A/N: Et voila! New chapter! Thanks for the reviews. This is Syd's POV.
Don't Go
It has been a week since that night, since I have known what I must do. It has been a week full of awkwardness and stolen glances that break my heart anew when we turn away. A week full of planning and phone calls and reassignments. A week full of packing and cardboard boxes, though not the endless supply like when I moved...what is it now...four years ago, nearing five? The things that have surrounded me for several months still do not seem as if they are really mine, and I doubt that they ever will. How *was* I supposed to resurface from a two-year disapperance, only find everything that I ever owned, everything worth the world to me in sentimental value destroyed, charred black, dumped and rotting in some landfill because there was nothing worth salvaging? How could I come back and expect a new building filled worthless items purchased only to hide the unextinguishable drabness to be a home? If home is where the heart is, then I will be a nomad, forced to wander aimlessly while ignoring the beating in my chest, the pumping of blood through my system, every pulse resonating *Vaughn...Vaughn...Vaughn...* I *will not* be one to taint the sanctity of marriage, so if I cannot trust myself to stay emotionally separate from him, then I will have to rely on physical distance. True, it won't matter how many miles I put between us, the feelings will follow me to the ends of the earth, but that is precisely why I must leave. The distance will prevent me from acting on those feelings.
I check the closet to make sure that I did not leave anything, and that is when I spot it. *'It can't be. It's impossible, it was lost in the fire,'* I think as I take the object in my hands. But sure enough, the antique silver frame is here; it does not fade away under my touch like the things of my dreams always do. After a few minutes of studying it carefully, running my hands along the crafted, uneven surface, I remember that I bought it a few days after moving in to my new house. The minute I saw it through the shop's window, I knew I had to have it. It looked exactly like the one that Vaughn had given to me. When I laid my hands on it, I could actually *feel* him; it brought every thought of that cold Saturday back to me...
* * * *
It was a grey morning in December. People were bustling about along the street oblivious to the conversation taking place between Vaughn and I. I was standing outside a small shop, poking around the flowers, basking in the relief and beauty they provided after a long night of fear and near torture. He was sitting at a table next to me, pretending to be interested in his newspaper as we discussed the events of the previous night.
"Sorry that I called you on a weekend. It's just that I needed to talk to you," I said as we finished our business.
"You don't ever have to apologize for calling me," he responded sincerely. Either he was really dedicated to his job, or he was feeling something more than he was telling me. I had only known him for a few months, but the tone of his voice made me believe the latter evaluation of his response.
"Speaking of which," he continued, "I got you something." He spoke so casually, you would have thought that it was an everyday occurrance - a CIA handler giving a present to his asset in public.
I had to fight to keep my voice down. "What?" I exclaimed, unable to stop myself from looking at him. I didn't know whether to question his sanity or to ask him about the feelings he couldn't say he had for me, so I opted for denial. "No, you didn't."
He was flustered then. "I dunno, I was in this store, you know, this little antique place--" Right. That makes sense. What male CIA employee wouldn't stop by an antique shop out of the blue?
'I have him cornered now,' I thought. "What were you doing in an antique store?" I interrupted him, trying to hold in a laugh.
He chuckled, knowing he had lost the battle - he wasn't getting anything past me. "I don't know. Whatever. Look, if you don't like it, just, don't tell me." He was down and out, but I wasn't going to push his face into the mat.
"Ok," I answered, chuckling as well.
"Merry Christmas," he said, turning to leave, no doubt to escape his embarrassment.
"Merry Christmas," I returned, as I leaned down to pick up the bag. The silver frame that I discovered inside it later was beautiful, charming, a perfect reminder of him.
* * * *
My depression and slight state of denial must have driven me to buy it. I didn't even have any pictures to put in the frame; I just needed a memento of our time together. Once I realized that Vaughn really was married and that I would only drive myself insane with this thing that hit so close to home, I stuffed it in the back of my closet hoping to forget what it and its lost mate represented.
*'I have a use for the frame now,'* I think, rumaging through a box on the kitchen table looking for the picture that Vaughn gave me last week. It fits inside the silver boarder perfectly, as if it were meant to be there. The image of our touching foreheads and the bright sky in the background threatens to bring the memories back again. With what I am about to do, though, I cannot bear to look at the picture for much longer, so I place it on the table and turn away. Before any impulse can compel me to throw all of my carefully laid plans out of the window, take the picture in my hands once more, and spend the rest of my life in the lala land of fantasy, the doorbell rings, both thankfully and regretfully keeping me in reality.
*'It's probably Weiss coming by with a few more "I'll miss you's,"'* I think. Telling him about my decision was hard enough, even though he was very understanding. I do not even want to think about how Vaughn will react when I tell him tomorrow morning. "It's open, Eric," I call to the door.
The face that greets me through the open door, however, is not the one I expected, and my heart drops to my stomach in a loud thud.
"Syd, I...What are you doing?!" Vaughn exclaims upon seeing that my once sparsely decorated livingroom is now barren. He rushes in and is immediately by my side in the kitchen.
"Vaughn! You're not supposed to...What are you...I..." I have never been caught *this* off-guard in my entire life. My defenses have not even had the time to rouse themselves from the slumber that I allow them when I am alone - they need some rest, after all - and I know that I cannot lie myself out of this mess. The evidence showing that I am leaving is irrefutable.
"Syd, are you...are you moving?" The hurt is apparent in his voice; just the sound of it sends sharp stabs to my gut.
"Well, I, uh..." The speech that I contrived for this moment apparently grew wings and flew out into the night never to be found again the second that Vaughn opened the door. *'Screw it. I was going to tell him tomorrow, anyway. How are twelve hours going to make a difference?'*
"Yes, I am. I need some time to sort things out." I have a sudden urge to roll my eyes at myself. *'That's good, Syd. Be a little more vague next time.'* He looks about ready to say that whatever I need to sort out can be done here, but I cut him off. "I think we *both* need some time."
His mouth is hanging open as he tries to decide what he wants to say. I can practically see his thoughts rolling in transit from his brain to his tongue, all of them fighting to be spoken first. 'Why are you leaving? What are you afraid of? You just got back, Syd! I just got you back! Don't go...Don't go...Don't go...'
"Don't leave, Syd. There is no need for you to leave." He is the Vaughn from two years ago - calm, collected, armed with reason to placate my fear. He is *so* unlike the Vaughn he was a week ago that I wonder if maybe I should...
"There are plenty of reasons why I need to leave," I interrupt the traitorous thoughts before they build enough power to break my resolve. "I'm sorry, Vaughn, but I can't trust you right now. I can't even trust myself, for that matter, and I *will not* allow myself to take part in destroying a family, but what's to stop you from coming here again like you did last week? And what's to stop me from giving in and letting my emotions for you take control because, God knows, that would be a *lot* easier that *this*!"
He grabs my shoulders suddenly and stops my tirade in its tracks. "Syd! Sydney, listen to me. We're adults, we can work through this rationally. Ok, so I wasn't exactly in control of myself the last time I was here, but I came here tonight to apologize for that and for this miserable week, and do you really think that little of me to not have any sense of morality?! I do know how to play by the rules."
"Do you?" I challenge. "Because I seem to remember you and I breaking a whole lot of them and having very few qualms doing so. And I never meant to imply that you don't have morals, Vaughn, I just meant that neither of us are in our right minds to trust ourselves right now." Before he can respond, I continue, "Besides, we have previously discussed the need for one of us to leave, but we kept finding excuses. We can't keep putting off the issue."
"We can't run away from it, either. Look, Syd, if you don't want to work with me, we can arrange something so that we're not partnered anymore. Just...*don't go*."
"It's not just work, Vaughn. It's everything. It's the fact that everytime I see you, I can't help but torture myself with thoughts of what we had together, that I can feel jealousy rise to the surface whenever I see you with Lauren - and I *know* that jealousy is not a good color on me, - that my dreams of you are so vivid, such great windows to the past, that I wish I could stay in them forever." *'Geeze, did I actually tell him that? It's a good thing I'm getting out of here because I've completely lost it!'* "I can't live in the past anymore, no matter how much I want to," I finish.
He must be running low on ammunition because his next blow is a cheap one. "What about your father? Are you just going to abandon him? Do you know how much he tortured himself while you were gone?"
"Hey! I already talked to him, and he supported me...and I don't need to defend myself to you, anyway! I've made my decision. I'm not invincible, Vaughn. It's too hard to pretend anymore."
"You can't leave me again!--"
"It's just too hard!--" we yell in unison.
We are both breathing heavily, and there is a long pause as we attempt to reload our guns. Try as I might, I find that my stash of ammo is empty. I would settle for rocks and a slingshot at this point, but I am utterly spent. I sense that he is, too.
"Look," he tries softly, appeasingly. "We just need some time to cool off."
"That's exactly my point."
He looks at me carefully and sees that I am not backing down, that I am not going to. "How long?" he asks wearily.
"It's just temporary for now. A few months."
"Where?" he whispers.
"D.C." I answer. "I haven't decided yet whether or not I'll be in the field," I say anticipating his next question.
"When are you..."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! What, were you going to call me from the plane?!"
"Vaughn, please, I don't want to fight anymore. I was going to tell you at work in the morning; my flight isn't until the evening."
"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," he sighs, not having any more energy than I do. "Do you need any help with--"
"No, I'm almost done," I cut him off, trying to get used to the idea that he won't be around anymore.
"Ok, then I should go. I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he says dejectedly, moving slowly towards the door.
"Vaughn..." he turns around quickly, and the look of hope in his eyes that I've changed my mind breaks my heart. "I have to go. I'm sorry."
"I get it, Syd," he sighs. "I know. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, tomorrow," I whisper as the door creaks shut.
A/N: neptunestar, I know that you're worried, but don't be. Syd and Vaughn are in for some rough times, but I promise it will work out in the end. ;)
Don't Go
It has been a week since that night, since I have known what I must do. It has been a week full of awkwardness and stolen glances that break my heart anew when we turn away. A week full of planning and phone calls and reassignments. A week full of packing and cardboard boxes, though not the endless supply like when I moved...what is it now...four years ago, nearing five? The things that have surrounded me for several months still do not seem as if they are really mine, and I doubt that they ever will. How *was* I supposed to resurface from a two-year disapperance, only find everything that I ever owned, everything worth the world to me in sentimental value destroyed, charred black, dumped and rotting in some landfill because there was nothing worth salvaging? How could I come back and expect a new building filled worthless items purchased only to hide the unextinguishable drabness to be a home? If home is where the heart is, then I will be a nomad, forced to wander aimlessly while ignoring the beating in my chest, the pumping of blood through my system, every pulse resonating *Vaughn...Vaughn...Vaughn...* I *will not* be one to taint the sanctity of marriage, so if I cannot trust myself to stay emotionally separate from him, then I will have to rely on physical distance. True, it won't matter how many miles I put between us, the feelings will follow me to the ends of the earth, but that is precisely why I must leave. The distance will prevent me from acting on those feelings.
I check the closet to make sure that I did not leave anything, and that is when I spot it. *'It can't be. It's impossible, it was lost in the fire,'* I think as I take the object in my hands. But sure enough, the antique silver frame is here; it does not fade away under my touch like the things of my dreams always do. After a few minutes of studying it carefully, running my hands along the crafted, uneven surface, I remember that I bought it a few days after moving in to my new house. The minute I saw it through the shop's window, I knew I had to have it. It looked exactly like the one that Vaughn had given to me. When I laid my hands on it, I could actually *feel* him; it brought every thought of that cold Saturday back to me...
* * * *
It was a grey morning in December. People were bustling about along the street oblivious to the conversation taking place between Vaughn and I. I was standing outside a small shop, poking around the flowers, basking in the relief and beauty they provided after a long night of fear and near torture. He was sitting at a table next to me, pretending to be interested in his newspaper as we discussed the events of the previous night.
"Sorry that I called you on a weekend. It's just that I needed to talk to you," I said as we finished our business.
"You don't ever have to apologize for calling me," he responded sincerely. Either he was really dedicated to his job, or he was feeling something more than he was telling me. I had only known him for a few months, but the tone of his voice made me believe the latter evaluation of his response.
"Speaking of which," he continued, "I got you something." He spoke so casually, you would have thought that it was an everyday occurrance - a CIA handler giving a present to his asset in public.
I had to fight to keep my voice down. "What?" I exclaimed, unable to stop myself from looking at him. I didn't know whether to question his sanity or to ask him about the feelings he couldn't say he had for me, so I opted for denial. "No, you didn't."
He was flustered then. "I dunno, I was in this store, you know, this little antique place--" Right. That makes sense. What male CIA employee wouldn't stop by an antique shop out of the blue?
'I have him cornered now,' I thought. "What were you doing in an antique store?" I interrupted him, trying to hold in a laugh.
He chuckled, knowing he had lost the battle - he wasn't getting anything past me. "I don't know. Whatever. Look, if you don't like it, just, don't tell me." He was down and out, but I wasn't going to push his face into the mat.
"Ok," I answered, chuckling as well.
"Merry Christmas," he said, turning to leave, no doubt to escape his embarrassment.
"Merry Christmas," I returned, as I leaned down to pick up the bag. The silver frame that I discovered inside it later was beautiful, charming, a perfect reminder of him.
* * * *
My depression and slight state of denial must have driven me to buy it. I didn't even have any pictures to put in the frame; I just needed a memento of our time together. Once I realized that Vaughn really was married and that I would only drive myself insane with this thing that hit so close to home, I stuffed it in the back of my closet hoping to forget what it and its lost mate represented.
*'I have a use for the frame now,'* I think, rumaging through a box on the kitchen table looking for the picture that Vaughn gave me last week. It fits inside the silver boarder perfectly, as if it were meant to be there. The image of our touching foreheads and the bright sky in the background threatens to bring the memories back again. With what I am about to do, though, I cannot bear to look at the picture for much longer, so I place it on the table and turn away. Before any impulse can compel me to throw all of my carefully laid plans out of the window, take the picture in my hands once more, and spend the rest of my life in the lala land of fantasy, the doorbell rings, both thankfully and regretfully keeping me in reality.
*'It's probably Weiss coming by with a few more "I'll miss you's,"'* I think. Telling him about my decision was hard enough, even though he was very understanding. I do not even want to think about how Vaughn will react when I tell him tomorrow morning. "It's open, Eric," I call to the door.
The face that greets me through the open door, however, is not the one I expected, and my heart drops to my stomach in a loud thud.
"Syd, I...What are you doing?!" Vaughn exclaims upon seeing that my once sparsely decorated livingroom is now barren. He rushes in and is immediately by my side in the kitchen.
"Vaughn! You're not supposed to...What are you...I..." I have never been caught *this* off-guard in my entire life. My defenses have not even had the time to rouse themselves from the slumber that I allow them when I am alone - they need some rest, after all - and I know that I cannot lie myself out of this mess. The evidence showing that I am leaving is irrefutable.
"Syd, are you...are you moving?" The hurt is apparent in his voice; just the sound of it sends sharp stabs to my gut.
"Well, I, uh..." The speech that I contrived for this moment apparently grew wings and flew out into the night never to be found again the second that Vaughn opened the door. *'Screw it. I was going to tell him tomorrow, anyway. How are twelve hours going to make a difference?'*
"Yes, I am. I need some time to sort things out." I have a sudden urge to roll my eyes at myself. *'That's good, Syd. Be a little more vague next time.'* He looks about ready to say that whatever I need to sort out can be done here, but I cut him off. "I think we *both* need some time."
His mouth is hanging open as he tries to decide what he wants to say. I can practically see his thoughts rolling in transit from his brain to his tongue, all of them fighting to be spoken first. 'Why are you leaving? What are you afraid of? You just got back, Syd! I just got you back! Don't go...Don't go...Don't go...'
"Don't leave, Syd. There is no need for you to leave." He is the Vaughn from two years ago - calm, collected, armed with reason to placate my fear. He is *so* unlike the Vaughn he was a week ago that I wonder if maybe I should...
"There are plenty of reasons why I need to leave," I interrupt the traitorous thoughts before they build enough power to break my resolve. "I'm sorry, Vaughn, but I can't trust you right now. I can't even trust myself, for that matter, and I *will not* allow myself to take part in destroying a family, but what's to stop you from coming here again like you did last week? And what's to stop me from giving in and letting my emotions for you take control because, God knows, that would be a *lot* easier that *this*!"
He grabs my shoulders suddenly and stops my tirade in its tracks. "Syd! Sydney, listen to me. We're adults, we can work through this rationally. Ok, so I wasn't exactly in control of myself the last time I was here, but I came here tonight to apologize for that and for this miserable week, and do you really think that little of me to not have any sense of morality?! I do know how to play by the rules."
"Do you?" I challenge. "Because I seem to remember you and I breaking a whole lot of them and having very few qualms doing so. And I never meant to imply that you don't have morals, Vaughn, I just meant that neither of us are in our right minds to trust ourselves right now." Before he can respond, I continue, "Besides, we have previously discussed the need for one of us to leave, but we kept finding excuses. We can't keep putting off the issue."
"We can't run away from it, either. Look, Syd, if you don't want to work with me, we can arrange something so that we're not partnered anymore. Just...*don't go*."
"It's not just work, Vaughn. It's everything. It's the fact that everytime I see you, I can't help but torture myself with thoughts of what we had together, that I can feel jealousy rise to the surface whenever I see you with Lauren - and I *know* that jealousy is not a good color on me, - that my dreams of you are so vivid, such great windows to the past, that I wish I could stay in them forever." *'Geeze, did I actually tell him that? It's a good thing I'm getting out of here because I've completely lost it!'* "I can't live in the past anymore, no matter how much I want to," I finish.
He must be running low on ammunition because his next blow is a cheap one. "What about your father? Are you just going to abandon him? Do you know how much he tortured himself while you were gone?"
"Hey! I already talked to him, and he supported me...and I don't need to defend myself to you, anyway! I've made my decision. I'm not invincible, Vaughn. It's too hard to pretend anymore."
"You can't leave me again!--"
"It's just too hard!--" we yell in unison.
We are both breathing heavily, and there is a long pause as we attempt to reload our guns. Try as I might, I find that my stash of ammo is empty. I would settle for rocks and a slingshot at this point, but I am utterly spent. I sense that he is, too.
"Look," he tries softly, appeasingly. "We just need some time to cool off."
"That's exactly my point."
He looks at me carefully and sees that I am not backing down, that I am not going to. "How long?" he asks wearily.
"It's just temporary for now. A few months."
"Where?" he whispers.
"D.C." I answer. "I haven't decided yet whether or not I'll be in the field," I say anticipating his next question.
"When are you..."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! What, were you going to call me from the plane?!"
"Vaughn, please, I don't want to fight anymore. I was going to tell you at work in the morning; my flight isn't until the evening."
"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," he sighs, not having any more energy than I do. "Do you need any help with--"
"No, I'm almost done," I cut him off, trying to get used to the idea that he won't be around anymore.
"Ok, then I should go. I guess I'll see you tomorrow," he says dejectedly, moving slowly towards the door.
"Vaughn..." he turns around quickly, and the look of hope in his eyes that I've changed my mind breaks my heart. "I have to go. I'm sorry."
"I get it, Syd," he sighs. "I know. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yeah, tomorrow," I whisper as the door creaks shut.
A/N: neptunestar, I know that you're worried, but don't be. Syd and Vaughn are in for some rough times, but I promise it will work out in the end. ;)