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.
Authors Note: Recommended listening for this (not so much THIS as really every post-The Telling fic, IMHO) is "Here Without You" by 3 Doors Down. I know I'm showing my age again, but give it a try and tell me if it doesn't make YOU think of Vaughn & Sydney.
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"I'm here without you baby but your still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time
I'm here without you baby but your still with me in my dreams
But tonight girl it's only you and me . . " - "Here Without You", 3 Doors Down.
Traveling at Christmas time was always a delicate art. Sydney's semester grades had been input into the school computer system mere hours before their flight. The flight left the airport in Eureka, and with their brief lay over in Sacramento, they arrived at LAX just after ten in the morning. Teetering with people, it was nearly another two hours before they were on the road heading to Will's modest home. Laid down with suitcases and duffels of clothes and gifts, they made the short drive, pulling in behind Will's aged Jeep around two in the afternoon.
There were few people in the world that the pair enjoyed seeing more than Will Tippin. The easygoing, loyal, loving friendship he shared with Sydney had strengthened despite the years of geographical distance. In turn, he'd grown into a fun-loving, protective uncle to Claire, the only child in his world. Claire was the closest thing he'd ever come to having his own children, after years of trying to have children with a woman who, in the end, hadn't even wanted them. While Sydney checked in at the school, insuring that all her grades were there without any problems, Claire and Will ate a late lunch and began what became a marathon game of Zelda. The two took turns playing until Sydney read through half of her book and decided it was time for them to have dinner.
Sunday marked Claire's eighteenth birthday. Will walked into his kitchen that morning to find Sydney standing over the stove, preparing her daughter's favorite breakfast with tears in her eyes. Silently, he pulled his best friend into his arms, allowing her to cry softly for a few minutes before they could hear the birthday girl descending the stairs. Over chocolate chip pancakes and orange juice the two sang their off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday to You', allowing Claire to open one present.
Will had spent two weeks pulling every string he had - and calling in some favors that he didn't have - to get tickets to that afternoon's Kings game. Sydney was amazed that he had ended up with three of the best seats they'd ever had. Most amazingly, the Kings were playing the team in their division who had a one game lead on them, elevating the game's tension. As she always was, Claire was an excited fan, screaming and disagreeing with the official's calls with a vigor usually reserved for field hockey. The Kings thankfully ended up with a win in overtime, and she had the opportunity to gleefully watch the zamboni before they left.
In between her class exams and their travels, it had been near impossible for Sydney to bake her daughter a cake. Instead, Will called ahead to make reservations at Claire's favorite restaurant. They went there during most trips to Los Angeles, and the food improved with each visit. Before they departed for the restaurant, the birthday girl was given most of her gifts. She was, as always, thoroughly spoiled by her mother and uncle. Before they departed for Seattle, she'd receive presents from her Uncle Marcus, Uncle Marshall and Aunt Carrie as well. There were books and CD's, clothes, and various odds and ends that were necessary for college life. After dinner they returned to Will's house, where a birthday cake had all but miraculously appeared in his refrigerator. Another round of off-key singing accompanied the delicious cake before they all turned in for the evening.
They began the week by helping Will finish decorating for Christmas. Since his wife had left him, there had been very little done to the house for the holidays by the time they arrived. Experts at decorating, Will was more than happy to sit back and let Sydney and Claire take care of it. Sometimes as he sat watching them, he was reminded of the days when they were younger, and if he squinted hard enough, he swore he could see Francie where Claire now stood. By the early afternoon they were done, and Will scurried off to do some last minute shopping as mother and daughter got into their own car.
"You didn't have to do this," Sydney sighed as they pulled past the familiar gates onto a road that seemed to stretch and curve ahead solemnly for miles on end.
"You wanted me to do this," her daughter softly reminded her. "If it's important to you, I'll give it a try."
Although she'd been the one to suggest it, she was suddenly uncomfortable with what they were about to do. Perhaps Claire was too young for this. Perhaps I'm too young for this, her mind suggested. Silently in the passenger's seat, her daughter watched the rows and rows of rising granite pass by, her mind clearly remembering who she knew was buried where. Then the car made an unusual swirl left, going down a road in the cemetery that was unfamiliar to her. Progressively, her mother's driving slowed down as she searched for the proper row, the car softly dying as she cut the ignition. Over her shoulder, Sydney tossed her daughter a small, bittersweet smile and got out of the car.
Two steps behind her mother, Claire did the same. Crossing her hands in front of her, she felt as though she was walking through the sacred halls of an aged cathedral as her mother led her down a small path. High above them, the sun boiled down, warming her skin and making her wish she'd worn shorts. Somehow though, shorts and a t-shirt seemed terribly inappropriate for what they were about to do, no matter how itchy the light sweater and corduroys caused her to be. Reaching her mother's side, Sydney had her head bowed down, seemingly remembering another lifetime.
It's not everyday that a person got to stand in front of their own grave. By far the most beautiful stone in sight, the heart-shaped granite stone had a cross rising from the top with 'BRISTOW' written horizontally on the cross and was visible from the road. The rose colored granite, along with the beautiful, albeit simple, work of roses and angels on the stone, only added to its beauty.
In her mind, Sydney still saw the grave as it was the first time she'd made the seemingly unimaginable visit. Fresh flowers in a rainbow of colors had been placed around the front and sides of the grave, nearly a year after they'd first dug it, giving the clear implication that someone had loved her. In that moment, nearly two decades ago, the realization had been bitter and obvious. Someone had loved Sydney Bristow, who had been commenced in the stone; the young woman who had gone missing at twenty-eight and been presumed dead. At thirty, as she had stood there in desperate search of her memories, she had been certain someone *had* loved her. Not just someone, many people.
That *was* a lifetime ago now, as evidenced by the young woman who stood by her side. While her name and birth date remained, the year of death had long ago been taken off of the granite. Now it just waited for her to arrive, the blank space in the heart where the name of her husband should go all but mocking her. Perhaps at the time Vaughn had envisioned being buried next to her one day; perhaps that's why he bought the massive stone in the first place, although she'd been cremated. There were so many what ifs, none of which she'd ever found the desire to have answered.
Unsure of her own voice, Claire reached out for her mother's hand, clinging to it as she had as a young child. Loudly she cleared her throat, finally finding the courage to speak. "There's just an empty coffin?"
"No," her mother's voice all but cracked over the simple syllable. "They thought they found my body... The remains were cremated, and spread in the ocean. Do you remember the pier?"
"Yes," she replied, suddenly afraid of where this was going.
When Sydney met her daughter's eyes, the replica of her own, the tears were written everywhere but on her cheeks, where she refused to let them fall. "They held my memorial service there," she explained, looking away.
"Mom -" the moisture was obvious in Claire's voice as her mother shook her head.
"It isn't easy for me to be here," Sydney confessed. "I can't imagine it's any easier for you." She smiled apologetically at her beloved little girl. Now a woman herself, Sydney would always look at her and see the little girl who had entered her world and made it immeasurably better. "Thank you for coming."
"It's beautiful," Claire sniffled, her eyes drawn back to the headstone.
"Yes," her mother agreed.
"He really did love you," her daughter assessed.
"I was lucky," she softly spoke, Claire slowly looking back at her. "A lot of people did."
Sydney was surprised to feel her daughter drop her hand, and then all but throw herself into her mother's arms. Claire clung to her tightly, her body heaving with silent tears. "It's so sad," her daughter muffled against Sydney's shirt, struggling to explain her behavior.
"It is sad," her mother sighed, holding her daughter close. "It is sad Tinkerbelle, but it was so long ago... I'm alright though," she attempted to sound optimistic as her shaking daughter slowly stilled. "I'm fine, I'm alive and I'm happy... I have you, the best thing that ever happened to me. What would I do without you?" Sydney pulled back and smiled at her daughter, gently reaching up to wipe away the tear tracks from her red face. "It *is* sad," she confirmed, brushing hair off of her daughter's face. "It's sad, and that part of my life *was* sad and very difficult... It's over now though," she reminded her. "It's over. I'm healthy, and I have no plans on going anywhere for a long, long time."
"Promise?" Claire sniffled, wiping her teary eyes with the back of her hands.
"I'll do my best," Sydney smiled. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and took her hand. "C'mon, let's go."
Her daughter's voice raised hopefully, "Ice cream?"
"Sure," she laughed. "Let's go get some ice cream."
Tuesday morning Will was gone, having left Sydney a note that he'd gone in to do a few things before the holiday break. As a former government employee, Sydney knew better than most that the government never slept. Mindful of her sleeping daughter, she padded through the kitchen barefoot. Killing time, she made a quiet phone call to Georgia, insuring that Gehrig and the cats were fending fine, and feigning surprise when her friend told her that Peter had asked her out. The two shared a few minutes of conversation, Sydney offering advice to her emotionally torn friend, before they hung up with promises to speak in a few days.
"Hey," she smiled up at her daughter, who walked into the kitchen just before ten. With nothing left to do, Sydney had already showered and changed into clothes for the day. By the time Claire emerged, she was at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal.
"Hi," Claire yawned, pouring herself some juice and sitting at the table.
"Any big plans today?"
"Actually..." She swallowed her juice and looked cautiously at her mother. "Laura lives in San Fernando Valley. I talked to her online last night. Could I go visit her? Maybe sleep over?" she asked hopefully.
Silently, her mother contemplated the request, taking another bite of her cereal. Sensing some possible hesitation, she continued to plead her case. "I know tomorrow's Christmas Eve, but we really don't do anything until tomorrow night anyway. If I sleep over, I promise I'll be back tomorrow morning. Please Mom?"
"You don't need to beg," her mother laughed, swallowing the remainder of her breakfast. "I just don't want you to impose on their family right before Christmas."
"Laura's got six brothers and sisters. The place is *always* insane - her parents will barely notice I'm there!" she insisted, her brown eyes twinkling.
"Is all your shopping done?"
"Most of it," she shrugged. "Laura and I will probably finish together."
"Do you need money?"
"I'm fine," Claire insisted. "So I can go?!"
"Yes," Sydney laughed. "You can go. Just take your cell phone in case I need you."
"Thanks Mom!" Her daughter quickly dived to hug her. "You're the best!"
"I try," she chuckled.
"Where's Uncle Will?"
"Working."
"Oh," her daughter sighed. "I'm sorry Mom, I can't leave you alone -"
Dismissively she shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to be fine. You go and have fun. I'll find something to do," she promised.
Just after noon, Claire disappeared into Laura's car. Sydney had waited outside with her daughter, taking the opportunity to meet the young woman who was her daughter's roommate. When they had moved her into the Stanford dorm months earlier, just the athletes were reporting to the school, meaning her roommate hadn't arrived until nearly ten days later. By then Sydney had been back in Los Angeles, only able to hear her daughter's roommate in the background and pick up bits and pieces in conversation. In the end she wasn't disappointed, introducing herself to an obviously eloquent, intelligent young woman who promised to drive safely and said it was nice to meet her as well. She was then left to wave at the disappearing car, the girls eager to catch up and go shopping.
Christmas time in Los Angeles was not a boring place. Still, nothing she read about in the newspapers or knew about from her years of living in the area appealed to her that afternoon. So she ended up at the Arcadia address that had imprinted itself on her soul half a lifetime ago, in the one place she never allowed herself to even drive by. The home that she refused to remember even existed. Yet somehow, she found her rental car sliding neatly into the driveway of the modest ranch. Confidently, she climbed the handful of front stairs and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she sat. There was, after all, nowhere else to go.
She had patiently sat there for nearly forty-five minutes, relieved that no curiously well-intentioned neighbors had called the police on her, when a familiar car pulled into the driveway, the driver's _expression understandably confused as the car died. Hesitantly she pulled to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans and praying that the sweat wasn't visible on the denim. Pushing a smile onto her lips, she watched as his own curved into a half smile. He cautiously approached her, as though just waiting for her to disappear.
"Syd?"
"Hey." She smiled as he stopped a foot in front of her.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, the concern deepening on his face. Michael Vaughn struggled to translate her expression; terrified he'd lost the ability he once had to read her soul.
"Everything's fine," she vowed, her grin toothy. Sighing in relief, his body instantly relaxed as he grinned.
"Good," Vaughn agreed. Then the confusion reappeared with a vengeance. "What are you doing here?"
"Do you have time to go somewhere?" she questioned softly, the hesitation growing obvious on her features. At his skeptical look, she continued, "To talk?"
"Yeah Syd," he answered in a low voice. "Sure," he agreed, allowing her to lead him back to his own car.
Fifteen minutes later he found himself by her side, itching to take her hand as they walked along the once familiar grounds of Griffith
Observatory. Sydney hadn't been there in over two decades. The simple structure brought back too many memories for her, and during the short time she had spent in Los Angeles after her disappearance, she had never dared return. Claire enjoyed going there once in a while, as Jack had taken her when she was younger, and occasionally Will would go with her too. Sydney, however, had made a silent vow never to return. Except at that moment in time, with that man by her side, it didn't hurt as much as she thought it would.
"Do you have Alex for Christmas?"
Vaughn's eyes dashed to her, surprised to hear her break the silence. He'd driven without her instructions, deciding for the observatory over the pier. Clearing his throat, his eyes returned to his sneakers.
"No," he explained. "Since Kate's sick, we decided it would be better for her to be with her mother," he finished. For a moment they were silent, her head solemnly bobbing in understanding. "Claire?"
"Her roommate lives in San Fernando Valley, so she's spending the day with her," Sydney clarified.
"How's Will?"
"Good," she smiled. "He's good. We took Claire to a Kings game for her birthday."
"I didn't realize she liked ice hockey."
Amazingly, her smile blossomed as she glanced at him. "She adores the Kings. She's even worse than you are."
"No," he chuckled, his head shaking.
"Yes," she insisted. In half a second her tone dropped and her face grew sober. "She really is."
"Alex hates hockey," he sighed, his head dropping forward as they walked. "She loves tennis. And figuring skating," he recalled.
"Vaughn - "
"Sydney -" they began together. Unconsciously their eyes drew to one another, both laughing.
"I'm sorry." Sydney shook her head, the smile firmly in place as she pulled hair behind her ear. "You go."
A serious look etched out over his handsome features, his hands stuck in his jeans as he nodded and faced her. "Why are you here Syd?"
"I was in L.A.," she shrugged, her eyes subtly dropping from his. "I guess I just wanted to talk," she confessed.
Pressing his lips together, he seemed to understand with a slight nod of his head. "Well," his voice was low and cracked for a moment before he continued, "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," she smiled. They continued their walk for a few more moments, their arms occasionally brushing as they passed the occasional person taking in the observatory's view. Slowing down near the massive telescope, familiar with the area as she had been in her younger years, she paused to look out at the view.
"What did you want to say?" he finally questioned.
Sighing, Sydney's smile was tiny as she brushed hair behind her ear. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid Syd," he gently corrected.
Briefly, she bit her lip before turning to face him. "You don't have to tell me - it's none of my business," she assured him. "You never told me whether or not you took the director's position."
The subject made him visibly uncomfortable, his eyes drawn out to the overcast sky. Reflexively, his hands found their way into the pockets of his pants as she stood a short distance away. Eventually Vaughn had no choice but to fully face her; any risk of meeting her eyes in public a long ago, distant, painful memory. Ironically, some of those most painful moments were still among the ones that held closest to his heart, the milestones in his relationship with Sydney Bristow.
Any reaction had been long ago played in his mind, and Michael Vaughn was certain he had covered all of his bases as he proceeded down a suddenly unpredictable course. "I decided not to take the position," he explained. Before she could respond appropriately, he continued, "I retired Syd."
"What - " she began her understandably startled response. The single syllable had barely escaped her when his lips were on her own, claiming them with a certainty that was long ago overdue. Whatever confusion, doubt or questions that continued to linger in her mind were tossed aside. Instead, Vaughn's hands instinctively rested on her hips and her arms gracefully wrapped around him. Sydney's reaction to his forward approach far surpassed anything he had expected, and he found himself pulling back moments later after she had deepened the kiss.
Struggling to catch her breath, Sydney felt him battle to do the same as his warm breath landed on her neck. "Did you know," he began, his voice barely audible over the bitter wind, "that Humboldt was looking for a lecturer for the Politics and Government department?"
"No," she chuckled, briefly resting her forehead against his light jacket. Hesitantly she pulled back, in no rush to break their world. "You didn't," she grinned, his own grin nearly wider than she ever imagined.
"I did," he replied, his grin growing goofy as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time, they slowly drank in one another, enjoying the few moments where it felt like the entire future was theirs alone. Slowly the duo broke apart, her fingers dancing over the fabric of his jacket. "What?" he softly inquired, his nose slightly nudging her forehead as her eyes remained fixated on his jacket.
The moisture pooled in front of her eyes when her dark orbs met his green ones. Swallowing hard, her voice was low when she finally spoke. "Peter and I are through."
"Since when?" Vaughn questioned.
"A few days ago," she confessed. "We... We were never meant to be more than friends," she sighed and shrugged. Under her scrutiny, she watched as his grin only grew wider. Sydney could only wonder if she had once worn a similar expression when told of the deterioration of what he had once shared with Alice. Slowly she returned the smile, her fingers running through the ends of his hair before she leaned up to slowly claim his lips once again.
"Do you have any plans?" His voice was enough to make her melt as they pulled apart, breathing a seemingly frivolous necessity.
"None," she vowed, each grinning happily at each other.
Comfortably Vaughn took her hand, tugging it towards his lips to carefully place a kiss on it and cradling it between both of his before he led her back to the car.
It had been sixteen and a half years, give or take a few months, since Sydney had pulled an all nighter. The sun had barely cracked a ray onto the sky as she lay snuggled in his arms, no regrets as she lightly dozed. The sheets were soft and cream colored; his bed had been hastily made upon her entrance. Whether or not he made his bed had not been her primary concern, and she found it oddly reassuring that he hadn't turned compulsively neat in the twenty something years since she'd last been his.
Michael Vaughn placed an open mouthed kiss on her shoulder blade and replaced his chin in the crook of her neck. The hours had washed away her make up, leaving her freckles obvious under his careful gaze. In her light sleep, she was just as beautiful as he ever recalled. Eyelashes were long and dark, resting against her pale skin while the scattered dusting of freckles was painted along her nose. Everything about her was precious to him, from her nose to the miniscule hairs that trailed up and down her body.
Sydney's body was different than it had been the last time he'd been with her, but he'd been no less eager. At fifty-seven, Vaughn's body was not what it once had been either; neither was his stamina, yet her patience with him left him loving her even more. For hours he'd taken a slow worship of her body, learning and relearning everything from the c-section scar from Claire's birth to the other scars, the shadows of the life they had once shared. In his tenderness he had taken extra care with the near invisible scars, wanting to take away all the painful memories that had separated them.
Despite her half-awake state, she was aware of his study of her. Once in awhile he'd kiss her neck or shoulders, or his finger would lightly trace her hip or he'd deeply breathe her in. This all felt remarkably new to her. Sydney hadn't lived the life of a nun; she had been with men since David had left, but she'd been cautious. Discreet had been the key word, and the nerves would appear whenever she imagined introducing anyone to Claire. So instead, she found herself making excuses when she'd partake in a relationship, especially when her daughter was young. Claire would have sleepovers, or weekend birthday parties, or simply be over at a friend's. Sydney would fabricate reasons for having to stay late for work, or meeting a friend for coffee after work, instead slipping away for dates. After all she had survived during her daughter's earliest years, it seemed foolish and rash to introduce a man to Claire, not wanting to confuse her little girl or upset her when the relationship inevitably ended. Even with that in mind, it had been well over two years since she'd been with a man.
"You're so beautiful," he sighed into her ear, the words a prayer she had long since given up ever hearing again.
"I need to leave soon," she regretfully realized, the minutes ticking closer and closer to seven.
"You can stay," he muffled, his lips moving gently over the skin of her neck as he spoke.
Sydney glanced at him over her shoulder. "I can't."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I know," he realized, leaning in to kiss her lips then nuzzle his nose against hers.
Smiling at him for a moment, she turned her head back around, resting her cheek against the soft pillow as his arm tightened. "Are you really going to be a lecturer?"
"Yeah," he sighed again, "I am."
Unable to look at him, she studied his neatly painted bedroom wall, feeling his breath on her bare skin as her voice softly cracked, "Why?"
"Trinidad's beautiful."
"Vaughn," Sydney chuckled and glanced briefly at him, silently demanding the truth.
"I couldn't be in the CIA anymore Syd," he confessed. "I didn't want to be... If I didn't want the chance to be the director, what the hell was I still doing there? Any goal I ever had for myself in the agency has been long since fulfilled... I found out about the position at Humboldt... Syd..."
"I need to know," she quietly insisted.
"The life I have... My life here... It isn't working," he softly attempted to explain.
Swallowing back her own uncertainty, Vaughn barely heard her when she spoke again. "How do you know this will?"
"No regrets Syd," he reminded her. "Not anymore."
For a few moments the woman in his arms appeared content with his answer, her head nodding slightly. Then her eyes dropped as her fingers danced over the blonde hairs that covered his lower arms. "A few days ago," Sydney started suddenly, "I took Claire to see it."
"What?" he inquired, his face tucked safely into the crook of her neck.
"My grave," her voice dropped at her own answer.
"Syd -"
"I usually go by myself Vaughn... Usually it reminds me how lucky I am, that I really wasn't dead, that I got a second chance... Claire... She just cried Vaughn. I haven't seen her that upset in so long. She has every right to be sad; it is sad... I knew I had to bring her there eventually. When I go, it's where I want to be," her voice and eyes dropped as he patiently listened. "Standing there with her... Claire's been everything to me for so long," she recalled, taking his hand and tugging it, resting it under her cheek. "The person you bought that headstone for is dead Vaughn. I'm not her anymore."
"I know Syd," he sighed into her neck, gently kissing under her ear. "I know."
"I want to be sometimes," Sydney confessed, blinking away her tears. "That person... She thought she knew all the horrors in the world, had seen every imaginable evil... I can't be her, not even for you."
Vaughn sucked in a gulp of her natural scent, holding her as close as he dared, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear. "I'm not that same man either," he promised. "I wanted who you were then, and I want who you are now Syd."
"You're taking an unnecessary risk... You're moving hundreds of miles from home Vaughn, your friends... What about Alex?"
"She's happy in Arizona," he explained. "I'm the handler, remember?" he teased, lightly kissing her ear. "I've covered all my bases Syd."
"When are you coming?"
"After the first of the year," Vaughn answered. "The school's giving me an on-campus apartment until I can get settled in."
When Sydney nodded again, her eyes fell regretfully on the clock. "I need to go."
"I know," he recalled. Regretfully, his arm unwrapped around her as he slumped over onto his back. The pillows propped his head up as his eyes trailed her. In the early light of the Christmas Eve sun Sydney slowly stood, locating her clothes and slowly dressing. Briefly she toyed with the idea of taking his shirt but decided against it, aware that chances were her daughter would see it and she was not yet ready for that explanation. Once she was fully clothed, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, their eyes meeting again.
"I'll call you?" she suggested, one hand placed on his chest as he nodded. They leaned in, lips brushing for a second; Vaughn aware that if he tasted anymore there was no way he'd let her out the door. With one last smile in his direction, she grabbed her keys and purse and disappeared out his bedroom door.
The rental car's clock read just after seven thirty in the morning when the car pulled into Will's driveway. Sydney grabbed her guest key off of her ring as she approached Will's front door, mindful not to wake him. With a quick glance at her watch, she wondered when she could expect Claire as her wrist flicked the keys into the lock and opened the door.
"It's about time!" an angry voice huffed. Turning around, Sydney was surprised to see her daughter standing in the center of Will's living room.
"Claire?"
"Where the hell have you been!?" Claire stalked over to her. Judging by the red of her daughter's skin, she was uncertain if she'd been crying or was just that angry.
"I thought you were spending the night with Laura," Sydney attempted to explain.
"Her sister got sick so I left! Where were you?! I've been worried *sick*!" she snapped. "Apparently, Uncle Will doesn't seem to mind that you disappeared! Damnit Mom! I was scared! You couldn't have called me!?"
Calmly she spoke, "You could have called my cell phone."
"You conveniently left it here!" Claire bitterly retorted, pointing to the slender black object on Will's coffee table. "Damnit Mom! What the hell got into you?! Where were you? I was about fifteen minutes away from calling the cops! This is Christmas Eve Mom! We're supposed to be *together* and you just ditched me!"
"I'm sorry. I visited with a friend and fell asleep on their sofa."
"You couldn't have told me? Or Will? Jesus Mom! You don't just disappear like that! I don't know this city and I barely know anyone that lives in it! For all I knew you could have been dead on the side of the Pacific Highway! I was *scared* and you were nowhere to be found! Or did you conveniently forget I even *existed*!?"
"I'm sorry Claire, I didn't mean to worry you -"
"Just forget it," her daughter cut her off. "Just forget it. If you don't mind, I've been up all night, scared to death that you were hurt or in trouble!" she explained and started towards the guest room.
"Claire, wait -"
"No!" Claire hissed, her eyes blazing as she met her mother's. "You couldn't have called or *anything* Mom! Not a word! I was scared out of my *mind*! Just leave me alone," she decided, roughly climbing the stairs to the bedroom.
Moments later, as Sydney positioned herself on the edge of the sofa, Will arrived in the living room.
"What was that all about?"
"I spent the night with Vaughn and she didn't know where I was," her voice cracked, unable to look at him as she gave her explanation.
"I sort of figured that's where you were Syd," he assured her, carefully settling onto the sofa next to her.
"Yeah," she sighed. "Well, Claire didn't."
Gently, he placed a cautious hand on her back, drawing her brown eyes to his. "Are you okay?"
"I will be," she sniffled, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "What am I doing Will?" she whispered.
"You had to expect this Syd," Will returned with an equally low voice. "Claire... Until you started seeing Peter, she wasn't exactly used to sharing you."
"I didn't think this would be a problem... What teenage girl wants their mother around to bug them?" she inquired. He all but rolled his eyes at her, silently reminding her that she already knew the answer.
"Let's go Syd." He slowly stood. "I'll make you breakfast," he assured her, draping a friendly arm around her shoulder as they walked into his kitchen.
Whatever Claire was doing in the guest room that had always been hers, she had made it obvious throughout the morning that she had no desire to see her mother. Will wondered if she'd even left the room to use the bathroom. Holing herself up there, he watched his best friend struggle with her emotions as the noise echoing from Claire's room alternated between angry music and eerie silence. All Will could do was keep Sydney busy. He enlisted his friend's help in wrapping the rest of the presents, working on various odds and ends, and talk optimistically about the upcoming events, including her expected visits with Dixon and the Flinkman's.
Noon arrived as Sydney sat in his kitchen, eating a tasteless sandwich. For hours he'd struggled to amuse her with mindless conversation, hoping to snap her out of the emotions that were running wild through her blood. Will was debating, mostly to himself, light green lettuce versus the taste of darker lettuce when the doorbell rang.
"Were you expecting someone?" Sydney asked, absently brushing hair off her face as he stood.
"No." His face pinched in confusion. Quickly wiping her hands on her napkin, Sydney stood and followed him to the front foyer of the house. A few feet behind him, she watched curiously as he opened the door, coming face to face with a weary UPS worker. "Can I help you?"
"I have a package for Ms. Sydney Bristow?" he inquired. Will glanced curiously at his best friend over his shoulder, then moved out of the way. Keeping her curiosity to herself, she signed for the package and thanked the man, who handed her a brown packaged box similar in size and shape to a shoebox.
A former reporter, he'd never completely outgrown his curious nature, and Will trailed Sydney back into the living room. With her brown eyes still glued to the package, she sat down on the sofa as he joined her. "Who's it from?"
"I don't know," she softly replied, her focus obviously on the package that she slowly opened. Efficiently, she made quick work of the brown packaging, then used a key Will offered her to tear through the tape holding the brown box together. Both were so wrapped up in curiosity that neither noticed the light footfall descending the staircase. Cautiously Sydney pulled out the object, still hidden in a mass of white tissue paper. The man next to her impatiently tossed the box and wrapping off to the floor as she set the object on her lap, slowly unwrapping it.
Claire took the moment to step fully into the room, emerging from where she had hidden herself in the corner. "What is it?" she questioned, her mother unable to look up at her.
The need to carefully wrap the item now made perfect sense to both adults. Nestled snugly in Sydney's lap was something she had long ago forgotten; something she had assumed had been lost or simply tossed during the days of her death. The silver frame was in the same condition it had been when he'd nervously given it to her nearly a quarter of a century ago. Most remarkable of all was the photo that was carefully encased in the glass. Despite the passage of time, she clearly remembered the day when she sat down and placed that picture in it. The two of them were smiling easily at one another and the photographer, who she recalled being Weiss. Their faces were equally wind blown as they stood outside the Staples Centre at the end of a Kings game. Sydney's chin rested on his shoulder as he carried her piggyback style after she had feigned exhaustion, the duo sharing an easy banter on that night. Two weeks after the meaningful night, a white envelope appeared on her desk, with that picture inside it.
Their very first picture together. It had been only appropriate to place it in the frame.
That's exactly where it remained, twenty-four years later.
As the tears built up in her mother's eyes, Claire walked further into the room, slowly approaching her mother. "Mom?"
"Hey Syd," Will's voice croaked as she looked up at him. In his outstretched hand he held a tiny white envelope. "I found it in the box."
For a moment, she just stared at the envelope before she finally accepted it. To Claire's surprise, her mother's hands began to shake as she tore open the envelope. Then she pulled out the small card, her eyes dancing quickly across the familiar scribble.
If you don't like it, don't tell me. Merry Christmas.
Whatever ill feelings Claire still harbored towards her mother's overnight disappearance was pushed aside for Christmas. There were gifts and twinkling Christmas lights, laughter, and far too much food. Marshall and Carrie Flinkman had them over for a late Christmas breakfast, and Sydney spent a few hours with Dixon Christmas afternoon, catching up with him. The aging man hadn't been shocked to hear of Agent Vaughn leaving the CIA, or that he had suddenly re-entered her life. Instead, his eyes seemed to twinkle with a secret, having predicted what seemed so impossible to Sydney.
Sydney made no more attempts to explain her overnight foray to her daughter. Instead, it was obvious that her daughter had no interest in speaking about it, and even less interest in knowing where her mother had been. All of her energy was focused on enjoying herself, playing video games with her uncle, watching basketball and hockey on television, and occasionally sneaking away to call Bryce whenever she felt no one would notice. Sydney did, however, silently notice. She was a retired spy after all.
Christmas had been a less jovial occasion for Vaughn. Christmas Eve he went through the routine of dinner with the Weiss'. Megan was eager to hear of his second career choice while Eric teased him, feigning joy that he was leaving, even though both men knew they'd miss the other. As always, there was extra food, plenty of leftovers sent home with him to help him survive the days to come. He slept in Christmas morning, rolling out of bed to see the last forty-five minutes of the parade. Alex called around noon, a brief phone call to wish him well and thank him for the presents. Vaughn was happy to see that his daughter enjoyed what he'd bought for her, but his heart was still heavy as he hung up the phone. The urge to call Sydney was strong, but he'd already determined that Christmas was a day for her and her daughter, and reluctantly returned to his packing.
Vaughn spent the following few days at the rink, releasing his frustrations in a game of hockey. Weiss joined him in the afternoons, his children off to spend New Years Eve with his sister-in-law while his wife was out shopping, quietly returning all the gifts that she disliked. Still he was no fool, and told Vaughn with near certainty that he suspected his wife would bring back nearly half of what he had bought her.
Saturday night, with Christmas a distant two day ago memory, he sagged into his apartment in sheer exhaustion. Silence all but bounced around the off-white walls as his knees gave out in front of his favorite lounge chair. His body ached from two days on the ice, but he enjoyed the time to spend with his favorite sport. Staring at the phone as Vaughn untied his shoelaces, he wondered if sheer willpower would make it ring. Nearly four days had past since he'd last spoken to Sydney, and while he knew her time with her daughter was understandably important, the passing of the days had gone by at a mind-numbing rate.
Halfway through making a sandwich, he all but drove his butter knife straight into his wrist as the phone rang. Cursing his own foolishness, he dropped the knife to his plate and grabbed the phone.
"Hello?" he questioned. Standing in his silent kitchen, the only sound he heard was of one of his neighbor's deafening music vibrating through the complex and an unrecognizable, stifled sob coming from his phone line. For the first time in a long time, he wished he'd purchased the telephone with caller identification. Patience quickly slipped away, the edge growing in his tone. "Hello?"
"Daddy?" a soft, heartbreaking voice cracked through the chorus of tears.
"Alex?" His brow tightened while his heart felt as though it had stopped. "Alex? Honey, is that you?"
"Daddy," she cracked over the rarely used endearment. "Daddy, I need you. Can you please come?" she sniffled.
"Yeah, sure honey, sure." He quickly started moving through his small apartment, his body on autopilot. "Sweetheart, what's going on? Are you all right? Are you hurt -"
"It's Mom," Alex cut him off, her voice heavy with tears. "She's... She's really bad Daddy. The doctors..."
"Hush," he soothed her. "Hush Alex. I'm going to get the next plane out. I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. Vaughn struggled to recall the last time he had been addressed as Daddy, and could never remember any time when his daughter admitted to needing him. Even when she was sick as a little girl, in times of crisis or pain, she had wanted her mother. Now, as he stood with the opportunity to play his daughter's comforter, he wished the chance had never arrived.
Before he could hang up he heard her whisper, "I love you."
"Love you too honey," he promised, quickly dropping his cordless phone on the bed and rushing out of the apartment.
Although his credit card would ache for months with the cost of his sudden trip east, he managed to land in Tuscan early the next morning. Using his federal credentials, pleased for once that the CIA had let him keep it as a retiring agent, he quickly cut through the red tape to rent a car. Jumping into an aged Toyota, he curved through the streets of Tuscan. Vaughn had only been there a handful of times, to the home in an exclusive suburb of the city that she had bought with Matt. He had known Matt before too, casually through various visits to Arizona. He'd grown up with Kate, been her high school sweetheart, and had been eager to take care of her after their divorce and her subsequent return home.
Dawn was rising over the state on the last Sunday of the year while his car silently died in the home's driveway. The first time he'd seen the house he'd been struck of how vividly it reminded him of an old country villa in his native France. For weeks after they moved there, despite the chaos that the move had caused, Kate had spoken about it to him during their weekly telephone conversations. Climbing the stone steps, he recalled her mention that they were right on the edge of ten acres of state land, guaranteeing consistent privacy.
The tall, blonde young woman who answered the door was barely recognizable as his daughter. Bags hung heavily under her round eyes, her usually fair skin colored from tears. The clothes she wore, gray sweats that he recognized as once belonging to his former wife, looked well worn, leaving him to suspect she hadn't changed in a few days. Then, most unpredictably of all, she eagerly went into his arms without any coaxing.
"Daddy," she cried into his shoulder. Vaughn held his little girl tightly, allowing the tears to come again, soaking through his favorite Kings shirt. There was nothing appropriate to say in this situation. Telling her to calm down would have been futile, and he could make no promises that everything would be all right.
When she finally pulled back, she stretched the fabric of her sweatshirt down over her fists and used the soft fabric to wipe her face. Swallowing nearly half a dozen times, she sniffled again and allowed him into the house. "She's up," Alex explained, leading him into a dim front foyer. Kate had spent months throwing herself into decorating the home he could never have afforded with things he couldn't even afford to look at. The results had been beautiful, and he had told her as much on multiple occasions. Kate may not have been many things, but she had a talented eye for detail, something he suspected stemmed from her years as a successful illustrator.
"Alex, who's here?" a male voice asked, appearing from the kitchen. Michael instantly recognized Matt, the tall, well-aged man whose face was drawn out in a grief he understood. Kate was to Matt what Sydney was to him, and he thanked god that he never had to watch her suffer and die. Believing she was dead had been more than enough pain.
"Michael."
"Matt." Michael stepped forward, shaking the man's hand before they shared a hug. "How is she?" he asked, stepping back and kindly slapping the man's shoulder.
"She's been asking for you," Matt explained. "Thank you for coming, I know it's a hectic time... It's important to her that you're here," his voice cracked, his eyes blinking rapidly to hold off his tears.
"Whatever I can do," he promised.
"Here..." He looked over his shoulder at a housekeeper who was hesitantly escaping from the shadows. "Mo will show you your room and then she'll take you to Kate's room."
"I actually made some reservations -"
"Don't be ridiculous," he corrected. As he spoke, Matt brought his long hands up, dragging his fingers over his face, trying in vain to scrub away the residue of his tears.
"Okay," he conceded and looked at his daughter.
"Axie, why don't you go shower while your Dad's talking to your Mom? He'll be there when you get out," Matt softly suggested. Alex's eyes hesitated on her father, who silently nodded his agreement. "I'm going to get something to eat. Do you want anything Mike?"
"No thanks," he assured them, silently following the housekeeper. Mo guided him through a series of hallways and rooms that composed the house, all decorated in the dark woods and warm colors that Kate had always loved so much. Once she showed him the guest room, all handsomely done in original antiques, she led him back down a small staircase into a master bedroom.
"I'm not sure if she's sleeping," Mo softly explained, opening the door a crack, insuring that he was in before she respectfully disappeared.
The nurse that had been checking the IV stand that rested on the floor next to Kate smiled at him and then vanished into the room he assumed to be the bathroom. At the sound of another entering, Kate slowly raised her head and smiled at him. Up and down her arms he swore he could see the blood and IV fluid swimming through her clearly visible blue veins. Once upon a time her hair had been full and shiny; now it rested limply on her thin frame, the skin of her forehead leaving her eyes looking almost inhumanly large. When they met, her eyes had sparkled, the color of a tropical sea; now they were dull and tired. Everything about her form silently screamed of ache, fatigue and illness. Except her smile. Somehow, it managed to still glow.
"You made it," she smiled happily.
"Where else would I be," Vaughn asked, dragging over the rocker that she had once used to lull Alex to sleep, and carefully slid into it. "Alex is taking a shower, she'll be here in a few minutes."
"I didn't think I'd get to see you," her voice was low, barely a whisper as she struggled to speak.
Vaughn's eyes dropped to where she had taken his hand and blinked away the tears. "Kate, you don't have to -"
"I needed to talk to you Michael," she insisted. "It's important."
"Don't worry about Alex," he promised, finally meeting her eyes, his voice hoarse as he absently shook his head. "I'll take care of her."
Kate slowly smiled. "You're a good father, when she lets you be," she reassured. "Matt will take care of her too. We talked about it. She can stay here as long as she wants, he doesn't want her to leave... He's a good man, he loves her very much. Let him help you."
"Of course," he softly promised. "Whatever Alex wants, we'll do it."
"I know you will," she nodded. "Are you ready? For your big move?" she teased, her grin wide.
"Kate -"
"I know about Sydney," Kate stopped him. When his green eyes met hers, they were full of questions and confusion. "Meg told me. We spoke... a few days ago. I had to talk to her." She painfully shrugged a shoulder out of instinct. "She told me that Sydney's in Humboldt. She teaches there," she pointed out.
Still holding his hand, her years of experience with him helped her recognize his subtle squirming at the topic. A woman she'd never met, Kate clearly remembered the way Michael had been when she'd met him. Remembered the man who'd been called suddenly to Hong Kong five months into their marriage. How she'd been married to a man who'd been prepared to identify a body, not bring back a living, breathing, breaking person. "You took the job because of her."
"I would have left the agency anyway," he softly insisted.
Kate smiled. "You probably would have," she agreed. "I'm not worried about Alex, Michael... I am..." she quickly amended with a slight shake of her head, "I am worried she'll mourn too long, that she'll be sad when she should be happy - when she graduates, when she gets married, has her children... Sad because I won't be there," she sighed. "I know she'll do well though. She'll graduate, go to medical school..."
"Make you proud."
"She always makes me proud." She blinked rapidly, tears slowly dripping down her thin face. "She'll have Matt, and she'll have you... I don't worry about her as much as I worry about the two of you."
At her confession, Michael couldn't help but let a chuckle escape. "Matt and I will be fine."
Her face was sober as she looked at him. "The two of you can't live just for Alex. In a few years, she'll be an adult, she'll graduate... You two will be there for her, you'll take care of her, but don't forget about yourselves. Do this job if it makes you happy; be with Sydney if it makes you happy. I don't know her, but she must be a remarkable woman."
"She is," he chuckled.
"Then don't be an ass," she commanded as he laughed. "I'm serious Michael. Don't be an ass. And don't let Matt either. Give him some time, but promise me you won't let him stop living. The three of you need to take care of each other now. Promise me."
"We won't do it as well as you do," he teased. "We'll do our best Kate."
"I love you Michael." She blinked away more tears.
Leaning over, he took her small hand in both of his, mindful of the IV's running into her blood, and gently kissed it. Tilting his head up, he gave her the tiniest of grins. "I love you too."
"I don't regret it," she sighed. Michael watched her eyes slide shut, her smile peaceful as she rested her head on her pillow. After a moment, she turned to rest her cheek on the cool pillowcase, her eyes slowly opening. "I know it wasn't perfect... And we certainly fucked up."
"Yeah, we did," he laughed.
"I don't regret marrying you though."
"Neither do I," he promised. As the words escaped him, he knew them to be the truth. Perhaps it would have been everything he had ever wanted to have married Sydney in his thirties; to have had children with her. Then again, he never would have had Alex, she never would have given birth to Claire. In the end, as painful as the solution was, perhaps their marriage was mandatory. Maybe their time together was what led her back to Matt, and eventually showed him his way back to Sydney.
Sitting back, he kept his hand in hers, a long-ago Sarah McLachlan song softly escaping her bedside radio. Sighing heavily, he allowed his body to mold against the aged rocker. Then his eyes settled on to her, watching her struggle to get comfortable and sleep before Matt and Alex rejoined them.
The Bristow girls left Los Angeles Sunday morning. They stayed long enough that morning to have a late breakfast with Will, Dixon and the Flinkman's, all of who awed at how big and grown up Claire had become. Having all of her friends together was a wonderful way for Sydney to leave Los Angeles. In the end, it was Will who took them to the airport for their noon flight, making sure that Claire had enough books and crossword puzzles for the flight and hugging both of them tightly. With his wife gone and likely no children in his future, Sydney and Claire remained his family, in all reality, the closest thing he'd ever have to his own girls.
Claire promised to e-mail her Uncle soon with a thorough profile of Bryce, and he promised to make it to the Cardinal's first field hockey game of the season. As Claire boarded the flight, Sydney tightly hugged her best friend goodbye. As much as she looked forward to seeing her parents again, saying goodbye to Will was always difficult. They would speak again soon, and there was a chance she'd come down during March spring break so they could have a belated celebration of his birthday. Until then they would get by on e-mail and phone calls, each wrapped up in their respective occupations.
Flying from Los Angeles, Sydney scheduled them for a two-hour stop in Denver. The afternoon stop was just long enough for the pair to have an early dinner and for Claire to learn the score of the Kings afternoon game, courtesy of a television in one of the airport shops. Briefly Claire slipped away outside, snapping a few pictures of the newly fallen snow. Trinidad had a mild climate, but it rarely snowed, leaving Sydney to intentionally schedule stops during the Christmas holiday where heavy snow would be on the ground. Occasionally it had back fired in the past, leaving them stranded in a city for a few extra hours; once even for two days when Claire was seven, but it was enough to see her daughter have the chance to enjoy snow.
The sun had all but disappeared when they arrived in Seattle. Claire took the opportunity to check the time on her new watch, pointing out that it was just after eight. Arranging for a car was something her father had done in advance, arranging it so that they had no problems arriving at the safe house. The house was an hour drive from the airport, depending on traffic, located in a tiny suburb of Kitsap County right on Puget Sound.
Exhausted from a day of primarily flying, Claire curled up in the passenger's seat, for once, allowing her mother control of the radio. John Mayer served as her daughter's soft lullaby as Sydney drove the highway and side streets towards her parents' house, a thought that after twenty years, still left her in awe.
The house, built just a few short years before the CIA bought it and furnished it into a safehouse, always prompted Sydney to feel as though it belonged in the middle of farm country. Painted light blue, it was reminiscent of a farmhouse that had been added on. The porch was massive, extending a few feet past the length of the house and offering a perfect place for her mother to hang a few flower plants. Inside, the house was no less attractive. The two extra bedrooms had been long ago been decorated to fit each Sydney's and Claire's tastes. The remaining bedroom, the master suite, was shared by the home's two occupants, in a situation that still managed to baffle their only child. There were walk in closets, plush carpeting, a deck in the back, along with the two car garage that Sydney's car came to a stop in front of.
"Hmm," Claire croaked, her eyes slowly blinking open. "We here?" she asked groggily.
"Rise and shine sweetheart," Sydney smiled as she opened her car door.
"I'm pooped," she sighed, slowly getting out of the car.
"I thought you wanted to make Koliadki with Grandma, show her that you know how to do it," Sydney questioned, using her keys to unlock the truck as they retrieved their luggage.
"Sydney? Claire?" a familiar female voice called. Looking up, she watched her mother step out onto the front porch, the light illuminating the few highlights of gray in her hair. As the signs of age started to appear on her own head, Sydney had made a decision not to color her hair, at least not yet. The way it currently stood, the occasional hint of gray in her hair resembled highlights more than actual gray. Her mother, however, had been dying her hair on a regular basis for years. As a result she barely looked older than Sydney.
Claire's face glowed in the darkness, forgetting her luggage as she quickly made the distance to her grandmother. "Naunua!! I missed you!" she declared, freely wrapping her grandmother in a hug. In some ways Sydney envied the relationship her daughter had with her parents, free of betrayal or disappointment. Claire loved her grandfather, liked nothing more than making him proud, and her feelings towards her grandmother were nothing short of adoration.
"Oh, you're so beautiful!" Irina smiled brightly as she pulled back to inspect her daughter.
Standing on the front porch, with one arm around her granddaughter, while the other ran over her granddaughter's hair, she looked more like the mother Sydney remembered and less like the spy she knew Irina had once been. Nowadays her mother dressed in long, flowing skirts and neatly tucked in shirts, or pants pressed and comfortably fitted. With the stories she told of her childhood and old myths from her home country, along with her knack for desserts, she was nothing short of a picturesque grandmother. And unlike Sydney, Claire had never seen that image crack.
Grabbing the duffels, tossing one over her shoulder and carrying the others, Sydney slammed the trunk. As she approached the front porch, she listened as their conversation continued.
"I wanted to bring some Kaliadki - I can make it now!" she eagerly informed her grandmother. "Mom said that it would have gone bad if I made it before we left for L.A."
"Your mother's probably right," Irina agreed. "We can make it tomorrow if you'd like though."
"Really?"
A throaty sound escaped her throat, nearly more melodic than a laugh. "Yes, really. What would New Years Eve be without Kaliadki?"
"Good point," Claire grinned.
"Now go inside," she urged. "Your grandfather's waiting, along with some Sbiten and cake."
"Is the Sbiten still warm?"
"It hasn't been off the stove for more than three minutes," she agreed, as Claire disappeared into the house.
"I hope you didn't put too much sugar in it or she'll be up all night," Sydney spoke, smiling at her mother as she climbed the staircase.
"Just a little," Irina assured her. Then she grabbed a duffel and proceeded to pull her daughter into a hug. "You're happy."
"Of course," Sydney laughed, standing less than a foot from her mother. "It's Christmastime Mom, why wouldn't I be happy?"
"No, it's more than holiday cheer," she noted with a close eye.
"What's going on?"
Chuckling, she slowly grinned. "Nothing."
"Okay," she conceded, although obviously skeptical. "Would you like some Sbiten too?" she asked, accompanying her daughter into the home. The traditional Russian drink usually greeted them when they arrived in Washington for the holiday season. A combination of herbs, spices, honey, sugar and jam, it was the Russian national winter beverage, a sugar high so fantastic that it ranked among Claire's favorites.
"Just a little," Sydney agreed. A few steps into the house, they paused to allow Sydney to take off her shoes, slipping into the slippers that her mother kept for her. The tradition was one that she had been used to as a little girl, and only now as an adult did she recognize it as a truly Russian custom. "I'm going to check my voicemail and I'll be right into the kitchen."
"Take your time," Irina urged, resting the luggage in the living room. "I'm going to go catch up with my granddaughter," she smiled widely, disappearing into the adjacent kitchen.
Sighing, she dug her cell phone out of the corner of her suitcase. Through the house walls she vaguely heard her father's voice, unable to make out the conversation but detecting the laughter. Impatiently she accessed her voicemail, pressing in the correct code to her box. Irrational excitement pressed through her veins as an electronic voice told her she had one new message. The passage of time, and the advancement of technology could do nothing to take away the human surge of adrenaline that something as mundane as a new voicemail or letter sent through the U.S. Postal Service brought on.
"One new message. Message one,"
At first, she wondered if it was a crank call as nothing but static rung in her ears. Finally, moments before Sydney was about to hang up, the message started.
"I loved you once," a teary voice slipped through the static reception. "This might be presumptuous or obvious Syd, but I think I still do... Kate's dead..."
The message ended there. Slowly she pressed off on the phone, forgetting whether she bothered to delete the message or not. Then, as the laughter of her immediate family bounced in from the other room, she slumped down onto the sofa and cried.
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.
Authors Note: Recommended listening for this (not so much THIS as really every post-The Telling fic, IMHO) is "Here Without You" by 3 Doors Down. I know I'm showing my age again, but give it a try and tell me if it doesn't make YOU think of Vaughn & Sydney.
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"I'm here without you baby but your still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby and I dream about you all the time
I'm here without you baby but your still with me in my dreams
But tonight girl it's only you and me . . " - "Here Without You", 3 Doors Down.
Traveling at Christmas time was always a delicate art. Sydney's semester grades had been input into the school computer system mere hours before their flight. The flight left the airport in Eureka, and with their brief lay over in Sacramento, they arrived at LAX just after ten in the morning. Teetering with people, it was nearly another two hours before they were on the road heading to Will's modest home. Laid down with suitcases and duffels of clothes and gifts, they made the short drive, pulling in behind Will's aged Jeep around two in the afternoon.
There were few people in the world that the pair enjoyed seeing more than Will Tippin. The easygoing, loyal, loving friendship he shared with Sydney had strengthened despite the years of geographical distance. In turn, he'd grown into a fun-loving, protective uncle to Claire, the only child in his world. Claire was the closest thing he'd ever come to having his own children, after years of trying to have children with a woman who, in the end, hadn't even wanted them. While Sydney checked in at the school, insuring that all her grades were there without any problems, Claire and Will ate a late lunch and began what became a marathon game of Zelda. The two took turns playing until Sydney read through half of her book and decided it was time for them to have dinner.
Sunday marked Claire's eighteenth birthday. Will walked into his kitchen that morning to find Sydney standing over the stove, preparing her daughter's favorite breakfast with tears in her eyes. Silently, he pulled his best friend into his arms, allowing her to cry softly for a few minutes before they could hear the birthday girl descending the stairs. Over chocolate chip pancakes and orange juice the two sang their off-key rendition of 'Happy Birthday to You', allowing Claire to open one present.
Will had spent two weeks pulling every string he had - and calling in some favors that he didn't have - to get tickets to that afternoon's Kings game. Sydney was amazed that he had ended up with three of the best seats they'd ever had. Most amazingly, the Kings were playing the team in their division who had a one game lead on them, elevating the game's tension. As she always was, Claire was an excited fan, screaming and disagreeing with the official's calls with a vigor usually reserved for field hockey. The Kings thankfully ended up with a win in overtime, and she had the opportunity to gleefully watch the zamboni before they left.
In between her class exams and their travels, it had been near impossible for Sydney to bake her daughter a cake. Instead, Will called ahead to make reservations at Claire's favorite restaurant. They went there during most trips to Los Angeles, and the food improved with each visit. Before they departed for the restaurant, the birthday girl was given most of her gifts. She was, as always, thoroughly spoiled by her mother and uncle. Before they departed for Seattle, she'd receive presents from her Uncle Marcus, Uncle Marshall and Aunt Carrie as well. There were books and CD's, clothes, and various odds and ends that were necessary for college life. After dinner they returned to Will's house, where a birthday cake had all but miraculously appeared in his refrigerator. Another round of off-key singing accompanied the delicious cake before they all turned in for the evening.
They began the week by helping Will finish decorating for Christmas. Since his wife had left him, there had been very little done to the house for the holidays by the time they arrived. Experts at decorating, Will was more than happy to sit back and let Sydney and Claire take care of it. Sometimes as he sat watching them, he was reminded of the days when they were younger, and if he squinted hard enough, he swore he could see Francie where Claire now stood. By the early afternoon they were done, and Will scurried off to do some last minute shopping as mother and daughter got into their own car.
"You didn't have to do this," Sydney sighed as they pulled past the familiar gates onto a road that seemed to stretch and curve ahead solemnly for miles on end.
"You wanted me to do this," her daughter softly reminded her. "If it's important to you, I'll give it a try."
Although she'd been the one to suggest it, she was suddenly uncomfortable with what they were about to do. Perhaps Claire was too young for this. Perhaps I'm too young for this, her mind suggested. Silently in the passenger's seat, her daughter watched the rows and rows of rising granite pass by, her mind clearly remembering who she knew was buried where. Then the car made an unusual swirl left, going down a road in the cemetery that was unfamiliar to her. Progressively, her mother's driving slowed down as she searched for the proper row, the car softly dying as she cut the ignition. Over her shoulder, Sydney tossed her daughter a small, bittersweet smile and got out of the car.
Two steps behind her mother, Claire did the same. Crossing her hands in front of her, she felt as though she was walking through the sacred halls of an aged cathedral as her mother led her down a small path. High above them, the sun boiled down, warming her skin and making her wish she'd worn shorts. Somehow though, shorts and a t-shirt seemed terribly inappropriate for what they were about to do, no matter how itchy the light sweater and corduroys caused her to be. Reaching her mother's side, Sydney had her head bowed down, seemingly remembering another lifetime.
It's not everyday that a person got to stand in front of their own grave. By far the most beautiful stone in sight, the heart-shaped granite stone had a cross rising from the top with 'BRISTOW' written horizontally on the cross and was visible from the road. The rose colored granite, along with the beautiful, albeit simple, work of roses and angels on the stone, only added to its beauty.
In her mind, Sydney still saw the grave as it was the first time she'd made the seemingly unimaginable visit. Fresh flowers in a rainbow of colors had been placed around the front and sides of the grave, nearly a year after they'd first dug it, giving the clear implication that someone had loved her. In that moment, nearly two decades ago, the realization had been bitter and obvious. Someone had loved Sydney Bristow, who had been commenced in the stone; the young woman who had gone missing at twenty-eight and been presumed dead. At thirty, as she had stood there in desperate search of her memories, she had been certain someone *had* loved her. Not just someone, many people.
That *was* a lifetime ago now, as evidenced by the young woman who stood by her side. While her name and birth date remained, the year of death had long ago been taken off of the granite. Now it just waited for her to arrive, the blank space in the heart where the name of her husband should go all but mocking her. Perhaps at the time Vaughn had envisioned being buried next to her one day; perhaps that's why he bought the massive stone in the first place, although she'd been cremated. There were so many what ifs, none of which she'd ever found the desire to have answered.
Unsure of her own voice, Claire reached out for her mother's hand, clinging to it as she had as a young child. Loudly she cleared her throat, finally finding the courage to speak. "There's just an empty coffin?"
"No," her mother's voice all but cracked over the simple syllable. "They thought they found my body... The remains were cremated, and spread in the ocean. Do you remember the pier?"
"Yes," she replied, suddenly afraid of where this was going.
When Sydney met her daughter's eyes, the replica of her own, the tears were written everywhere but on her cheeks, where she refused to let them fall. "They held my memorial service there," she explained, looking away.
"Mom -" the moisture was obvious in Claire's voice as her mother shook her head.
"It isn't easy for me to be here," Sydney confessed. "I can't imagine it's any easier for you." She smiled apologetically at her beloved little girl. Now a woman herself, Sydney would always look at her and see the little girl who had entered her world and made it immeasurably better. "Thank you for coming."
"It's beautiful," Claire sniffled, her eyes drawn back to the headstone.
"Yes," her mother agreed.
"He really did love you," her daughter assessed.
"I was lucky," she softly spoke, Claire slowly looking back at her. "A lot of people did."
Sydney was surprised to feel her daughter drop her hand, and then all but throw herself into her mother's arms. Claire clung to her tightly, her body heaving with silent tears. "It's so sad," her daughter muffled against Sydney's shirt, struggling to explain her behavior.
"It is sad," her mother sighed, holding her daughter close. "It is sad Tinkerbelle, but it was so long ago... I'm alright though," she attempted to sound optimistic as her shaking daughter slowly stilled. "I'm fine, I'm alive and I'm happy... I have you, the best thing that ever happened to me. What would I do without you?" Sydney pulled back and smiled at her daughter, gently reaching up to wipe away the tear tracks from her red face. "It *is* sad," she confirmed, brushing hair off of her daughter's face. "It's sad, and that part of my life *was* sad and very difficult... It's over now though," she reminded her. "It's over. I'm healthy, and I have no plans on going anywhere for a long, long time."
"Promise?" Claire sniffled, wiping her teary eyes with the back of her hands.
"I'll do my best," Sydney smiled. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and took her hand. "C'mon, let's go."
Her daughter's voice raised hopefully, "Ice cream?"
"Sure," she laughed. "Let's go get some ice cream."
Tuesday morning Will was gone, having left Sydney a note that he'd gone in to do a few things before the holiday break. As a former government employee, Sydney knew better than most that the government never slept. Mindful of her sleeping daughter, she padded through the kitchen barefoot. Killing time, she made a quiet phone call to Georgia, insuring that Gehrig and the cats were fending fine, and feigning surprise when her friend told her that Peter had asked her out. The two shared a few minutes of conversation, Sydney offering advice to her emotionally torn friend, before they hung up with promises to speak in a few days.
"Hey," she smiled up at her daughter, who walked into the kitchen just before ten. With nothing left to do, Sydney had already showered and changed into clothes for the day. By the time Claire emerged, she was at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal.
"Hi," Claire yawned, pouring herself some juice and sitting at the table.
"Any big plans today?"
"Actually..." She swallowed her juice and looked cautiously at her mother. "Laura lives in San Fernando Valley. I talked to her online last night. Could I go visit her? Maybe sleep over?" she asked hopefully.
Silently, her mother contemplated the request, taking another bite of her cereal. Sensing some possible hesitation, she continued to plead her case. "I know tomorrow's Christmas Eve, but we really don't do anything until tomorrow night anyway. If I sleep over, I promise I'll be back tomorrow morning. Please Mom?"
"You don't need to beg," her mother laughed, swallowing the remainder of her breakfast. "I just don't want you to impose on their family right before Christmas."
"Laura's got six brothers and sisters. The place is *always* insane - her parents will barely notice I'm there!" she insisted, her brown eyes twinkling.
"Is all your shopping done?"
"Most of it," she shrugged. "Laura and I will probably finish together."
"Do you need money?"
"I'm fine," Claire insisted. "So I can go?!"
"Yes," Sydney laughed. "You can go. Just take your cell phone in case I need you."
"Thanks Mom!" Her daughter quickly dived to hug her. "You're the best!"
"I try," she chuckled.
"Where's Uncle Will?"
"Working."
"Oh," her daughter sighed. "I'm sorry Mom, I can't leave you alone -"
Dismissively she shook her head. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm going to be fine. You go and have fun. I'll find something to do," she promised.
Just after noon, Claire disappeared into Laura's car. Sydney had waited outside with her daughter, taking the opportunity to meet the young woman who was her daughter's roommate. When they had moved her into the Stanford dorm months earlier, just the athletes were reporting to the school, meaning her roommate hadn't arrived until nearly ten days later. By then Sydney had been back in Los Angeles, only able to hear her daughter's roommate in the background and pick up bits and pieces in conversation. In the end she wasn't disappointed, introducing herself to an obviously eloquent, intelligent young woman who promised to drive safely and said it was nice to meet her as well. She was then left to wave at the disappearing car, the girls eager to catch up and go shopping.
Christmas time in Los Angeles was not a boring place. Still, nothing she read about in the newspapers or knew about from her years of living in the area appealed to her that afternoon. So she ended up at the Arcadia address that had imprinted itself on her soul half a lifetime ago, in the one place she never allowed herself to even drive by. The home that she refused to remember even existed. Yet somehow, she found her rental car sliding neatly into the driveway of the modest ranch. Confidently, she climbed the handful of front stairs and rang the doorbell. When no one answered, she sat. There was, after all, nowhere else to go.
She had patiently sat there for nearly forty-five minutes, relieved that no curiously well-intentioned neighbors had called the police on her, when a familiar car pulled into the driveway, the driver's _expression understandably confused as the car died. Hesitantly she pulled to her feet, wiping her hands on her jeans and praying that the sweat wasn't visible on the denim. Pushing a smile onto her lips, she watched as his own curved into a half smile. He cautiously approached her, as though just waiting for her to disappear.
"Syd?"
"Hey." She smiled as he stopped a foot in front of her.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, the concern deepening on his face. Michael Vaughn struggled to translate her expression; terrified he'd lost the ability he once had to read her soul.
"Everything's fine," she vowed, her grin toothy. Sighing in relief, his body instantly relaxed as he grinned.
"Good," Vaughn agreed. Then the confusion reappeared with a vengeance. "What are you doing here?"
"Do you have time to go somewhere?" she questioned softly, the hesitation growing obvious on her features. At his skeptical look, she continued, "To talk?"
"Yeah Syd," he answered in a low voice. "Sure," he agreed, allowing her to lead him back to his own car.
Fifteen minutes later he found himself by her side, itching to take her hand as they walked along the once familiar grounds of Griffith
Observatory. Sydney hadn't been there in over two decades. The simple structure brought back too many memories for her, and during the short time she had spent in Los Angeles after her disappearance, she had never dared return. Claire enjoyed going there once in a while, as Jack had taken her when she was younger, and occasionally Will would go with her too. Sydney, however, had made a silent vow never to return. Except at that moment in time, with that man by her side, it didn't hurt as much as she thought it would.
"Do you have Alex for Christmas?"
Vaughn's eyes dashed to her, surprised to hear her break the silence. He'd driven without her instructions, deciding for the observatory over the pier. Clearing his throat, his eyes returned to his sneakers.
"No," he explained. "Since Kate's sick, we decided it would be better for her to be with her mother," he finished. For a moment they were silent, her head solemnly bobbing in understanding. "Claire?"
"Her roommate lives in San Fernando Valley, so she's spending the day with her," Sydney clarified.
"How's Will?"
"Good," she smiled. "He's good. We took Claire to a Kings game for her birthday."
"I didn't realize she liked ice hockey."
Amazingly, her smile blossomed as she glanced at him. "She adores the Kings. She's even worse than you are."
"No," he chuckled, his head shaking.
"Yes," she insisted. In half a second her tone dropped and her face grew sober. "She really is."
"Alex hates hockey," he sighed, his head dropping forward as they walked. "She loves tennis. And figuring skating," he recalled.
"Vaughn - "
"Sydney -" they began together. Unconsciously their eyes drew to one another, both laughing.
"I'm sorry." Sydney shook her head, the smile firmly in place as she pulled hair behind her ear. "You go."
A serious look etched out over his handsome features, his hands stuck in his jeans as he nodded and faced her. "Why are you here Syd?"
"I was in L.A.," she shrugged, her eyes subtly dropping from his. "I guess I just wanted to talk," she confessed.
Pressing his lips together, he seemed to understand with a slight nod of his head. "Well," his voice was low and cracked for a moment before he continued, "I'm glad you came."
"Me too," she smiled. They continued their walk for a few more moments, their arms occasionally brushing as they passed the occasional person taking in the observatory's view. Slowing down near the massive telescope, familiar with the area as she had been in her younger years, she paused to look out at the view.
"What did you want to say?" he finally questioned.
Sighing, Sydney's smile was tiny as she brushed hair behind her ear. "It's stupid."
"It's not stupid Syd," he gently corrected.
Briefly, she bit her lip before turning to face him. "You don't have to tell me - it's none of my business," she assured him. "You never told me whether or not you took the director's position."
The subject made him visibly uncomfortable, his eyes drawn out to the overcast sky. Reflexively, his hands found their way into the pockets of his pants as she stood a short distance away. Eventually Vaughn had no choice but to fully face her; any risk of meeting her eyes in public a long ago, distant, painful memory. Ironically, some of those most painful moments were still among the ones that held closest to his heart, the milestones in his relationship with Sydney Bristow.
Any reaction had been long ago played in his mind, and Michael Vaughn was certain he had covered all of his bases as he proceeded down a suddenly unpredictable course. "I decided not to take the position," he explained. Before she could respond appropriately, he continued, "I retired Syd."
"What - " she began her understandably startled response. The single syllable had barely escaped her when his lips were on her own, claiming them with a certainty that was long ago overdue. Whatever confusion, doubt or questions that continued to linger in her mind were tossed aside. Instead, Vaughn's hands instinctively rested on her hips and her arms gracefully wrapped around him. Sydney's reaction to his forward approach far surpassed anything he had expected, and he found himself pulling back moments later after she had deepened the kiss.
Struggling to catch her breath, Sydney felt him battle to do the same as his warm breath landed on her neck. "Did you know," he began, his voice barely audible over the bitter wind, "that Humboldt was looking for a lecturer for the Politics and Government department?"
"No," she chuckled, briefly resting her forehead against his light jacket. Hesitantly she pulled back, in no rush to break their world. "You didn't," she grinned, his own grin nearly wider than she ever imagined.
"I did," he replied, his grin growing goofy as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time, they slowly drank in one another, enjoying the few moments where it felt like the entire future was theirs alone. Slowly the duo broke apart, her fingers dancing over the fabric of his jacket. "What?" he softly inquired, his nose slightly nudging her forehead as her eyes remained fixated on his jacket.
The moisture pooled in front of her eyes when her dark orbs met his green ones. Swallowing hard, her voice was low when she finally spoke. "Peter and I are through."
"Since when?" Vaughn questioned.
"A few days ago," she confessed. "We... We were never meant to be more than friends," she sighed and shrugged. Under her scrutiny, she watched as his grin only grew wider. Sydney could only wonder if she had once worn a similar expression when told of the deterioration of what he had once shared with Alice. Slowly she returned the smile, her fingers running through the ends of his hair before she leaned up to slowly claim his lips once again.
"Do you have any plans?" His voice was enough to make her melt as they pulled apart, breathing a seemingly frivolous necessity.
"None," she vowed, each grinning happily at each other.
Comfortably Vaughn took her hand, tugging it towards his lips to carefully place a kiss on it and cradling it between both of his before he led her back to the car.
It had been sixteen and a half years, give or take a few months, since Sydney had pulled an all nighter. The sun had barely cracked a ray onto the sky as she lay snuggled in his arms, no regrets as she lightly dozed. The sheets were soft and cream colored; his bed had been hastily made upon her entrance. Whether or not he made his bed had not been her primary concern, and she found it oddly reassuring that he hadn't turned compulsively neat in the twenty something years since she'd last been his.
Michael Vaughn placed an open mouthed kiss on her shoulder blade and replaced his chin in the crook of her neck. The hours had washed away her make up, leaving her freckles obvious under his careful gaze. In her light sleep, she was just as beautiful as he ever recalled. Eyelashes were long and dark, resting against her pale skin while the scattered dusting of freckles was painted along her nose. Everything about her was precious to him, from her nose to the miniscule hairs that trailed up and down her body.
Sydney's body was different than it had been the last time he'd been with her, but he'd been no less eager. At fifty-seven, Vaughn's body was not what it once had been either; neither was his stamina, yet her patience with him left him loving her even more. For hours he'd taken a slow worship of her body, learning and relearning everything from the c-section scar from Claire's birth to the other scars, the shadows of the life they had once shared. In his tenderness he had taken extra care with the near invisible scars, wanting to take away all the painful memories that had separated them.
Despite her half-awake state, she was aware of his study of her. Once in awhile he'd kiss her neck or shoulders, or his finger would lightly trace her hip or he'd deeply breathe her in. This all felt remarkably new to her. Sydney hadn't lived the life of a nun; she had been with men since David had left, but she'd been cautious. Discreet had been the key word, and the nerves would appear whenever she imagined introducing anyone to Claire. So instead, she found herself making excuses when she'd partake in a relationship, especially when her daughter was young. Claire would have sleepovers, or weekend birthday parties, or simply be over at a friend's. Sydney would fabricate reasons for having to stay late for work, or meeting a friend for coffee after work, instead slipping away for dates. After all she had survived during her daughter's earliest years, it seemed foolish and rash to introduce a man to Claire, not wanting to confuse her little girl or upset her when the relationship inevitably ended. Even with that in mind, it had been well over two years since she'd been with a man.
"You're so beautiful," he sighed into her ear, the words a prayer she had long since given up ever hearing again.
"I need to leave soon," she regretfully realized, the minutes ticking closer and closer to seven.
"You can stay," he muffled, his lips moving gently over the skin of her neck as he spoke.
Sydney glanced at him over her shoulder. "I can't."
"Yeah," he sighed. "I know," he realized, leaning in to kiss her lips then nuzzle his nose against hers.
Smiling at him for a moment, she turned her head back around, resting her cheek against the soft pillow as his arm tightened. "Are you really going to be a lecturer?"
"Yeah," he sighed again, "I am."
Unable to look at him, she studied his neatly painted bedroom wall, feeling his breath on her bare skin as her voice softly cracked, "Why?"
"Trinidad's beautiful."
"Vaughn," Sydney chuckled and glanced briefly at him, silently demanding the truth.
"I couldn't be in the CIA anymore Syd," he confessed. "I didn't want to be... If I didn't want the chance to be the director, what the hell was I still doing there? Any goal I ever had for myself in the agency has been long since fulfilled... I found out about the position at Humboldt... Syd..."
"I need to know," she quietly insisted.
"The life I have... My life here... It isn't working," he softly attempted to explain.
Swallowing back her own uncertainty, Vaughn barely heard her when she spoke again. "How do you know this will?"
"No regrets Syd," he reminded her. "Not anymore."
For a few moments the woman in his arms appeared content with his answer, her head nodding slightly. Then her eyes dropped as her fingers danced over the blonde hairs that covered his lower arms. "A few days ago," Sydney started suddenly, "I took Claire to see it."
"What?" he inquired, his face tucked safely into the crook of her neck.
"My grave," her voice dropped at her own answer.
"Syd -"
"I usually go by myself Vaughn... Usually it reminds me how lucky I am, that I really wasn't dead, that I got a second chance... Claire... She just cried Vaughn. I haven't seen her that upset in so long. She has every right to be sad; it is sad... I knew I had to bring her there eventually. When I go, it's where I want to be," her voice and eyes dropped as he patiently listened. "Standing there with her... Claire's been everything to me for so long," she recalled, taking his hand and tugging it, resting it under her cheek. "The person you bought that headstone for is dead Vaughn. I'm not her anymore."
"I know Syd," he sighed into her neck, gently kissing under her ear. "I know."
"I want to be sometimes," Sydney confessed, blinking away her tears. "That person... She thought she knew all the horrors in the world, had seen every imaginable evil... I can't be her, not even for you."
Vaughn sucked in a gulp of her natural scent, holding her as close as he dared, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear. "I'm not that same man either," he promised. "I wanted who you were then, and I want who you are now Syd."
"You're taking an unnecessary risk... You're moving hundreds of miles from home Vaughn, your friends... What about Alex?"
"She's happy in Arizona," he explained. "I'm the handler, remember?" he teased, lightly kissing her ear. "I've covered all my bases Syd."
"When are you coming?"
"After the first of the year," Vaughn answered. "The school's giving me an on-campus apartment until I can get settled in."
When Sydney nodded again, her eyes fell regretfully on the clock. "I need to go."
"I know," he recalled. Regretfully, his arm unwrapped around her as he slumped over onto his back. The pillows propped his head up as his eyes trailed her. In the early light of the Christmas Eve sun Sydney slowly stood, locating her clothes and slowly dressing. Briefly she toyed with the idea of taking his shirt but decided against it, aware that chances were her daughter would see it and she was not yet ready for that explanation. Once she was fully clothed, she sat back down on the edge of the bed, their eyes meeting again.
"I'll call you?" she suggested, one hand placed on his chest as he nodded. They leaned in, lips brushing for a second; Vaughn aware that if he tasted anymore there was no way he'd let her out the door. With one last smile in his direction, she grabbed her keys and purse and disappeared out his bedroom door.
The rental car's clock read just after seven thirty in the morning when the car pulled into Will's driveway. Sydney grabbed her guest key off of her ring as she approached Will's front door, mindful not to wake him. With a quick glance at her watch, she wondered when she could expect Claire as her wrist flicked the keys into the lock and opened the door.
"It's about time!" an angry voice huffed. Turning around, Sydney was surprised to see her daughter standing in the center of Will's living room.
"Claire?"
"Where the hell have you been!?" Claire stalked over to her. Judging by the red of her daughter's skin, she was uncertain if she'd been crying or was just that angry.
"I thought you were spending the night with Laura," Sydney attempted to explain.
"Her sister got sick so I left! Where were you?! I've been worried *sick*!" she snapped. "Apparently, Uncle Will doesn't seem to mind that you disappeared! Damnit Mom! I was scared! You couldn't have called me!?"
Calmly she spoke, "You could have called my cell phone."
"You conveniently left it here!" Claire bitterly retorted, pointing to the slender black object on Will's coffee table. "Damnit Mom! What the hell got into you?! Where were you? I was about fifteen minutes away from calling the cops! This is Christmas Eve Mom! We're supposed to be *together* and you just ditched me!"
"I'm sorry. I visited with a friend and fell asleep on their sofa."
"You couldn't have told me? Or Will? Jesus Mom! You don't just disappear like that! I don't know this city and I barely know anyone that lives in it! For all I knew you could have been dead on the side of the Pacific Highway! I was *scared* and you were nowhere to be found! Or did you conveniently forget I even *existed*!?"
"I'm sorry Claire, I didn't mean to worry you -"
"Just forget it," her daughter cut her off. "Just forget it. If you don't mind, I've been up all night, scared to death that you were hurt or in trouble!" she explained and started towards the guest room.
"Claire, wait -"
"No!" Claire hissed, her eyes blazing as she met her mother's. "You couldn't have called or *anything* Mom! Not a word! I was scared out of my *mind*! Just leave me alone," she decided, roughly climbing the stairs to the bedroom.
Moments later, as Sydney positioned herself on the edge of the sofa, Will arrived in the living room.
"What was that all about?"
"I spent the night with Vaughn and she didn't know where I was," her voice cracked, unable to look at him as she gave her explanation.
"I sort of figured that's where you were Syd," he assured her, carefully settling onto the sofa next to her.
"Yeah," she sighed. "Well, Claire didn't."
Gently, he placed a cautious hand on her back, drawing her brown eyes to his. "Are you okay?"
"I will be," she sniffled, wiping a stray tear from her eye. "What am I doing Will?" she whispered.
"You had to expect this Syd," Will returned with an equally low voice. "Claire... Until you started seeing Peter, she wasn't exactly used to sharing you."
"I didn't think this would be a problem... What teenage girl wants their mother around to bug them?" she inquired. He all but rolled his eyes at her, silently reminding her that she already knew the answer.
"Let's go Syd." He slowly stood. "I'll make you breakfast," he assured her, draping a friendly arm around her shoulder as they walked into his kitchen.
Whatever Claire was doing in the guest room that had always been hers, she had made it obvious throughout the morning that she had no desire to see her mother. Will wondered if she'd even left the room to use the bathroom. Holing herself up there, he watched his best friend struggle with her emotions as the noise echoing from Claire's room alternated between angry music and eerie silence. All Will could do was keep Sydney busy. He enlisted his friend's help in wrapping the rest of the presents, working on various odds and ends, and talk optimistically about the upcoming events, including her expected visits with Dixon and the Flinkman's.
Noon arrived as Sydney sat in his kitchen, eating a tasteless sandwich. For hours he'd struggled to amuse her with mindless conversation, hoping to snap her out of the emotions that were running wild through her blood. Will was debating, mostly to himself, light green lettuce versus the taste of darker lettuce when the doorbell rang.
"Were you expecting someone?" Sydney asked, absently brushing hair off her face as he stood.
"No." His face pinched in confusion. Quickly wiping her hands on her napkin, Sydney stood and followed him to the front foyer of the house. A few feet behind him, she watched curiously as he opened the door, coming face to face with a weary UPS worker. "Can I help you?"
"I have a package for Ms. Sydney Bristow?" he inquired. Will glanced curiously at his best friend over his shoulder, then moved out of the way. Keeping her curiosity to herself, she signed for the package and thanked the man, who handed her a brown packaged box similar in size and shape to a shoebox.
A former reporter, he'd never completely outgrown his curious nature, and Will trailed Sydney back into the living room. With her brown eyes still glued to the package, she sat down on the sofa as he joined her. "Who's it from?"
"I don't know," she softly replied, her focus obviously on the package that she slowly opened. Efficiently, she made quick work of the brown packaging, then used a key Will offered her to tear through the tape holding the brown box together. Both were so wrapped up in curiosity that neither noticed the light footfall descending the staircase. Cautiously Sydney pulled out the object, still hidden in a mass of white tissue paper. The man next to her impatiently tossed the box and wrapping off to the floor as she set the object on her lap, slowly unwrapping it.
Claire took the moment to step fully into the room, emerging from where she had hidden herself in the corner. "What is it?" she questioned, her mother unable to look up at her.
The need to carefully wrap the item now made perfect sense to both adults. Nestled snugly in Sydney's lap was something she had long ago forgotten; something she had assumed had been lost or simply tossed during the days of her death. The silver frame was in the same condition it had been when he'd nervously given it to her nearly a quarter of a century ago. Most remarkable of all was the photo that was carefully encased in the glass. Despite the passage of time, she clearly remembered the day when she sat down and placed that picture in it. The two of them were smiling easily at one another and the photographer, who she recalled being Weiss. Their faces were equally wind blown as they stood outside the Staples Centre at the end of a Kings game. Sydney's chin rested on his shoulder as he carried her piggyback style after she had feigned exhaustion, the duo sharing an easy banter on that night. Two weeks after the meaningful night, a white envelope appeared on her desk, with that picture inside it.
Their very first picture together. It had been only appropriate to place it in the frame.
That's exactly where it remained, twenty-four years later.
As the tears built up in her mother's eyes, Claire walked further into the room, slowly approaching her mother. "Mom?"
"Hey Syd," Will's voice croaked as she looked up at him. In his outstretched hand he held a tiny white envelope. "I found it in the box."
For a moment, she just stared at the envelope before she finally accepted it. To Claire's surprise, her mother's hands began to shake as she tore open the envelope. Then she pulled out the small card, her eyes dancing quickly across the familiar scribble.
If you don't like it, don't tell me. Merry Christmas.
Whatever ill feelings Claire still harbored towards her mother's overnight disappearance was pushed aside for Christmas. There were gifts and twinkling Christmas lights, laughter, and far too much food. Marshall and Carrie Flinkman had them over for a late Christmas breakfast, and Sydney spent a few hours with Dixon Christmas afternoon, catching up with him. The aging man hadn't been shocked to hear of Agent Vaughn leaving the CIA, or that he had suddenly re-entered her life. Instead, his eyes seemed to twinkle with a secret, having predicted what seemed so impossible to Sydney.
Sydney made no more attempts to explain her overnight foray to her daughter. Instead, it was obvious that her daughter had no interest in speaking about it, and even less interest in knowing where her mother had been. All of her energy was focused on enjoying herself, playing video games with her uncle, watching basketball and hockey on television, and occasionally sneaking away to call Bryce whenever she felt no one would notice. Sydney did, however, silently notice. She was a retired spy after all.
Christmas had been a less jovial occasion for Vaughn. Christmas Eve he went through the routine of dinner with the Weiss'. Megan was eager to hear of his second career choice while Eric teased him, feigning joy that he was leaving, even though both men knew they'd miss the other. As always, there was extra food, plenty of leftovers sent home with him to help him survive the days to come. He slept in Christmas morning, rolling out of bed to see the last forty-five minutes of the parade. Alex called around noon, a brief phone call to wish him well and thank him for the presents. Vaughn was happy to see that his daughter enjoyed what he'd bought for her, but his heart was still heavy as he hung up the phone. The urge to call Sydney was strong, but he'd already determined that Christmas was a day for her and her daughter, and reluctantly returned to his packing.
Vaughn spent the following few days at the rink, releasing his frustrations in a game of hockey. Weiss joined him in the afternoons, his children off to spend New Years Eve with his sister-in-law while his wife was out shopping, quietly returning all the gifts that she disliked. Still he was no fool, and told Vaughn with near certainty that he suspected his wife would bring back nearly half of what he had bought her.
Saturday night, with Christmas a distant two day ago memory, he sagged into his apartment in sheer exhaustion. Silence all but bounced around the off-white walls as his knees gave out in front of his favorite lounge chair. His body ached from two days on the ice, but he enjoyed the time to spend with his favorite sport. Staring at the phone as Vaughn untied his shoelaces, he wondered if sheer willpower would make it ring. Nearly four days had past since he'd last spoken to Sydney, and while he knew her time with her daughter was understandably important, the passing of the days had gone by at a mind-numbing rate.
Halfway through making a sandwich, he all but drove his butter knife straight into his wrist as the phone rang. Cursing his own foolishness, he dropped the knife to his plate and grabbed the phone.
"Hello?" he questioned. Standing in his silent kitchen, the only sound he heard was of one of his neighbor's deafening music vibrating through the complex and an unrecognizable, stifled sob coming from his phone line. For the first time in a long time, he wished he'd purchased the telephone with caller identification. Patience quickly slipped away, the edge growing in his tone. "Hello?"
"Daddy?" a soft, heartbreaking voice cracked through the chorus of tears.
"Alex?" His brow tightened while his heart felt as though it had stopped. "Alex? Honey, is that you?"
"Daddy," she cracked over the rarely used endearment. "Daddy, I need you. Can you please come?" she sniffled.
"Yeah, sure honey, sure." He quickly started moving through his small apartment, his body on autopilot. "Sweetheart, what's going on? Are you all right? Are you hurt -"
"It's Mom," Alex cut him off, her voice heavy with tears. "She's... She's really bad Daddy. The doctors..."
"Hush," he soothed her. "Hush Alex. I'm going to get the next plane out. I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. Vaughn struggled to recall the last time he had been addressed as Daddy, and could never remember any time when his daughter admitted to needing him. Even when she was sick as a little girl, in times of crisis or pain, she had wanted her mother. Now, as he stood with the opportunity to play his daughter's comforter, he wished the chance had never arrived.
Before he could hang up he heard her whisper, "I love you."
"Love you too honey," he promised, quickly dropping his cordless phone on the bed and rushing out of the apartment.
Although his credit card would ache for months with the cost of his sudden trip east, he managed to land in Tuscan early the next morning. Using his federal credentials, pleased for once that the CIA had let him keep it as a retiring agent, he quickly cut through the red tape to rent a car. Jumping into an aged Toyota, he curved through the streets of Tuscan. Vaughn had only been there a handful of times, to the home in an exclusive suburb of the city that she had bought with Matt. He had known Matt before too, casually through various visits to Arizona. He'd grown up with Kate, been her high school sweetheart, and had been eager to take care of her after their divorce and her subsequent return home.
Dawn was rising over the state on the last Sunday of the year while his car silently died in the home's driveway. The first time he'd seen the house he'd been struck of how vividly it reminded him of an old country villa in his native France. For weeks after they moved there, despite the chaos that the move had caused, Kate had spoken about it to him during their weekly telephone conversations. Climbing the stone steps, he recalled her mention that they were right on the edge of ten acres of state land, guaranteeing consistent privacy.
The tall, blonde young woman who answered the door was barely recognizable as his daughter. Bags hung heavily under her round eyes, her usually fair skin colored from tears. The clothes she wore, gray sweats that he recognized as once belonging to his former wife, looked well worn, leaving him to suspect she hadn't changed in a few days. Then, most unpredictably of all, she eagerly went into his arms without any coaxing.
"Daddy," she cried into his shoulder. Vaughn held his little girl tightly, allowing the tears to come again, soaking through his favorite Kings shirt. There was nothing appropriate to say in this situation. Telling her to calm down would have been futile, and he could make no promises that everything would be all right.
When she finally pulled back, she stretched the fabric of her sweatshirt down over her fists and used the soft fabric to wipe her face. Swallowing nearly half a dozen times, she sniffled again and allowed him into the house. "She's up," Alex explained, leading him into a dim front foyer. Kate had spent months throwing herself into decorating the home he could never have afforded with things he couldn't even afford to look at. The results had been beautiful, and he had told her as much on multiple occasions. Kate may not have been many things, but she had a talented eye for detail, something he suspected stemmed from her years as a successful illustrator.
"Alex, who's here?" a male voice asked, appearing from the kitchen. Michael instantly recognized Matt, the tall, well-aged man whose face was drawn out in a grief he understood. Kate was to Matt what Sydney was to him, and he thanked god that he never had to watch her suffer and die. Believing she was dead had been more than enough pain.
"Michael."
"Matt." Michael stepped forward, shaking the man's hand before they shared a hug. "How is she?" he asked, stepping back and kindly slapping the man's shoulder.
"She's been asking for you," Matt explained. "Thank you for coming, I know it's a hectic time... It's important to her that you're here," his voice cracked, his eyes blinking rapidly to hold off his tears.
"Whatever I can do," he promised.
"Here..." He looked over his shoulder at a housekeeper who was hesitantly escaping from the shadows. "Mo will show you your room and then she'll take you to Kate's room."
"I actually made some reservations -"
"Don't be ridiculous," he corrected. As he spoke, Matt brought his long hands up, dragging his fingers over his face, trying in vain to scrub away the residue of his tears.
"Okay," he conceded and looked at his daughter.
"Axie, why don't you go shower while your Dad's talking to your Mom? He'll be there when you get out," Matt softly suggested. Alex's eyes hesitated on her father, who silently nodded his agreement. "I'm going to get something to eat. Do you want anything Mike?"
"No thanks," he assured them, silently following the housekeeper. Mo guided him through a series of hallways and rooms that composed the house, all decorated in the dark woods and warm colors that Kate had always loved so much. Once she showed him the guest room, all handsomely done in original antiques, she led him back down a small staircase into a master bedroom.
"I'm not sure if she's sleeping," Mo softly explained, opening the door a crack, insuring that he was in before she respectfully disappeared.
The nurse that had been checking the IV stand that rested on the floor next to Kate smiled at him and then vanished into the room he assumed to be the bathroom. At the sound of another entering, Kate slowly raised her head and smiled at him. Up and down her arms he swore he could see the blood and IV fluid swimming through her clearly visible blue veins. Once upon a time her hair had been full and shiny; now it rested limply on her thin frame, the skin of her forehead leaving her eyes looking almost inhumanly large. When they met, her eyes had sparkled, the color of a tropical sea; now they were dull and tired. Everything about her form silently screamed of ache, fatigue and illness. Except her smile. Somehow, it managed to still glow.
"You made it," she smiled happily.
"Where else would I be," Vaughn asked, dragging over the rocker that she had once used to lull Alex to sleep, and carefully slid into it. "Alex is taking a shower, she'll be here in a few minutes."
"I didn't think I'd get to see you," her voice was low, barely a whisper as she struggled to speak.
Vaughn's eyes dropped to where she had taken his hand and blinked away the tears. "Kate, you don't have to -"
"I needed to talk to you Michael," she insisted. "It's important."
"Don't worry about Alex," he promised, finally meeting her eyes, his voice hoarse as he absently shook his head. "I'll take care of her."
Kate slowly smiled. "You're a good father, when she lets you be," she reassured. "Matt will take care of her too. We talked about it. She can stay here as long as she wants, he doesn't want her to leave... He's a good man, he loves her very much. Let him help you."
"Of course," he softly promised. "Whatever Alex wants, we'll do it."
"I know you will," she nodded. "Are you ready? For your big move?" she teased, her grin wide.
"Kate -"
"I know about Sydney," Kate stopped him. When his green eyes met hers, they were full of questions and confusion. "Meg told me. We spoke... a few days ago. I had to talk to her." She painfully shrugged a shoulder out of instinct. "She told me that Sydney's in Humboldt. She teaches there," she pointed out.
Still holding his hand, her years of experience with him helped her recognize his subtle squirming at the topic. A woman she'd never met, Kate clearly remembered the way Michael had been when she'd met him. Remembered the man who'd been called suddenly to Hong Kong five months into their marriage. How she'd been married to a man who'd been prepared to identify a body, not bring back a living, breathing, breaking person. "You took the job because of her."
"I would have left the agency anyway," he softly insisted.
Kate smiled. "You probably would have," she agreed. "I'm not worried about Alex, Michael... I am..." she quickly amended with a slight shake of her head, "I am worried she'll mourn too long, that she'll be sad when she should be happy - when she graduates, when she gets married, has her children... Sad because I won't be there," she sighed. "I know she'll do well though. She'll graduate, go to medical school..."
"Make you proud."
"She always makes me proud." She blinked rapidly, tears slowly dripping down her thin face. "She'll have Matt, and she'll have you... I don't worry about her as much as I worry about the two of you."
At her confession, Michael couldn't help but let a chuckle escape. "Matt and I will be fine."
Her face was sober as she looked at him. "The two of you can't live just for Alex. In a few years, she'll be an adult, she'll graduate... You two will be there for her, you'll take care of her, but don't forget about yourselves. Do this job if it makes you happy; be with Sydney if it makes you happy. I don't know her, but she must be a remarkable woman."
"She is," he chuckled.
"Then don't be an ass," she commanded as he laughed. "I'm serious Michael. Don't be an ass. And don't let Matt either. Give him some time, but promise me you won't let him stop living. The three of you need to take care of each other now. Promise me."
"We won't do it as well as you do," he teased. "We'll do our best Kate."
"I love you Michael." She blinked away more tears.
Leaning over, he took her small hand in both of his, mindful of the IV's running into her blood, and gently kissed it. Tilting his head up, he gave her the tiniest of grins. "I love you too."
"I don't regret it," she sighed. Michael watched her eyes slide shut, her smile peaceful as she rested her head on her pillow. After a moment, she turned to rest her cheek on the cool pillowcase, her eyes slowly opening. "I know it wasn't perfect... And we certainly fucked up."
"Yeah, we did," he laughed.
"I don't regret marrying you though."
"Neither do I," he promised. As the words escaped him, he knew them to be the truth. Perhaps it would have been everything he had ever wanted to have married Sydney in his thirties; to have had children with her. Then again, he never would have had Alex, she never would have given birth to Claire. In the end, as painful as the solution was, perhaps their marriage was mandatory. Maybe their time together was what led her back to Matt, and eventually showed him his way back to Sydney.
Sitting back, he kept his hand in hers, a long-ago Sarah McLachlan song softly escaping her bedside radio. Sighing heavily, he allowed his body to mold against the aged rocker. Then his eyes settled on to her, watching her struggle to get comfortable and sleep before Matt and Alex rejoined them.
The Bristow girls left Los Angeles Sunday morning. They stayed long enough that morning to have a late breakfast with Will, Dixon and the Flinkman's, all of who awed at how big and grown up Claire had become. Having all of her friends together was a wonderful way for Sydney to leave Los Angeles. In the end, it was Will who took them to the airport for their noon flight, making sure that Claire had enough books and crossword puzzles for the flight and hugging both of them tightly. With his wife gone and likely no children in his future, Sydney and Claire remained his family, in all reality, the closest thing he'd ever have to his own girls.
Claire promised to e-mail her Uncle soon with a thorough profile of Bryce, and he promised to make it to the Cardinal's first field hockey game of the season. As Claire boarded the flight, Sydney tightly hugged her best friend goodbye. As much as she looked forward to seeing her parents again, saying goodbye to Will was always difficult. They would speak again soon, and there was a chance she'd come down during March spring break so they could have a belated celebration of his birthday. Until then they would get by on e-mail and phone calls, each wrapped up in their respective occupations.
Flying from Los Angeles, Sydney scheduled them for a two-hour stop in Denver. The afternoon stop was just long enough for the pair to have an early dinner and for Claire to learn the score of the Kings afternoon game, courtesy of a television in one of the airport shops. Briefly Claire slipped away outside, snapping a few pictures of the newly fallen snow. Trinidad had a mild climate, but it rarely snowed, leaving Sydney to intentionally schedule stops during the Christmas holiday where heavy snow would be on the ground. Occasionally it had back fired in the past, leaving them stranded in a city for a few extra hours; once even for two days when Claire was seven, but it was enough to see her daughter have the chance to enjoy snow.
The sun had all but disappeared when they arrived in Seattle. Claire took the opportunity to check the time on her new watch, pointing out that it was just after eight. Arranging for a car was something her father had done in advance, arranging it so that they had no problems arriving at the safe house. The house was an hour drive from the airport, depending on traffic, located in a tiny suburb of Kitsap County right on Puget Sound.
Exhausted from a day of primarily flying, Claire curled up in the passenger's seat, for once, allowing her mother control of the radio. John Mayer served as her daughter's soft lullaby as Sydney drove the highway and side streets towards her parents' house, a thought that after twenty years, still left her in awe.
The house, built just a few short years before the CIA bought it and furnished it into a safehouse, always prompted Sydney to feel as though it belonged in the middle of farm country. Painted light blue, it was reminiscent of a farmhouse that had been added on. The porch was massive, extending a few feet past the length of the house and offering a perfect place for her mother to hang a few flower plants. Inside, the house was no less attractive. The two extra bedrooms had been long ago been decorated to fit each Sydney's and Claire's tastes. The remaining bedroom, the master suite, was shared by the home's two occupants, in a situation that still managed to baffle their only child. There were walk in closets, plush carpeting, a deck in the back, along with the two car garage that Sydney's car came to a stop in front of.
"Hmm," Claire croaked, her eyes slowly blinking open. "We here?" she asked groggily.
"Rise and shine sweetheart," Sydney smiled as she opened her car door.
"I'm pooped," she sighed, slowly getting out of the car.
"I thought you wanted to make Koliadki with Grandma, show her that you know how to do it," Sydney questioned, using her keys to unlock the truck as they retrieved their luggage.
"Sydney? Claire?" a familiar female voice called. Looking up, she watched her mother step out onto the front porch, the light illuminating the few highlights of gray in her hair. As the signs of age started to appear on her own head, Sydney had made a decision not to color her hair, at least not yet. The way it currently stood, the occasional hint of gray in her hair resembled highlights more than actual gray. Her mother, however, had been dying her hair on a regular basis for years. As a result she barely looked older than Sydney.
Claire's face glowed in the darkness, forgetting her luggage as she quickly made the distance to her grandmother. "Naunua!! I missed you!" she declared, freely wrapping her grandmother in a hug. In some ways Sydney envied the relationship her daughter had with her parents, free of betrayal or disappointment. Claire loved her grandfather, liked nothing more than making him proud, and her feelings towards her grandmother were nothing short of adoration.
"Oh, you're so beautiful!" Irina smiled brightly as she pulled back to inspect her daughter.
Standing on the front porch, with one arm around her granddaughter, while the other ran over her granddaughter's hair, she looked more like the mother Sydney remembered and less like the spy she knew Irina had once been. Nowadays her mother dressed in long, flowing skirts and neatly tucked in shirts, or pants pressed and comfortably fitted. With the stories she told of her childhood and old myths from her home country, along with her knack for desserts, she was nothing short of a picturesque grandmother. And unlike Sydney, Claire had never seen that image crack.
Grabbing the duffels, tossing one over her shoulder and carrying the others, Sydney slammed the trunk. As she approached the front porch, she listened as their conversation continued.
"I wanted to bring some Kaliadki - I can make it now!" she eagerly informed her grandmother. "Mom said that it would have gone bad if I made it before we left for L.A."
"Your mother's probably right," Irina agreed. "We can make it tomorrow if you'd like though."
"Really?"
A throaty sound escaped her throat, nearly more melodic than a laugh. "Yes, really. What would New Years Eve be without Kaliadki?"
"Good point," Claire grinned.
"Now go inside," she urged. "Your grandfather's waiting, along with some Sbiten and cake."
"Is the Sbiten still warm?"
"It hasn't been off the stove for more than three minutes," she agreed, as Claire disappeared into the house.
"I hope you didn't put too much sugar in it or she'll be up all night," Sydney spoke, smiling at her mother as she climbed the staircase.
"Just a little," Irina assured her. Then she grabbed a duffel and proceeded to pull her daughter into a hug. "You're happy."
"Of course," Sydney laughed, standing less than a foot from her mother. "It's Christmastime Mom, why wouldn't I be happy?"
"No, it's more than holiday cheer," she noted with a close eye.
"What's going on?"
Chuckling, she slowly grinned. "Nothing."
"Okay," she conceded, although obviously skeptical. "Would you like some Sbiten too?" she asked, accompanying her daughter into the home. The traditional Russian drink usually greeted them when they arrived in Washington for the holiday season. A combination of herbs, spices, honey, sugar and jam, it was the Russian national winter beverage, a sugar high so fantastic that it ranked among Claire's favorites.
"Just a little," Sydney agreed. A few steps into the house, they paused to allow Sydney to take off her shoes, slipping into the slippers that her mother kept for her. The tradition was one that she had been used to as a little girl, and only now as an adult did she recognize it as a truly Russian custom. "I'm going to check my voicemail and I'll be right into the kitchen."
"Take your time," Irina urged, resting the luggage in the living room. "I'm going to go catch up with my granddaughter," she smiled widely, disappearing into the adjacent kitchen.
Sighing, she dug her cell phone out of the corner of her suitcase. Through the house walls she vaguely heard her father's voice, unable to make out the conversation but detecting the laughter. Impatiently she accessed her voicemail, pressing in the correct code to her box. Irrational excitement pressed through her veins as an electronic voice told her she had one new message. The passage of time, and the advancement of technology could do nothing to take away the human surge of adrenaline that something as mundane as a new voicemail or letter sent through the U.S. Postal Service brought on.
"One new message. Message one,"
At first, she wondered if it was a crank call as nothing but static rung in her ears. Finally, moments before Sydney was about to hang up, the message started.
"I loved you once," a teary voice slipped through the static reception. "This might be presumptuous or obvious Syd, but I think I still do... Kate's dead..."
The message ended there. Slowly she pressed off on the phone, forgetting whether she bothered to delete the message or not. Then, as the laughter of her immediate family bounced in from the other room, she slumped down onto the sofa and cried.