Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine.
* * *
1.
Sydney can't breathe.
The light's fading. She knows she should panic, but the truth is, she's relieved.
(Every night, she acts out the scene. This time, she dies, he lives, all is right with the world. No, don't say that. Don't think it.)
"Sydney," a voice says firmly. "Wake up."
(No, don't. Don't bring me back, or he'll disappear. How irrational. How ridiculous.)
"You must wake up." Gentle, but commanding. Like her mother might have sounded.
"I'm awake," she mumbles.
(You bitch, it's all your fault, now I'm here and he's gone. Again.)
"Are you?" The eyebrow arches. Her eyes are closed, but she can tell.
"I'm awake," she repeats, burrowing deeper into her pillow.
"You're breathing."
"Yes."
"Good." An arm draped across her stomach. She wants to say: leave, you ludicrous intruder. But that would be confusing. She extended the invitation. She always does.
Every night.
Does that mean something?
* * *
In the morning, she runs a brush through her hair without realizing that the hairs entwined within the bristles are blonde, not brown. Hers, not hers. "Sorry," she says sheepishly.
"I'm not worried about your germs," Lauren says. "If I were, I would probably have been more cautious with things more susceptible to infection than my hairbrush."
"True," Sydney allows. "Still. Unsanitary." She wrinkles her nose. She's twelve, the morning after a slumber party. Roll up your sleeping bag, wait for your dad. Or whoever.
Lauren takes her brush back, with an indulgent smile. "I'll be sure and boil it before I use it."
Sydney rolls her eyes.
(A moment. Comfortable. Too comfortable. He's dead, isn't he? Remember.)
"What is it?" Lauren's voice is full of concern. Sydney wants to slap her.
"I just… I had that dream again."
Lauren turns her back, buttons her blouse. "I know."
"It's always the same, but I never learn anything." She shakes her head. "So frustrating."
"What is there to learn?" Lauren asks mildly. "He saved your friend Will, and he and the girl died in the explosion." (If not before. That's the rest of the sentence, Lauren. Finish it.)
"I know," she says. "There's just something off about that explanation, though." She shrugs. "I don't know. I just feel like I could be doing more to figure it out."
Lauren is silent for a long time. (Say something. Say you understand.) Sydney runs her fingers through her hair, to comb out the rest of the tangles. When Lauren does speak, she only says, "It's been almost two years."
"I know."
Lauren faces her, fully dressed now. Her tone changes abruptly when next she speaks.
"That means it's been six months."
Sydney smiles. What else can she do? "Almost."
"Are we going to celebrate?"
"Of course."
"Good." Lauren takes a look at herself in the mirror. "Breakfast?"
* * *
"Weiss," she says, tapping him on the shoulder. "Got a minute?" They barely speak now. What is there to say? She's afraid that if she looks at him too long, she'll start to cry. Maybe that's his reason for staying away, too. He turns around. She stares at his forehead.
"Two years next month," she says.
"Yeah." He sighs. "It's so hard to believe."
"He--he would want us to keep looking, wouldn't he?" She tries not to sound like a six-year-old, but her voice pitches too high toward the end and she almost breaks down, right there. (Stop it.)
Of all the people in the world, she thought she could count on getting the right answer from Weiss. Her father would tell her she should move on; no one knows she has (in theory, at least). Dixon would say the same thing. Marshall would dance around it for a while, staring straight ahead at his monitor before guiltily admitting he thought it was a lost cause. Sorry, Syd.
But Weiss just pulls her into a hug and says, "I think it's time we let him go."
"But--" she sputters, too shocked to pull away.
"Two years, Syd." He draws back, but keeps his hands on her shoulders. "He's not coming back." (It should have been you.)
She walks away without another word.
* * *
"So, I was thinking," Lauren says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "We could go somewhere fancy for dinner, or--maybe not? Maybe keep it low-key? It is only six months, after all."
Sydney picks at her lunch. "Yeah, well, whatever you think is best."
Lauren looks away.
They do not speak again until it is time to get the check.
* * *
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
Lauren stands back, invites her inside.
"I'm just feeling really weird about this anniversary." She pauses. "Not ours. That's not what I mean--"
"I know what you mean, Sydney."
"I keep thinking I see him, or hear him, and those dreams I can't stop having are all I have left--"
(Don't cry. Not here. Wait until you get home.)
She is silent.
"Well?" Sydney prods.
"What do you want me to say?" Lauren shrugs. "I'm not going to downplay your grief. You have a right to feel what you're feeling. But I'm not going to pretend I'm happy with this new obsession, either."
She tries not to explode. "New obsession?"
"For five months, nothing. Then… this."
"Two years is a long time."
Another silence. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"I'm sorry," she tries again. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
Lauren touches her arm. "I got something for you today." She leaves the room.
(He died in your place. This is how you betray him? Shut up, shut up.)
"Here." She extends her hand. Sydney takes the paper bag she's proffered. "I got these for you. From a friend of a friend, but keep that part to yourself."
She looks inside. "What is this?"
"Sleeping pills. Prescription. They'll stop the dreams." She hesitates. "When you're ready."
She shakes her head. "I just told you, I--"
"Not now," Lauren says soothingly. "But one day you'll be ready to let go. When you are, they'll be there to help you along."
Sydney shakes her head. "I have to go, I have a thing. Thank you."
She lets herself out.
* * *
2.
Cole just laughs. She wants to hurt him, quiet him down, but the fact is she can't keep from laughing after a while, either.
"You're lucky I'm a nice guy," he finally says. "If our employer were to find out what you've been doing--"
"Well, she won't." Lauren is inclined to glare but instead she smiles. Honey over vinegar, right?
"Oh, no. She'd probably kill the messenger. No way."
"All right then." She leans back, satisfied.
"However, as for your, ahem, other assignment--I know it's going to be a little less fun, and certainly less fun for me to observe, but--"
She nods sharply. Does he think she's forgotten?
"You're on track?"
"Of course."
"I just thought you might have gotten a little distracted. You know, what with your gi--"
"Don't worry about it. I'm ready. Is that all?"
"Got a train to catch?"
Why not? It doesn't matter. "Six-month anniversary."
"I admire your dedication. Go, go. I'd say tell me all about it, but you won't have to."
She valiantly attempts not to shudder as she walks away.
* * *
3.
"I'm sorry," Lauren says. "I didn't realize--I see now how it sounded."
"No," Sydney assures her. "It's fine. I appreciate the thought." (He's dead, so fuck him. That's the thought, right?)
She looks relieved. "Are we on for dinner?"
Sydney nods. (Clever. How can I say no to you, with my friends and my father and everyone who's not supposed to know just standing around--)
"Good." She smiles like she's won.
(Has she?)
* * *
Three important things happen the night of Lauren and Sydney's six-month anniversary.
Lauren says, "I love you," for the first time, after they make love in Sydney's bed.
Sydney takes her sleeping pills.
Lauren awakens her at 4am. "Phone for you," she says, wide-awake and worried.
(Dad's dead. Mom's back. Will's cover has been blown.) "Hello?"
She hangs up the phone three minutes later without another word.
"Well?" Lauren prompts.
"Vaughn's alive."
* * *
4.
Lauren smiles prettily. "Mr. Vaughn, I've heard so much," she says, extending a hand.
He takes it hesitantly. "You're--"
"Lauren Reed. A friend of Sydney's. We work together."
She shouldn't enjoy watching Sydney squirm: how much is she going to give away?
"Oh," he says, sliding his eyes back to Sydney. She wishes it were a question, and it is, but not the one she wants it to be.
Sydney evades his glance. Lauren hates her. For the first time. Really, really hates her.
"Sydney and I have some catching up to do," he offers diplomatically.
Sure, she does not say. I'll wait outside while you fuck.
"Of course," she says, and excuses herself without a backward glance.
She would cry, if she gave a damn.
* * *
5.
"Syd," Vaughn whispers, holding her face in his hands.
"Vaughn, I--"
"I thought I was never going to see you again."
He kisses her, and she lets him, and for half a second she thinks maybe this won't be so bad after all. Things can be exactly the same as they were before. All she has to do is convince Lauren to keep quiet and stay away.
"I've been seeing someone," she blurts out, when they part.
Shock briefly passes over his expression, but it's quickly replaced by perfunctory concern. He already knows how this will end. "Is it serious?"
She looks away. "I don't know."
"Syd, you have no idea what I've been through."
"No, I know," she says, wrapping her fingers around his.
"The only thing that got me out of there alive was the memory of your face," he says, so low she can barely hear it.
She doesn't know what to say to that.
So she doesn't say anything.
* * *
"Who is he?" Vaughn asks, after a while.
She shrugs.
"Anybody I know?" A smile. "Let me guess. Marshall?"
She laughs, because there's nothing else to do.
He's silent. Then: "Are you actually going to make me guess?"
She stares at her hands, as if she can't believe she's allowed them to betray her savior for so long in this manner.
He sighs. "It's Weiss, right?"
"No. He barely speaks to me."
"Syd--"
"Look, you have to understand, I thought you were dead. We all did. I buried you."
"I know," he says soothingly. "You know what? It doesn't matter. All the matters is whether you want to keep seeing this guy or--or not."
She can't articulate an answer quickly enough to satisfy him.
"Christ, Syd, are you serious?" He pauses, waiting for her to interrupt. "I nearly died for you," he reminds her. "When you told me what Will said on the message--that Francie was Allison--I went in there ahead of you. To protect you. I love you."
I love you.
(Fuck it.)
"I can't," she says. "Not right now. Please."
"All right." He's pissed off. "Fine. Just let me know when, okay?"
All she can do is nod.
This is all her own damn fault.
* * *
6.
"You've got him, right?" he asks, even though he knows she doesn't.
It would be imprudent to let her annoyance show. "Not yet."
"You're not going to let--well, I guess in this case your feelings would only make it easier, huh?"
"You have no idea," she says, and ends the call.
* * *
"What was it, again?" he asks politely. "Lauren, right?"
"Right." She bares her teeth. "And you're Michael."
"Yeah."
"Hey, listen," he says confidentially. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course. I'm an open book."
He guides her into a back hallway, away from prying eyes. "It's about Sydney."
She nods carefully.
"Who's she been seeing?"
Lauren smiles. She tries to appear sympathetic. "She didn't tell you?"
"No, that's the thing. It's driving me crazy. She won't talk about it at all. For two years--two years I was out there, fighting to get back to her, and now this. I'm at a loss."
"Well," she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think I should be the one to tell you. That's something you and she should probably sort out, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess." He meets her eyes. "But you do know, don't you?"
"A lady never tells," she says, and walks away.
And that's when she knows she must either care more than she should or she doesn't care at all, because a couple more slips like that could land poor Sydney in some very hot water.
Oh, well.
It won't matter much longer, anyhow.
* * *
"Michael," she calls out, a few days later. She has to run to catch up with him, darting across the parking garage in her impractical shoes. He is enough of a gentleman to step on the brakes and roll down the window. She leans down, to be certain he can see her face. "I've been thinking about what you asked me the other day."
"You've decided to fill me in?"
"Yeah." She smiles. "It's me."
His expression clouds over. "I don't--I don't understand. What's you?"
"Sydney. It's me. I'm the one." She pauses. "She really did think you were dead, if it's any consolation."
"You didn't?"
"I knew better."
His voice drops. "You're K-Directorate?"
She shakes her head. "Not quite." She gets in the car. "Drive."
She's always been impressed at what a gun to the head can accomplish.
* * *
He's waiting for the opportunity to overpower her.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Vaughn. Would you really try anything before you got all the answers?"
"What is this about?"
"I'm supposed to deliver you."
"Where?"
"That's not going to be any concern of yours," she says indifferently. "But that's not what I meant. I thought you'd like to know about Sydney. You're taking it awfully well."
He glances at her. "That's because I don't believe you. She wouldn't do that to me."
"So it was better when you thought she was screwing Weiss?"
"You heard. Well, at least that would make sense."
She mock-pouts. "Are you saying he's prettier than me?"
They don't speak for another hour.
* * *
"Are you taking me back to K-Directorate?"
"No." She examines the fingernails on her free hand. "My employers are simply curious about some details regarding your stay."
"Your employers being… KGB?" he guesses.
"Not anymore."
"Derevko."
"Does it matter?"
"She know you're fucking her daughter? Now that's a call I'd like to make personally."
"I thought you didn't believe me."
"I don't. It was a joke."
"Not a very funny one."
Silence. She indicates that he should make a left turn. Then another, and another, and another. A perfect circle.
"Stop here," she orders. He kills the engine obediently.
"You know, why don't you just do it?"
"Do what?"
"Shoot me. Right here, right now. Because I'm not going to tell them anything. It would make it easier on all of us, don't you think?"
"Get out of the car, Mr. Vaughn." He sighs, and does. She slides across the front seat and climbs out on the driver's side. Her aim never wavers. Make a run for it, she urges him mentally. Let's get this over with.
But he's too well-behaved for that.
They head into a nondescript two-story house in Echo Park. The street is deserted; Vaughn nearly trips over a Little Tykes tricycle in the front yard. He's down on one knee, swearing like a sailor. "If you love her," he says without turning around, "don't do this."
She hoists him up with her free hand and shoves him toward the front door. "I love her," she says, surprising herself, "and that's why I'm doing this." The door's unlocked. She lowers the gun and shoots him in the thigh. He falls to the floor, bleeding on the cheap gritty carpet. Two men descend the stairs and glance in her direction. She closes the front door behind her. His screams fade into the distance as she gets into her waiting car and drives away.
* * *
"Our employer is impressed," Cole says, lingering on the last word like he can't quite believe it himself. "Are you ready for another assignment?"
"Not yet." She tries to sound nonchalant. "The money's been deposited into the account?"
"But of course. Would I screw you over like that?"
"Is he dead?"
He laughs. "You really want to know?"
She thinks about it. "You're right, I don't. I don't care. In a few days, I'll be out of here anyway." She hesitates. "Just give me that, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll tell her you're taking a breather. Duplicity can be so exhausting, as she's well aware."
She pretends to be amused.
"Be careful," he says by way of goodbye.
* * *
They find Vaughn's car, stripped and repainted, with different plates, in a body shop somewhere in Tarzana, two days later. He's simply disappeared. Last time anyone saw him, he was leaving work, the same afternoon the security cameras went on the fritz.
Lauren refrains from calling Sydney.
"I can't believe I lost him again," she says, arriving suddenly on Lauren's doorstep that night.
Lauren steps back, inviting her in.
"I can't believe I didn't tell him--"
She holds her breath.
"--that I loved him when I had the chance." Sydney's crying now, or trying not to, which seems to achieve about the same effect.
"He knew, I'm sure," she says, drawing Sydney into an awkward hug.
Sydney looks up. "Do you?"
"Do I know you loved him? Yes. Of course."
"No, that's not what I meant."
She smiles. "Oh, that. Yes, I know all about that, too."
"Good," she says.
Lauren should feel guilty, but she doesn't. She can't keep her mind on ethics and morality when Sydney's back in her bed, where she should have stayed, but where she will no longer be come next week, or perhaps the week after that. Lauren can't decide how long she should stay on, or how long she'll be able to stay on before all the wrong suspicions start becoming aroused.
She loves Sydney, but not enough to die for her. Not like him.
Still, Sydney's beside her, and that's enough for now.
* * *
7.
Sydney can't breathe.
She's awakened to find Lauren gone.
No note. Nothing. Three weeks since Vaughn's disappearance; now another lover vanished into thin air.
The light's fading. This time, she panics, fights to stay alive. She wants to find out what's happened. She wants to find her.
"Wake up," Lauren says.
She breathes in. "I'm awake."
She drapes her arm across Lauren's stomach. "Glad you're still here," she mutters.
"Where would I have gone?" she asks lazily, winding a strand of Sydney's hair around her finger, around and around.
"Nowhere," Sydney agrees, kissing her lightly.
"Good night."
"Good night," she repeats, secure in the knowledge that Lauren will never leave her.
But she wakes up alone.
* * *
1.
Sydney can't breathe.
The light's fading. She knows she should panic, but the truth is, she's relieved.
(Every night, she acts out the scene. This time, she dies, he lives, all is right with the world. No, don't say that. Don't think it.)
"Sydney," a voice says firmly. "Wake up."
(No, don't. Don't bring me back, or he'll disappear. How irrational. How ridiculous.)
"You must wake up." Gentle, but commanding. Like her mother might have sounded.
"I'm awake," she mumbles.
(You bitch, it's all your fault, now I'm here and he's gone. Again.)
"Are you?" The eyebrow arches. Her eyes are closed, but she can tell.
"I'm awake," she repeats, burrowing deeper into her pillow.
"You're breathing."
"Yes."
"Good." An arm draped across her stomach. She wants to say: leave, you ludicrous intruder. But that would be confusing. She extended the invitation. She always does.
Every night.
Does that mean something?
* * *
In the morning, she runs a brush through her hair without realizing that the hairs entwined within the bristles are blonde, not brown. Hers, not hers. "Sorry," she says sheepishly.
"I'm not worried about your germs," Lauren says. "If I were, I would probably have been more cautious with things more susceptible to infection than my hairbrush."
"True," Sydney allows. "Still. Unsanitary." She wrinkles her nose. She's twelve, the morning after a slumber party. Roll up your sleeping bag, wait for your dad. Or whoever.
Lauren takes her brush back, with an indulgent smile. "I'll be sure and boil it before I use it."
Sydney rolls her eyes.
(A moment. Comfortable. Too comfortable. He's dead, isn't he? Remember.)
"What is it?" Lauren's voice is full of concern. Sydney wants to slap her.
"I just… I had that dream again."
Lauren turns her back, buttons her blouse. "I know."
"It's always the same, but I never learn anything." She shakes her head. "So frustrating."
"What is there to learn?" Lauren asks mildly. "He saved your friend Will, and he and the girl died in the explosion." (If not before. That's the rest of the sentence, Lauren. Finish it.)
"I know," she says. "There's just something off about that explanation, though." She shrugs. "I don't know. I just feel like I could be doing more to figure it out."
Lauren is silent for a long time. (Say something. Say you understand.) Sydney runs her fingers through her hair, to comb out the rest of the tangles. When Lauren does speak, she only says, "It's been almost two years."
"I know."
Lauren faces her, fully dressed now. Her tone changes abruptly when next she speaks.
"That means it's been six months."
Sydney smiles. What else can she do? "Almost."
"Are we going to celebrate?"
"Of course."
"Good." Lauren takes a look at herself in the mirror. "Breakfast?"
* * *
"Weiss," she says, tapping him on the shoulder. "Got a minute?" They barely speak now. What is there to say? She's afraid that if she looks at him too long, she'll start to cry. Maybe that's his reason for staying away, too. He turns around. She stares at his forehead.
"Two years next month," she says.
"Yeah." He sighs. "It's so hard to believe."
"He--he would want us to keep looking, wouldn't he?" She tries not to sound like a six-year-old, but her voice pitches too high toward the end and she almost breaks down, right there. (Stop it.)
Of all the people in the world, she thought she could count on getting the right answer from Weiss. Her father would tell her she should move on; no one knows she has (in theory, at least). Dixon would say the same thing. Marshall would dance around it for a while, staring straight ahead at his monitor before guiltily admitting he thought it was a lost cause. Sorry, Syd.
But Weiss just pulls her into a hug and says, "I think it's time we let him go."
"But--" she sputters, too shocked to pull away.
"Two years, Syd." He draws back, but keeps his hands on her shoulders. "He's not coming back." (It should have been you.)
She walks away without another word.
* * *
"So, I was thinking," Lauren says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "We could go somewhere fancy for dinner, or--maybe not? Maybe keep it low-key? It is only six months, after all."
Sydney picks at her lunch. "Yeah, well, whatever you think is best."
Lauren looks away.
They do not speak again until it is time to get the check.
* * *
"I'm sorry," she whispers.
Lauren stands back, invites her inside.
"I'm just feeling really weird about this anniversary." She pauses. "Not ours. That's not what I mean--"
"I know what you mean, Sydney."
"I keep thinking I see him, or hear him, and those dreams I can't stop having are all I have left--"
(Don't cry. Not here. Wait until you get home.)
She is silent.
"Well?" Sydney prods.
"What do you want me to say?" Lauren shrugs. "I'm not going to downplay your grief. You have a right to feel what you're feeling. But I'm not going to pretend I'm happy with this new obsession, either."
She tries not to explode. "New obsession?"
"For five months, nothing. Then… this."
"Two years is a long time."
Another silence. "Yeah, I guess it is."
"I'm sorry," she tries again. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
Lauren touches her arm. "I got something for you today." She leaves the room.
(He died in your place. This is how you betray him? Shut up, shut up.)
"Here." She extends her hand. Sydney takes the paper bag she's proffered. "I got these for you. From a friend of a friend, but keep that part to yourself."
She looks inside. "What is this?"
"Sleeping pills. Prescription. They'll stop the dreams." She hesitates. "When you're ready."
She shakes her head. "I just told you, I--"
"Not now," Lauren says soothingly. "But one day you'll be ready to let go. When you are, they'll be there to help you along."
Sydney shakes her head. "I have to go, I have a thing. Thank you."
She lets herself out.
* * *
2.
Cole just laughs. She wants to hurt him, quiet him down, but the fact is she can't keep from laughing after a while, either.
"You're lucky I'm a nice guy," he finally says. "If our employer were to find out what you've been doing--"
"Well, she won't." Lauren is inclined to glare but instead she smiles. Honey over vinegar, right?
"Oh, no. She'd probably kill the messenger. No way."
"All right then." She leans back, satisfied.
"However, as for your, ahem, other assignment--I know it's going to be a little less fun, and certainly less fun for me to observe, but--"
She nods sharply. Does he think she's forgotten?
"You're on track?"
"Of course."
"I just thought you might have gotten a little distracted. You know, what with your gi--"
"Don't worry about it. I'm ready. Is that all?"
"Got a train to catch?"
Why not? It doesn't matter. "Six-month anniversary."
"I admire your dedication. Go, go. I'd say tell me all about it, but you won't have to."
She valiantly attempts not to shudder as she walks away.
* * *
3.
"I'm sorry," Lauren says. "I didn't realize--I see now how it sounded."
"No," Sydney assures her. "It's fine. I appreciate the thought." (He's dead, so fuck him. That's the thought, right?)
She looks relieved. "Are we on for dinner?"
Sydney nods. (Clever. How can I say no to you, with my friends and my father and everyone who's not supposed to know just standing around--)
"Good." She smiles like she's won.
(Has she?)
* * *
Three important things happen the night of Lauren and Sydney's six-month anniversary.
Lauren says, "I love you," for the first time, after they make love in Sydney's bed.
Sydney takes her sleeping pills.
Lauren awakens her at 4am. "Phone for you," she says, wide-awake and worried.
(Dad's dead. Mom's back. Will's cover has been blown.) "Hello?"
She hangs up the phone three minutes later without another word.
"Well?" Lauren prompts.
"Vaughn's alive."
* * *
4.
Lauren smiles prettily. "Mr. Vaughn, I've heard so much," she says, extending a hand.
He takes it hesitantly. "You're--"
"Lauren Reed. A friend of Sydney's. We work together."
She shouldn't enjoy watching Sydney squirm: how much is she going to give away?
"Oh," he says, sliding his eyes back to Sydney. She wishes it were a question, and it is, but not the one she wants it to be.
Sydney evades his glance. Lauren hates her. For the first time. Really, really hates her.
"Sydney and I have some catching up to do," he offers diplomatically.
Sure, she does not say. I'll wait outside while you fuck.
"Of course," she says, and excuses herself without a backward glance.
She would cry, if she gave a damn.
* * *
5.
"Syd," Vaughn whispers, holding her face in his hands.
"Vaughn, I--"
"I thought I was never going to see you again."
He kisses her, and she lets him, and for half a second she thinks maybe this won't be so bad after all. Things can be exactly the same as they were before. All she has to do is convince Lauren to keep quiet and stay away.
"I've been seeing someone," she blurts out, when they part.
Shock briefly passes over his expression, but it's quickly replaced by perfunctory concern. He already knows how this will end. "Is it serious?"
She looks away. "I don't know."
"Syd, you have no idea what I've been through."
"No, I know," she says, wrapping her fingers around his.
"The only thing that got me out of there alive was the memory of your face," he says, so low she can barely hear it.
She doesn't know what to say to that.
So she doesn't say anything.
* * *
"Who is he?" Vaughn asks, after a while.
She shrugs.
"Anybody I know?" A smile. "Let me guess. Marshall?"
She laughs, because there's nothing else to do.
He's silent. Then: "Are you actually going to make me guess?"
She stares at her hands, as if she can't believe she's allowed them to betray her savior for so long in this manner.
He sighs. "It's Weiss, right?"
"No. He barely speaks to me."
"Syd--"
"Look, you have to understand, I thought you were dead. We all did. I buried you."
"I know," he says soothingly. "You know what? It doesn't matter. All the matters is whether you want to keep seeing this guy or--or not."
She can't articulate an answer quickly enough to satisfy him.
"Christ, Syd, are you serious?" He pauses, waiting for her to interrupt. "I nearly died for you," he reminds her. "When you told me what Will said on the message--that Francie was Allison--I went in there ahead of you. To protect you. I love you."
I love you.
(Fuck it.)
"I can't," she says. "Not right now. Please."
"All right." He's pissed off. "Fine. Just let me know when, okay?"
All she can do is nod.
This is all her own damn fault.
* * *
6.
"You've got him, right?" he asks, even though he knows she doesn't.
It would be imprudent to let her annoyance show. "Not yet."
"You're not going to let--well, I guess in this case your feelings would only make it easier, huh?"
"You have no idea," she says, and ends the call.
* * *
"What was it, again?" he asks politely. "Lauren, right?"
"Right." She bares her teeth. "And you're Michael."
"Yeah."
"Hey, listen," he says confidentially. "Can I ask you a question?"
"Of course. I'm an open book."
He guides her into a back hallway, away from prying eyes. "It's about Sydney."
She nods carefully.
"Who's she been seeing?"
Lauren smiles. She tries to appear sympathetic. "She didn't tell you?"
"No, that's the thing. It's driving me crazy. She won't talk about it at all. For two years--two years I was out there, fighting to get back to her, and now this. I'm at a loss."
"Well," she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I don't think I should be the one to tell you. That's something you and she should probably sort out, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess." He meets her eyes. "But you do know, don't you?"
"A lady never tells," she says, and walks away.
And that's when she knows she must either care more than she should or she doesn't care at all, because a couple more slips like that could land poor Sydney in some very hot water.
Oh, well.
It won't matter much longer, anyhow.
* * *
"Michael," she calls out, a few days later. She has to run to catch up with him, darting across the parking garage in her impractical shoes. He is enough of a gentleman to step on the brakes and roll down the window. She leans down, to be certain he can see her face. "I've been thinking about what you asked me the other day."
"You've decided to fill me in?"
"Yeah." She smiles. "It's me."
His expression clouds over. "I don't--I don't understand. What's you?"
"Sydney. It's me. I'm the one." She pauses. "She really did think you were dead, if it's any consolation."
"You didn't?"
"I knew better."
His voice drops. "You're K-Directorate?"
She shakes her head. "Not quite." She gets in the car. "Drive."
She's always been impressed at what a gun to the head can accomplish.
* * *
He's waiting for the opportunity to overpower her.
"Oh, come now, Mr. Vaughn. Would you really try anything before you got all the answers?"
"What is this about?"
"I'm supposed to deliver you."
"Where?"
"That's not going to be any concern of yours," she says indifferently. "But that's not what I meant. I thought you'd like to know about Sydney. You're taking it awfully well."
He glances at her. "That's because I don't believe you. She wouldn't do that to me."
"So it was better when you thought she was screwing Weiss?"
"You heard. Well, at least that would make sense."
She mock-pouts. "Are you saying he's prettier than me?"
They don't speak for another hour.
* * *
"Are you taking me back to K-Directorate?"
"No." She examines the fingernails on her free hand. "My employers are simply curious about some details regarding your stay."
"Your employers being… KGB?" he guesses.
"Not anymore."
"Derevko."
"Does it matter?"
"She know you're fucking her daughter? Now that's a call I'd like to make personally."
"I thought you didn't believe me."
"I don't. It was a joke."
"Not a very funny one."
Silence. She indicates that he should make a left turn. Then another, and another, and another. A perfect circle.
"Stop here," she orders. He kills the engine obediently.
"You know, why don't you just do it?"
"Do what?"
"Shoot me. Right here, right now. Because I'm not going to tell them anything. It would make it easier on all of us, don't you think?"
"Get out of the car, Mr. Vaughn." He sighs, and does. She slides across the front seat and climbs out on the driver's side. Her aim never wavers. Make a run for it, she urges him mentally. Let's get this over with.
But he's too well-behaved for that.
They head into a nondescript two-story house in Echo Park. The street is deserted; Vaughn nearly trips over a Little Tykes tricycle in the front yard. He's down on one knee, swearing like a sailor. "If you love her," he says without turning around, "don't do this."
She hoists him up with her free hand and shoves him toward the front door. "I love her," she says, surprising herself, "and that's why I'm doing this." The door's unlocked. She lowers the gun and shoots him in the thigh. He falls to the floor, bleeding on the cheap gritty carpet. Two men descend the stairs and glance in her direction. She closes the front door behind her. His screams fade into the distance as she gets into her waiting car and drives away.
* * *
"Our employer is impressed," Cole says, lingering on the last word like he can't quite believe it himself. "Are you ready for another assignment?"
"Not yet." She tries to sound nonchalant. "The money's been deposited into the account?"
"But of course. Would I screw you over like that?"
"Is he dead?"
He laughs. "You really want to know?"
She thinks about it. "You're right, I don't. I don't care. In a few days, I'll be out of here anyway." She hesitates. "Just give me that, okay?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll tell her you're taking a breather. Duplicity can be so exhausting, as she's well aware."
She pretends to be amused.
"Be careful," he says by way of goodbye.
* * *
They find Vaughn's car, stripped and repainted, with different plates, in a body shop somewhere in Tarzana, two days later. He's simply disappeared. Last time anyone saw him, he was leaving work, the same afternoon the security cameras went on the fritz.
Lauren refrains from calling Sydney.
"I can't believe I lost him again," she says, arriving suddenly on Lauren's doorstep that night.
Lauren steps back, inviting her in.
"I can't believe I didn't tell him--"
She holds her breath.
"--that I loved him when I had the chance." Sydney's crying now, or trying not to, which seems to achieve about the same effect.
"He knew, I'm sure," she says, drawing Sydney into an awkward hug.
Sydney looks up. "Do you?"
"Do I know you loved him? Yes. Of course."
"No, that's not what I meant."
She smiles. "Oh, that. Yes, I know all about that, too."
"Good," she says.
Lauren should feel guilty, but she doesn't. She can't keep her mind on ethics and morality when Sydney's back in her bed, where she should have stayed, but where she will no longer be come next week, or perhaps the week after that. Lauren can't decide how long she should stay on, or how long she'll be able to stay on before all the wrong suspicions start becoming aroused.
She loves Sydney, but not enough to die for her. Not like him.
Still, Sydney's beside her, and that's enough for now.
* * *
7.
Sydney can't breathe.
She's awakened to find Lauren gone.
No note. Nothing. Three weeks since Vaughn's disappearance; now another lover vanished into thin air.
The light's fading. This time, she panics, fights to stay alive. She wants to find out what's happened. She wants to find her.
"Wake up," Lauren says.
She breathes in. "I'm awake."
She drapes her arm across Lauren's stomach. "Glad you're still here," she mutters.
"Where would I have gone?" she asks lazily, winding a strand of Sydney's hair around her finger, around and around.
"Nowhere," Sydney agrees, kissing her lightly.
"Good night."
"Good night," she repeats, secure in the knowledge that Lauren will never leave her.
But she wakes up alone.