her courage and fierce attitude protected her better than I ever could." His face twisted in anguish as he said the last words and Vaughn felt a rush of empathy and surprisingly, of paternal love for this man who had fathered the woman he loved so deeply.
Jack turned his eyes away from the photos on the table with effort, turning to look at Vaughn. "I never thanked you, Michael, for taking care of her as well as you did. She may not have realized it and I certainly didn't realize it until it was too late. I never saw my daughter happier than she was with you. Even with all that was going on in her life, she was happiest with you than ever before. And I got the chance to see that, to be a part of it. You're a good man, you would have made her a wonderful husband."
Vaughn felt the tears burning in his eyes; the lump in his throat was difficult to swallow. His words were raspy with effort when he finally spoke.
"Thank you, Jack. That means more to me than you'll ever know."
Jack nodded and handed the bottle to Vaughn as if in tribute, he lifted the bottle and took a long swig. The liquid burned through him, numbing the agony for a brief moment.
"I was going to ask her to marry me that weekend," Vaughn shook his head and set the bottle down heavily on the table in front of them. "If I had just taken her away with me that night, if I had never taken her home… We would be having a very different conversation right now."
"You can't blame yourself. I should know, I've blamed myself a hundred times. I blamed myself when I thought Laura was dead," Vaughn winced slightly at the mention of Jack's wife. "I blamed myself when Sloane recruited her, I blamed myself when she wouldn't leave the CIA. I blamed myself when I got the phone call. I thought, if only I had done things differently. But you can't live wondering what might have happened. I try to think that everything happens for a reason, but this…" Jack's voice broke on the last words and he took a long draught of the liquor. "There is no reason for my daughter to be dead right now. And what do we have left?" Jack looked at Vaughn and saw a reflection of himself in the young man. Tired, disheveled and haunted by ghosts of the people he loved.
Vaughn shook his head, "I have nothing left. I can't go back to the CIA now that she's gone. I can't imagine ever loving anyone else the way I loved her. Not a day goes by that I don't contemplate ending it all but then I would be a coward. My life is over; I do nothing more than exist at this moment. I exist because I know Sydney would want me to but I can do no more than that."
"Sydney would want you to be happy."
Vaughn looked up at him, haunted eyes drilling into Jack's soul. The tears had begun to spill over but he didn't care. "I don't know how to do be happy without her. I don't know how to live without her."
Jack placed a comforting hand on Vaughn's shoulder and nodded sadly. "Neither do I."
"I wonder sometimes… She was so smart, so strong, I wonder sometimes if she's still alive, if her enemies have her in their hands and that she's trying to get back to us."
Jack turned away as if stung by his words. He stood slowly and picked up the bottle, gripping it tightly before taking a long drink. He studied the photos on the table once more and a smile flitted across his face before dissolving back into grief.
"I wonder too. But then I feel the aching emptiness inside me where her presence always thrived. And I know, my little girl is gone." Jack's last remaining shred of composure broke at this confession and the tears slipped free from his haunted eyes.
Vaughn's already broken heart ached for this man before him, shattered into pieces just as he was. Pieces that had blown away into the sea with the ashes of his daughter's body. Without thinking, he stood and wrapped his arms around Jack Bristow. Jack remained stiff at first, but he softened and hugged Vaughn tightly, both of them with wet faces and broken hearts.
"I loved her so much," Vaughn whispered brokenly.
"I know," Jack said quietly. "I did too."
There were no more words needed between them. No explanations. They had come to an understanding. They were two men who had loved and lost Sydney Bristow and neither of them would ever love anyone else as much as they had loved her.
They were two men who had been filled with such strength but now they realized how much of their strength they had derived from their love of Sydney Bristow. They were now broken men with broken lives and no place left to go.
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