Title: It Goes On
Author: UConnFan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.
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Michael Vaughn had never been anything short of a man of his word. Unlike many men she'd encountered, in and out of the world of espionage, what he said meant something to him. Sitting across from him, her head dizzy from the rush of information she'd encountered over the first fifteen minutes she'd been awake, she wondered if it was her own pride or the stubbornness of both of them that kept them apart for far longer than necessary.
Not to say that the absence didn't do her good. Despite the anguish it originally caused, she had built her own life. Admittedly, there'd been road bumps along the way, events and people she wasn't especially proud of, but in the end she'd pulled out the victor. As a result she had a beautiful daughter, playing for a prestigious program at one of the best colleges in the country. A home she loved, well kept and carefully decorated with nearly two thirds of her mortgage paid. One dog who adored her and who she swore had as much intelligence as any human she'd ever encountered, and three ambitious, playful, but truly loyal cats. She'd never be famous or especially well off; Sydney had already accepted that one day she'd probably die a quiet death with her daughter by her side. Her obituary would be just another among the many on the newspaper print, just another plot in some massive California cemetery. Still, she would have had a job she loved, a daughter who she loved and who loved her, and ultimately, no regrets.
Except one.
And now the embodiment of all her regrets, all the things that she had willed herself to forget, was quietly implying that none of it had been necessary. Maybe not for him, but for her, the geographic distance between them had been mandatory. As sweet as the offer was, being his friend had not been a feasible option. That would have meant seeing him with his wife, putting a face, a voice, a personality to the woman she long ago refused to give much thought to. Sydney Bristow was a master at compartmentalizing, but nothing compared to the job her mind had been forced to do when it had encountered the existence of a Mrs. Michael Vaughn.
"Vaughn," she cleared her throat. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she watched the wind blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves in a sign of the storm to come. If she paused long enough she suspected she could even pick up the scent of the storm bouncing off the nearby ocean. "I should have given you an opportunity to explain," Sydney conceded, glancing down at her bare hands. Jewelry was never something she'd invested much into, and her daughter had fallen suit. The only jewelry Claire wore was her class ring, while the only ring that ever graced Sydney's finger was the diamond ring Danny had given her a lifetime ago.
"Thank you for listening to me," he awkwardly cleared his throat.
Nodding, she slowly pulled to her feet, standing only a few inches from where he sat. "I'll go put on the coffee. I'm not much of a cook but I could make some French toast or pancakes if you want."
"Whatever you want is fine," he insisted, slowly standing and following her into the kitchen.
"I just usually have a bagel or toast, unless it's the weekend and Claire's home."
Vaughn shrugged, "Toast is fine."
Sydney nodded and popped the bread in the toaster, glancing out again at the slowly darkening sky. "We could try to eat out on the deck, if you'd like."
"Syd, I'm not sure that's such a good idea." His lips tweaked to an endearing angle. Opening her back door, he looked out through the back screen. "Is that a playground?" he asked, catching a glimpse of a swing set and jungle gym just behind the fence of her property.
"Yeah," she smiled, walking up to his side, careful not to touch him. "Claire used to play there when she was little. There's a baseball field behind it too, you just can't see it," she explained. Vaughn detected her voice growing wistful as she continued. "When she was little, during the spring and summer, you could sit in Claire's room with the window open and actually hear the games. Not everything, of course, but you could hear the umpire and some of the hits, sometimes even the kids and the crowds. All the little league teams would play there. I think that's why Claire still prefers listening to play by play on the radio instead of watching baseball games on television," she concluded, turning around to get the newly made toast.
"Did she play little league?" he inquired.
"Softball," she explained. "For a few years, until it became obvious in high school that she couldn't play softball *and* field hockey. She decided on hockey," Sydney shrugged. "She was an excellent catcher, pretty decent hitter. Last summer she worked at a local camp, umpired some little league games, she still has fun with it. Claire plays basketball too."
"I didn't realize you were such an athlete Syd."
Grinning she shook her head, swallowing her jam-covered toast and corrected him. "I danced. Ballet..." she trailed off, looking away as she softly continued. "My mother started me dancing and playing piano in kindergarten. When she . . . left, my father just kept paying for it. I danced until I was a freshman in high school and my father chose the one boarding school in the area that didn't offer dancing."
"That must have been difficult."
"Now I think it wasn't just a coincidence - he didn't want me doing anything that reminded either of us of my mother..." She cleared her throat. "I hated him for it at the time. I think I understand a bit better now."
"Did Claire ever dance?"
"For about three years, but she didn't really enjoy it. I never wanted to make her do anything she didn't like, so we looked around. She did ballet and piano and karate. Everything and anything I could find," she smiled as she recalled her daughter's stubborn nature. "Finally we found out she loved sports, and her uncle started teaching her how to play the guitar when she was three."
"Her uncle?"
Sydney tilted her head toward her kitchen window. "Richard. Georgia's husband. Claire calls them her Aunt and Uncle. Richard passed away a few years ago. Rick and Georgia had two boys and one girl, all around her age, and they'd play sports together. So when Claire found Rick's guitar one day, she became fascinated, and he started teaching her."
"At three?"
"She was advanced for her age." Sydney blushed and shrugged. "She's pretty good too. Last year, when she was having trouble deciding on a college, she said she was going to move to Los Angeles or New York and busk for a living."
"Busk?"
"Make a living out of playing guitar and singing in the subways," she explained. "Luckily, Stanford recruited her."
"Do you think she would have done it?"
"She would have," Sydney nodded, taking another bite of her breakfast. "I'm not much better. After high school I wanted to move to Paris and study literature or write... Anything to get away from my father," she recalled, shaking her head slightly. "Then I got accepted to the program at UCLA, came to my senses and went. At the time I couldn't even speak French - moving to Paris would have been pretty silly," she laughed as he joined her.
"Claire Bristow, professional busker," he suggested as she rolled her brown eyes.
"Claire is, thankfully, past that phase. She's good, she really is," Sydney seriously added. "I just don't want her making a living playing in some subway for other people's change."
"We can't live their lives for them Syd," Vaughn softly reminded her.
Looking down at her empty plate, she slowly nodded. "I know. I just want the best for her."
"She sounds wonderful."
Sydney beamed with pride and agreed. "She's a great kid."
With another small grin, he nodded and slowly turned serious. "No classes today?"
"None," she shook her head. "I do have some office hours later though," she explained. Dipping her voice Sydney continued, "I don't know what your plans are..."
Vaughn nodded, not entirely sure of his own plans. As tempting as it was, he could not live this seemingly isolated existence with Sydney forever. For one, he wasn't even sure she would have invited him if she could have. Plus he had obligations, a job and a daughter a few hundred miles away. He liked to consider himself a responsible man, who lived up to those expectations in his life. No matter how seductive it appeared to be, he couldn't walk away from his life like that.
"I should probably head back in a few hours," he realized. For a brief moment, meeting her gaze, he thought he'd imagined the slight disappointment that wavered behind the chocolate orbs.
"Have you decided about the director position?"
"I probably should know when I get back," he sighed.
"It's a wonderful opportunity," she reasoned, her tone reminding him of the many professors he'd had in college.
"Syd..." he started, the gentle way he still managed to speak her nickname catching her off guard. "They offered me early retirement last year, did Eric tell you?" he inquired. Sydney shook her head as he continued. "They offered it to him too. Neither one of us took it. We've both done far more than the mandatory twenty years for the retirement fund... I don't know how much longer I'll be with the agency; I'm not sure how much longer I want to be doing this. I also don't know if I want to spend the rest of my time with the agency turning into someone like Devlin... Or Kendall." His nose scrunched in disgust at the possibility.
"Kendall was FBI to start with," Sydney reminded him, once her soft laughter died. Soberly, once he flashed her a smile, she continued. "I don't think you'll ever become them Vaughn, no more than my father ever would have. I can't tell you which decision is the right one for you."
"What would you do?"
"They would never offer it to me," she pointed out with a silly grin. A moment later she added seriously, "If I felt I really wanted it, that I was doing it for the right reasons, I'd do it. You could make really wonderful changes Vaughn, but only if you do it for the right reasons. If not, everyone will be miserable," she reasoned.
"I still don't understand why they offered it to me," Vaughn sighed, accepting the cup of coffee she offered him.
"They respect you. Perhaps the CIA hasn't always liked your tactics, but you're a good agent."
"That's still not an answer," he smirked.
"The only one who knows the answer is you," she calmly pointed out with the wisdom only a woman of her age could acquire. In this life he had invaded, the one she had built for herself, there was a sense of peace that he had never seen her wear before. There was nothing to prove, nothing more pressing than a few papers to correct and a house full of well-behaved and loyal pets to care for. The peace in every way suited her, but he couldn't help but wish he'd been a part of it.
Looking at her, it was plain as day that this was not the woman who had left him behind. This woman had pictures of a daughter on her walls; phone calls from her mother and father on her caller identification box. Now she had coasters in her family room and a clothesline in her backyard. Above all of this, despite all of these changes, Sydney Bristow was still the woman he loved, and that's what struck him most of all.
"It really is beautiful up here," he commented, glancing out her kitchen window.
"It's horrible out there today," she corrected, studying the darkening sky and angry winds attacking her windows.
"Do you have any plans for next weekend?" he asked suddenly.
Sydney hid a grin. "Excuse me?"
"I don't want to assume anything here Syd..."
"What about next weekend?" she pressed, her smile growing.
"I could plan on coming up... If you're not busy with Peter..." he muttered more to himself than her. Sydney smiled softly, wondering if he realized how silly and ultimately pointless his jealousy was. "You could show me around. Will says this place has the best seafood on the west coast."
"We do," she calmly agreed, sipping her coffee. "Peter and I don't have any plans made," she conceded. "I could show you the pier," Sydney casually suggested.
Vaughn grinned. "There's a pier?"
"Not like the one in L.A., but yes," she confirmed. "Right by the Seascape, one of the best seafood restaurants anywhere."
"Better than Trattordi de Nardi?"
"That's Italian." She grinned. "And you can't see seabirds and otters and harbor seals in Rome. Next month they start crab fishing at the pier too."
With a soft smile edged from ear to ear, his voice was as sweet as she ever remembered when he finally opened his mouth. "It sounds wonderful," he agreed. Eventually, his smile disappeared as she looked down at her coffee cup. Sounding far more responsible, more like the handler she had originally known, he asked, "What about Claire?"
"She won't be home for thirteen days."
"You're counting?"
Sydney smiled widely, unashamed of her eagerness for her daughter's return as she shrugged. "It seems like forever. I can't wait. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"
Despite the apparent success of his sudden visit, of the strides they had taken, Vaughn wasn't hopeful enough to mistake this for an invitation. "I usually spend it with Weiss."
"For how long?" she asked softly, unable to look at him as she asked the dreaded question. Thanksgiving should always be about family, and with his mother gone and his daughter and ex-wife in another state, Weiss was all he had.
"A few years," he explained, clearing his throat.
"Vaughn -"
"It's fine. I have a good time," he promised.
Nodding, Sydney accepted this part of his life, fighting the immense sadness it had planted in her. "Megan's a good cook?"
"Not the best, but close," he agreed.
"I'm sorry, it's still hard for me to imagine him married." She grinned as his smile agreed.
"No one was more surprised than he was," he agreed. Seriously he added, "It suits him though. They really love one another. Megan makes him happy, he makes her happy. That's really all it comes down to, isn't it?"
"Yeah..." Her goofy smile turned nostalgic as she nodded. "It is."
"So, next weekend?"
Looking at him, Sydney wondered where along the way they both began taking for granted the ability to plan ahead. It had taken her years before she allowed herself to plan more than twenty-four hours ahead. Only as Claire began school did she really begin to look ahead at her life. There were class plans and schedules made out, lectures planned ahead, but she was aware that anyone with half a brain could do that. Still, the uninvited memory of the last time they made plans knocked on the front door of her mind.
The serious expression on her face caused his heart to drop as her eyes did the same. Studying her for a moment, it wasn't long before Vaughn sensed what had her so upset. Quietly, his voice barely reached her ears when he spoke. "It won't be like Santa Barbara Syd," he promised.
Finally, her eyes met his again as she nodded, freeing the tiniest of smiles. "Okay. If you were comfortable you could stay on the sofa bed again. The hotels around here can be pretty expensive, even during the winter."
"I don't want to intrude -"
"Vaughn," she stopped him, her dimples flashing. "Seriously. Intrude all you want," she teased. Laughing, he nodded and silently agreed to take up her invitation.
"I should get going," he regretfully realized.
"Like that?" she teased, silently referring to his comfortable sleepwear.
"The only person in the car is me and I don't care how I look," he grinned. "I really should go though," Vaughn repeated as the brunette nodded.
Slowly they each stood, taking one another in for a prolonged moment, each unsure of how to say goodbye.
"You don't have to tell me what you decided, but I know whatever you do choose to do with the CIA's offer, you'll make the right one," Sydney confidently assured him. Her form felt heavy as only a few feet separated them, Gehrig watching from his blanket in slight intrigue.
"Syd..." He glanced out her kitchen window, to the driveway she shared with her neighbors, and the kitchen window nearly directly across from her own, before he looked back at her. "Thanks. For letting me stay here, for dinner and breakfast... For listening."
"You listened to me for years," she laughed, her attempt to lighten the somber moment unsuccessful. Matching his tone she continued. "You're my friend Vaughn. If you need something and I can help, I will... Maybe that's just something we both had forgotten."
Vaughn's eyes flashed briefly to the picture of Peter on her refrigerator at her casual reference to him as a friend. After nineteen years, he struggled to remember he was damn lucky to have that. The gift of friendship from Sydney Bristow was not one that was handed out easily, or to many, and was always for life. "Thanks Syd."
Caving to the instinct that cried from every fiber of her being, Sydney stepped briefly into his arms. The hug reminded her of their first embrace in a damp Los Angeles warehouse, along with the awkward repercussions that it had carried. Both in their own way had been necessary, and when she stepped back, Vaughn swore he saw a spark of something in her eyes that he had feared was dead.
"Next weekend?" she asked, pushing hair behind her ear as he nodded. Momentarily he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with his duffel before another silence stretched for a short eternity between them.
"I'll call you this week, maybe, cement plans?" he suggested.
"Sure," she nodded. "Dixon and Marshall have my number. Eric does too," Sydney instructed. Vaughn nodded as she led him towards the back screen door, holding it open for him as his body briefly brushed by hers on it's way out. "Drive safely Vaughn."
"I will," he vowed with a brief tilt of his head. Softly, he took the moment to gaze at her, studying every inch that he had forgotten, and every curve that hadn't appeared until after the birth of her daughter. Sydney Bristow was no longer hard and sharp from hours of combat and self-defense. Certainly she was fit and athletic, but there was a softness to her that only someone who knew her from before, and had known her well, would have recognized. "Bye."
"Bye Vaughn," she called softly, already calculating the days before he would return.
Author: UConnFan (Michele)
E-Mail: LoveUConnBasketball@yahoo.com
Story Summary: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." - Robert Frost Twenty years post "The Telling"; Surviving the worse case scenario.
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Michael Vaughn had never been anything short of a man of his word. Unlike many men she'd encountered, in and out of the world of espionage, what he said meant something to him. Sitting across from him, her head dizzy from the rush of information she'd encountered over the first fifteen minutes she'd been awake, she wondered if it was her own pride or the stubbornness of both of them that kept them apart for far longer than necessary.
Not to say that the absence didn't do her good. Despite the anguish it originally caused, she had built her own life. Admittedly, there'd been road bumps along the way, events and people she wasn't especially proud of, but in the end she'd pulled out the victor. As a result she had a beautiful daughter, playing for a prestigious program at one of the best colleges in the country. A home she loved, well kept and carefully decorated with nearly two thirds of her mortgage paid. One dog who adored her and who she swore had as much intelligence as any human she'd ever encountered, and three ambitious, playful, but truly loyal cats. She'd never be famous or especially well off; Sydney had already accepted that one day she'd probably die a quiet death with her daughter by her side. Her obituary would be just another among the many on the newspaper print, just another plot in some massive California cemetery. Still, she would have had a job she loved, a daughter who she loved and who loved her, and ultimately, no regrets.
Except one.
And now the embodiment of all her regrets, all the things that she had willed herself to forget, was quietly implying that none of it had been necessary. Maybe not for him, but for her, the geographic distance between them had been mandatory. As sweet as the offer was, being his friend had not been a feasible option. That would have meant seeing him with his wife, putting a face, a voice, a personality to the woman she long ago refused to give much thought to. Sydney Bristow was a master at compartmentalizing, but nothing compared to the job her mind had been forced to do when it had encountered the existence of a Mrs. Michael Vaughn.
"Vaughn," she cleared her throat. Tossing a glance over her shoulder, she watched the wind blowing through the trees, rustling the leaves in a sign of the storm to come. If she paused long enough she suspected she could even pick up the scent of the storm bouncing off the nearby ocean. "I should have given you an opportunity to explain," Sydney conceded, glancing down at her bare hands. Jewelry was never something she'd invested much into, and her daughter had fallen suit. The only jewelry Claire wore was her class ring, while the only ring that ever graced Sydney's finger was the diamond ring Danny had given her a lifetime ago.
"Thank you for listening to me," he awkwardly cleared his throat.
Nodding, she slowly pulled to her feet, standing only a few inches from where he sat. "I'll go put on the coffee. I'm not much of a cook but I could make some French toast or pancakes if you want."
"Whatever you want is fine," he insisted, slowly standing and following her into the kitchen.
"I just usually have a bagel or toast, unless it's the weekend and Claire's home."
Vaughn shrugged, "Toast is fine."
Sydney nodded and popped the bread in the toaster, glancing out again at the slowly darkening sky. "We could try to eat out on the deck, if you'd like."
"Syd, I'm not sure that's such a good idea." His lips tweaked to an endearing angle. Opening her back door, he looked out through the back screen. "Is that a playground?" he asked, catching a glimpse of a swing set and jungle gym just behind the fence of her property.
"Yeah," she smiled, walking up to his side, careful not to touch him. "Claire used to play there when she was little. There's a baseball field behind it too, you just can't see it," she explained. Vaughn detected her voice growing wistful as she continued. "When she was little, during the spring and summer, you could sit in Claire's room with the window open and actually hear the games. Not everything, of course, but you could hear the umpire and some of the hits, sometimes even the kids and the crowds. All the little league teams would play there. I think that's why Claire still prefers listening to play by play on the radio instead of watching baseball games on television," she concluded, turning around to get the newly made toast.
"Did she play little league?" he inquired.
"Softball," she explained. "For a few years, until it became obvious in high school that she couldn't play softball *and* field hockey. She decided on hockey," Sydney shrugged. "She was an excellent catcher, pretty decent hitter. Last summer she worked at a local camp, umpired some little league games, she still has fun with it. Claire plays basketball too."
"I didn't realize you were such an athlete Syd."
Grinning she shook her head, swallowing her jam-covered toast and corrected him. "I danced. Ballet..." she trailed off, looking away as she softly continued. "My mother started me dancing and playing piano in kindergarten. When she . . . left, my father just kept paying for it. I danced until I was a freshman in high school and my father chose the one boarding school in the area that didn't offer dancing."
"That must have been difficult."
"Now I think it wasn't just a coincidence - he didn't want me doing anything that reminded either of us of my mother..." She cleared her throat. "I hated him for it at the time. I think I understand a bit better now."
"Did Claire ever dance?"
"For about three years, but she didn't really enjoy it. I never wanted to make her do anything she didn't like, so we looked around. She did ballet and piano and karate. Everything and anything I could find," she smiled as she recalled her daughter's stubborn nature. "Finally we found out she loved sports, and her uncle started teaching her how to play the guitar when she was three."
"Her uncle?"
Sydney tilted her head toward her kitchen window. "Richard. Georgia's husband. Claire calls them her Aunt and Uncle. Richard passed away a few years ago. Rick and Georgia had two boys and one girl, all around her age, and they'd play sports together. So when Claire found Rick's guitar one day, she became fascinated, and he started teaching her."
"At three?"
"She was advanced for her age." Sydney blushed and shrugged. "She's pretty good too. Last year, when she was having trouble deciding on a college, she said she was going to move to Los Angeles or New York and busk for a living."
"Busk?"
"Make a living out of playing guitar and singing in the subways," she explained. "Luckily, Stanford recruited her."
"Do you think she would have done it?"
"She would have," Sydney nodded, taking another bite of her breakfast. "I'm not much better. After high school I wanted to move to Paris and study literature or write... Anything to get away from my father," she recalled, shaking her head slightly. "Then I got accepted to the program at UCLA, came to my senses and went. At the time I couldn't even speak French - moving to Paris would have been pretty silly," she laughed as he joined her.
"Claire Bristow, professional busker," he suggested as she rolled her brown eyes.
"Claire is, thankfully, past that phase. She's good, she really is," Sydney seriously added. "I just don't want her making a living playing in some subway for other people's change."
"We can't live their lives for them Syd," Vaughn softly reminded her.
Looking down at her empty plate, she slowly nodded. "I know. I just want the best for her."
"She sounds wonderful."
Sydney beamed with pride and agreed. "She's a great kid."
With another small grin, he nodded and slowly turned serious. "No classes today?"
"None," she shook her head. "I do have some office hours later though," she explained. Dipping her voice Sydney continued, "I don't know what your plans are..."
Vaughn nodded, not entirely sure of his own plans. As tempting as it was, he could not live this seemingly isolated existence with Sydney forever. For one, he wasn't even sure she would have invited him if she could have. Plus he had obligations, a job and a daughter a few hundred miles away. He liked to consider himself a responsible man, who lived up to those expectations in his life. No matter how seductive it appeared to be, he couldn't walk away from his life like that.
"I should probably head back in a few hours," he realized. For a brief moment, meeting her gaze, he thought he'd imagined the slight disappointment that wavered behind the chocolate orbs.
"Have you decided about the director position?"
"I probably should know when I get back," he sighed.
"It's a wonderful opportunity," she reasoned, her tone reminding him of the many professors he'd had in college.
"Syd..." he started, the gentle way he still managed to speak her nickname catching her off guard. "They offered me early retirement last year, did Eric tell you?" he inquired. Sydney shook her head as he continued. "They offered it to him too. Neither one of us took it. We've both done far more than the mandatory twenty years for the retirement fund... I don't know how much longer I'll be with the agency; I'm not sure how much longer I want to be doing this. I also don't know if I want to spend the rest of my time with the agency turning into someone like Devlin... Or Kendall." His nose scrunched in disgust at the possibility.
"Kendall was FBI to start with," Sydney reminded him, once her soft laughter died. Soberly, once he flashed her a smile, she continued. "I don't think you'll ever become them Vaughn, no more than my father ever would have. I can't tell you which decision is the right one for you."
"What would you do?"
"They would never offer it to me," she pointed out with a silly grin. A moment later she added seriously, "If I felt I really wanted it, that I was doing it for the right reasons, I'd do it. You could make really wonderful changes Vaughn, but only if you do it for the right reasons. If not, everyone will be miserable," she reasoned.
"I still don't understand why they offered it to me," Vaughn sighed, accepting the cup of coffee she offered him.
"They respect you. Perhaps the CIA hasn't always liked your tactics, but you're a good agent."
"That's still not an answer," he smirked.
"The only one who knows the answer is you," she calmly pointed out with the wisdom only a woman of her age could acquire. In this life he had invaded, the one she had built for herself, there was a sense of peace that he had never seen her wear before. There was nothing to prove, nothing more pressing than a few papers to correct and a house full of well-behaved and loyal pets to care for. The peace in every way suited her, but he couldn't help but wish he'd been a part of it.
Looking at her, it was plain as day that this was not the woman who had left him behind. This woman had pictures of a daughter on her walls; phone calls from her mother and father on her caller identification box. Now she had coasters in her family room and a clothesline in her backyard. Above all of this, despite all of these changes, Sydney Bristow was still the woman he loved, and that's what struck him most of all.
"It really is beautiful up here," he commented, glancing out her kitchen window.
"It's horrible out there today," she corrected, studying the darkening sky and angry winds attacking her windows.
"Do you have any plans for next weekend?" he asked suddenly.
Sydney hid a grin. "Excuse me?"
"I don't want to assume anything here Syd..."
"What about next weekend?" she pressed, her smile growing.
"I could plan on coming up... If you're not busy with Peter..." he muttered more to himself than her. Sydney smiled softly, wondering if he realized how silly and ultimately pointless his jealousy was. "You could show me around. Will says this place has the best seafood on the west coast."
"We do," she calmly agreed, sipping her coffee. "Peter and I don't have any plans made," she conceded. "I could show you the pier," Sydney casually suggested.
Vaughn grinned. "There's a pier?"
"Not like the one in L.A., but yes," she confirmed. "Right by the Seascape, one of the best seafood restaurants anywhere."
"Better than Trattordi de Nardi?"
"That's Italian." She grinned. "And you can't see seabirds and otters and harbor seals in Rome. Next month they start crab fishing at the pier too."
With a soft smile edged from ear to ear, his voice was as sweet as she ever remembered when he finally opened his mouth. "It sounds wonderful," he agreed. Eventually, his smile disappeared as she looked down at her coffee cup. Sounding far more responsible, more like the handler she had originally known, he asked, "What about Claire?"
"She won't be home for thirteen days."
"You're counting?"
Sydney smiled widely, unashamed of her eagerness for her daughter's return as she shrugged. "It seems like forever. I can't wait. What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"
Despite the apparent success of his sudden visit, of the strides they had taken, Vaughn wasn't hopeful enough to mistake this for an invitation. "I usually spend it with Weiss."
"For how long?" she asked softly, unable to look at him as she asked the dreaded question. Thanksgiving should always be about family, and with his mother gone and his daughter and ex-wife in another state, Weiss was all he had.
"A few years," he explained, clearing his throat.
"Vaughn -"
"It's fine. I have a good time," he promised.
Nodding, Sydney accepted this part of his life, fighting the immense sadness it had planted in her. "Megan's a good cook?"
"Not the best, but close," he agreed.
"I'm sorry, it's still hard for me to imagine him married." She grinned as his smile agreed.
"No one was more surprised than he was," he agreed. Seriously he added, "It suits him though. They really love one another. Megan makes him happy, he makes her happy. That's really all it comes down to, isn't it?"
"Yeah..." Her goofy smile turned nostalgic as she nodded. "It is."
"So, next weekend?"
Looking at him, Sydney wondered where along the way they both began taking for granted the ability to plan ahead. It had taken her years before she allowed herself to plan more than twenty-four hours ahead. Only as Claire began school did she really begin to look ahead at her life. There were class plans and schedules made out, lectures planned ahead, but she was aware that anyone with half a brain could do that. Still, the uninvited memory of the last time they made plans knocked on the front door of her mind.
The serious expression on her face caused his heart to drop as her eyes did the same. Studying her for a moment, it wasn't long before Vaughn sensed what had her so upset. Quietly, his voice barely reached her ears when he spoke. "It won't be like Santa Barbara Syd," he promised.
Finally, her eyes met his again as she nodded, freeing the tiniest of smiles. "Okay. If you were comfortable you could stay on the sofa bed again. The hotels around here can be pretty expensive, even during the winter."
"I don't want to intrude -"
"Vaughn," she stopped him, her dimples flashing. "Seriously. Intrude all you want," she teased. Laughing, he nodded and silently agreed to take up her invitation.
"I should get going," he regretfully realized.
"Like that?" she teased, silently referring to his comfortable sleepwear.
"The only person in the car is me and I don't care how I look," he grinned. "I really should go though," Vaughn repeated as the brunette nodded.
Slowly they each stood, taking one another in for a prolonged moment, each unsure of how to say goodbye.
"You don't have to tell me what you decided, but I know whatever you do choose to do with the CIA's offer, you'll make the right one," Sydney confidently assured him. Her form felt heavy as only a few feet separated them, Gehrig watching from his blanket in slight intrigue.
"Syd..." He glanced out her kitchen window, to the driveway she shared with her neighbors, and the kitchen window nearly directly across from her own, before he looked back at her. "Thanks. For letting me stay here, for dinner and breakfast... For listening."
"You listened to me for years," she laughed, her attempt to lighten the somber moment unsuccessful. Matching his tone she continued. "You're my friend Vaughn. If you need something and I can help, I will... Maybe that's just something we both had forgotten."
Vaughn's eyes flashed briefly to the picture of Peter on her refrigerator at her casual reference to him as a friend. After nineteen years, he struggled to remember he was damn lucky to have that. The gift of friendship from Sydney Bristow was not one that was handed out easily, or to many, and was always for life. "Thanks Syd."
Caving to the instinct that cried from every fiber of her being, Sydney stepped briefly into his arms. The hug reminded her of their first embrace in a damp Los Angeles warehouse, along with the awkward repercussions that it had carried. Both in their own way had been necessary, and when she stepped back, Vaughn swore he saw a spark of something in her eyes that he had feared was dead.
"Next weekend?" she asked, pushing hair behind her ear as he nodded. Momentarily he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with his duffel before another silence stretched for a short eternity between them.
"I'll call you this week, maybe, cement plans?" he suggested.
"Sure," she nodded. "Dixon and Marshall have my number. Eric does too," Sydney instructed. Vaughn nodded as she led him towards the back screen door, holding it open for him as his body briefly brushed by hers on it's way out. "Drive safely Vaughn."
"I will," he vowed with a brief tilt of his head. Softly, he took the moment to gaze at her, studying every inch that he had forgotten, and every curve that hadn't appeared until after the birth of her daughter. Sydney Bristow was no longer hard and sharp from hours of combat and self-defense. Certainly she was fit and athletic, but there was a softness to her that only someone who knew her from before, and had known her well, would have recognized. "Bye."
"Bye Vaughn," she called softly, already calculating the days before he would return.