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: Special thank you to Dae. Thank you so much for stepping in as my beta, I really enjoyed reading your comments & ideas, etc.
Dedication: To everyone who survived the series opener without wanting to cry . . .
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They buried Kate on a rainy Wednesday, the last day of the year. The rain fell slow and steady, plump drops of moisture that stained their dark attire. Michael stood in between his daughter and the man his former wife had been so intent on starting over with. Standing in the cemetery, surrounded by people he barely knew, his daughter clung to his hand and fought back her sobs. All around her stood friends and family desperate to try to help her, cousins and friends from high school and college who had come to support her. Yet she stood there, unwilling to move too far from her father's side, as he struggled to offer her the solace she so desperately needed.
The group returned to the house for a small reception. For two hours Vaughn found himself stuck in the current of the party. Guests clamored to talk to him, to try to give their condolences to his daughter via him. The food the caterers had provided was steadily disappearing, and the flowers that had been purchased for the funeral had already been sent to local hospitals. All the while, as he choked down a plate of food and made small talk with people he barely remembered, he tried unsuccessfully to find his daughter.
Climbing the staircase, having finally snuck away from the slowly dwindling crowd, his ears were met by the familiar sound of an aged Stevie Nicks tune. Vaughn instantly recognized it as one of Kate's CD's, and followed his ears not to the room of his former wife but to that of his daughter's. Cautiously he cracked the door open, his relief momentary when he saw that his daughter was in her room. The pain reappeared just as quickly when he sat her sitting on the edge of her bed, her body violently shaking with tears.
"Go away," she called as she heard her door open.
"It's me sweetheart," Vaughn struggled to keep his voice calm as he sat down next to her. "Alex? Sweetheart?"
"Daddy," she gulped for breathe. The scene before him, the red eyes, tear-stained face and the hiccups that began to escape her reminded him of the stubborn little girl who would cry so violently that she'd end up sick.
"Take a deep breath," he soothed, reaching out to brush the hair away from her sweaty face. "Your going to make yourself sick Alex, so take a deep breath," he ordered.
Alex continued to shake her head, nevertheless following her father's orders as her door once again opened. Only a moment later Matt stepped inside, his own blue eyes echoing empty shades of gray and his suit, once crisp and neat that morning, showing the signs of wear. "Are you okay?"
"Go away," she snapped at him, wiping her eyes with the balls of her hands. Then she reached over and turned up the volume on her CD player, the only sound detectable over the music was her loud struggle for breath.
Matt took another step into the room, slowly approaching his stepdaughter. In that moment Vaughn felt his sympathy go out to the man, trying to mourn the woman he lost while caring for the child who ultimately wasn't even his. "Please turn down the music and talk to me Axie," he plead.
Her blonde hair, once neatly set in a French braid on her head, now puffed around her head in a halo of unruly locks. The braid her father had so carefully watched her create that morning was barely recognizable, and she had locked herself into her room, changing from her simple linen dress to an all black ensemble of t-shirt, shorts and slippers. At his innocent slip of her nickname, Alex turned towards Matt with angry eyes. "Don't call me Axie!" she demanded. "Just get out! Please!" For a moment her stepfather looked at in her in terror. Then he swallowed and nodded slowly, turning around and leaving the room. As her father stood to join him, she softly called out his name, wanting him to stay.
The two men studied one another for a second before Matt nodded and disappeared. Not wanting to further upset his daughter, Vaughn slowly rejoined her on the bed, surprised when she reached out for his hand. More surprisingly, her body had slowly stopped trembling as her voice neared it's normal sound. "Mommy called me Axie."
"I know."
"I don't want anyone to call me that anymore."
Although he nodded, his daughter hadn't turned her eyes on him. "They won't."
"Mom," she sniffled over the single syllable, her eyes glassy as they met his. "Mom and I talked about it. I'm not going back to school . . . Not yet anyway," she shook her head. To his confusion she stood for a moment before settling back on her bed, this time her feet tucked safely underneath her. "Mom and I agreed that I should take a leave of absence . . It was a last minute decision, but she agreed," Alex shrugged. "I just . . I can't go back right now," she struggled to explain.
"That's fine sweetheart, I think it's a good idea, especially if it's what your Mom wanted," he assured her, dropping her hand to rest his arm around her shoulders. Instinctively she cuddled close to his side as he wished he could hold her tight enough to bar out the painful reality of the world, just as he'd been able to do when she was a little girl.
"Mom . . Aunt Megan told Mom that they have a biology and chemistry department at that college your going to."
Vaughn nodded, kissing the top of her head, "they do."
"Mom said I might want to go there," she hiccupped, still struggling to regain her breath and what little composure that could be expected. "I don't know . . " she sniffled, the tears welling again. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet Daddy."
"You don't have to decide now Alex," he promised her. "You don't need to decide now. There's time. Whatever you want to do, Matt and I will help and support you."
"I hate not knowing."
"There's no need to rush this sweetheart," he reminded her.
"I just," she gasped for breath, beginning to tremble again. "I don't want to let Mommy down," she confessed, burying her face into the wrinkled cotton of her father's dress shirt.
"Oh, sweetie," he sighed, holding her close. Softly he murmured incoherent nothings, struggling for the impossible words to rectify an impossible situation. There was nothing he could do or say to make this easier on her, but he did the only thing he could, holding her as she cried, doing his best to understand the words that escaped in between her sobs. Unaware and uncaring of the time that past, he remained silent until she finally pulled back. Slowly she wiped the tears from her eyes, pulling another tissue from the box that she kept by her bedside. Helpless, Vaughn could do nothing but watch her struggle to calm down before her puffy, bloodshot eyes turned to him.
"Mom told me," she explained, pausing to blow her nose. "Before . . Before Christmas, Mom told me about her. This woman you've been seeing," she shook her head, taking her eyes from his. "Mom says that she's really smart, and nice, and that she's a good person . . . I think she was trying to make it easier for you," she briefly chuckled, wiping the corners of her eyes. "She says you'll probably marry her."
"Alex -"
"Mom made me promise to give her a chance," Alex stopped him, her eyes awake for the first time since his arrival, although her grief was still visible in every crack. "Mom made me promise to be nice and to give her a chance and to not give you a hard time, because," she stopped as her face crumbled. For a few long moments she cried, roping in her sniffles and her sobs, shaking her head as he tried to comfort her. "I'm fine," she muttered before she continued. "Because your not doing this to make things harder on me . . I'm sure she's a nice person Daddy, I'm sure, but . . I don't think I'm ready to meet anyone yet. Especially . . Especially your girlfriend."
"Sweetheart," he sighed and pulled her back into his arms. "You don't have to meet her yet," he promised, feeling her tears dampen his already drenched shirt. "You don't have to meet her any sooner than your ready for," he vowed. "We'll do this at your pace. If you want to come visit me and look at the school, we can do that when you're ready. If you want to stay here and go to Arizona, that's fine too. Whatever you want sweetie, there's plenty of time for you to decide," Vaughn assured her, his voice barely heard over her heart breaking tears.
"I'm . . I'm so scared," she confessed. "I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do? She took care of everything, I don't know . ."
"I'm scared too," he assured her, pulling back only for a second to pull the hair off of her sticky skin. "I'm so scared too sweetheart, but we'll figure this out. You are being so smart and so brave . . And no matter what you do, your Mom is *so* proud of you. We both are. We love you, and we'll both always love you, no matter where any of us are."
"I want her here!" she demanded angrily. "How come she just gave up? How come she left me Daddy? Wasn't I worth sticking around for? How could she just leave?!" she snapped between her tears. The anger rose in her as she pulled away from her father, ripping a pillow from the neat pile on her bed and hurdling it to the floor. "How could she just leave . . . " she repeated, her voice small. "Why did she leave me?!" she demanded, grabbing a stuffed animal and tossing it even farther. "Damn her! Damn her!! I hate her! God, I hate her for leaving me!" she snapped, crashing down onto the bed. "I just hate her so much!" she insisted, slamming her pillow against her mattress before she started to cry. "I miss her," Alex confessed, burying her head into her abused pillow. "I miss her so much Daddy . . I didn't want her to go . . I wanted her to get better . . . . I just wanted her to stay," she conceded, sobbing into her pillow.
"I know sweetheart," he wiped the tears from his eyes and ran his hand up and down her back. "I know."
A few hundred miles northwest of Tucson, the safehouse on Puget Sound was celebrating the most festive day of the year. Now free to be herself, Irina Derevko had returned to her Russian roots, and had instilled a belief in her granddaughter that New Years Eve & New Years Day were the most important days of the year. It was a custom that had been taught to her as a child when her family had been unable to practice Christmas legally. There was lots of food, customary Russian dishes and the preparation for Ded Moroz. Grandfather Frost, a man who bore an eerie resemblance to Santa except he wore blue, was a tradition that Jack and Irina had insisted on maintaining although their granddaughter was years past believing in Santa Claus. Claire spent the day in the kitchen making Koliadki with her grandmother, filling the treats with a variety of different fillings. Together they worked throughout the kitchen, singing the old Russian carols that Claire had known and loved since youth as Irina shared some of the more acceptable tales of her childhood.
Laughing at the sight, Jack Bristow complied as his wife shooed him out of the kitchen as his granddaughter agreed. Stepping into the living room, his smile faded as his eyes fell onto his only daughter. Although Sydney had smiled and helped with the festivities earlier, it was obvious to see something was bothering her. There she sat in the noiseless living room, so wrapped up with staring at the newspaper in her lap that she didn't even hear him enter.
"Sydney," he sighed and lowered himself onto the sofa next to her. "Are you alright?"
Glancing up at him, she smiled, "I'm fine."
Nodding, Jack looked over her shoulder. That morning his daughter had taken the obituaries of the newspaper and was staring at a large article about the death of cartoon artist Katherine Reeve. Jack looked back at his daughter's profile, her eyes once again reading the article. "How's Agent Vaughn?"
"I don't know," she conceded, her shoulders low and her eyes remaining on the article. "He's with Alex . . I can't bother him now . . . . I wouldn't know what to say anyway."
"Do you intend on avoiding Vaughn now?"
"She was only fifty-five."
"Yes," Jack nodded. "Ms. Reeve was relatively young."
"I didn't even realize this, but she won the Reuben Award a few years ago," Sydney explained, looking at Jack. "It's the highest honor in comic art."
"She lived a successful, happy life."\
"I'm trying to imagine what Alexandra must be feeling . . . . I guess I can, to a certain extent . . . But she's older, she'll remember it better . . . She's watched her mother suffer for so long . . "
"There is no solution to this Sydney, and Mr. Vaughn and his daughter will have to do the best they can."
Turning towards him, Sydney softly reminded, "they're not us Dad."
"Mr. Vaughn is an intelligent man. His daughter is, in her own right, a young woman. They will do fine," he assured her. Jack was right, and Sydney knew as much. They would do fine because they had no other option, other than to let it eat them alive.
"I don't know how to help them."
"If you recall Sydney," he slowly stood and then kept his eyes on her. "There were times when Mr. Vaughn helped you the most by not saying anything at all," he reminded her, his lips twitching slightly as he rejoined the others in the kitchen.
Classes were to begin at Humboldt two weeks and one day after they buried Kate. Vaughn remained in Tucson for as long as his daughter let him. He made sure guests, family and friends who had flown in for the services made it safely home, ensured that the headstone would be properly placed and engraved, that the funeral home had been paid and that the attorney was aware of her will. In short he struggled to do everything he wished someone had done for him when Sydney had been dead.\par
Matt would have let him stay as long as he wanted, seeing no problem with Michael temporarily taking over the guest room. Sometimes the older man suspected Matt even liked him being there. Understandably still soaked in his grief over Kate and his concern for Alex, he was relieved to walk into his kitchen every morning to a meager yet warm breakfast, to be reassured that the tiny details that no one could expect him to remember had been cared for. For two days the men went about their business alone, Alex only coming out to use the bathroom. Steadily she began to make her presence known in the house. She'd come out for a meal or to escape to the movies, or sit in the living room and read the paper with the two men as companions. Alex would rarely initiate the conversation, but she could manage to hold her half of a brief conversation without bursting into tears. Then, on the ninth morning of the month, a Friday six days before he began his tenure at Humboldt, his daughter told him it was okay to leave.
There had been protests and assurances on his part that it was no trouble to stay. Although his grief was no near as heavy as theirs, it still existed and he was well aware that misery *did* love company. Matt was returning to work Monday, Michael suspected more out of a desire to escape her memory then an actual readiness to return to his job. The company could run well without him, but at that point the escape was mandatory.
Eventually Michael agreed to leave. Deep inside he suspected his daughter wanted to be alone, wanted to be the only one in the large house when she went through her mother's massive closet and the years and years of knickknacks and memories that mother and daughter had collected together. That she wouldn't want to see anyone again see her collapse to tears or damn the woman she obviously missed so desperately. Even so Alex's argument had been logical, it had been over a week since they buried her, he was starting a new job in less than a week. Kate would want him to get his ass back out there.
Eric in a rare moment of brilliance had enlisted his wife and Carrie's assistance in the beginning steps of packing up Vaughn's modest home. Over half of his home was in boxes when he arrived home Friday night. Entering the eerily bare home, he made a brief phone call to Arizona, briefly talking to Alex, encouraged to hear that she was going to go bowling with Matt. Any escape, any cause to get her out of the house, was positive in his mind. Kate wouldn't want her life to end, wouldn't allow the grief to consume their little girl, and he made it his personal mission to see that it never did.
Saturday Megan insisted on making him a massive lunch, sighing when he entered the house and scolding him for how haggard he'd grown. Alone Eric had inquired on how he was, while Megan's main concern had been her goddaughter. Upon hearing that Alex might transfer out of Arizona, she made the offer that if she decided to study at a school in Los Angeles; she was always more than welcome to stay at their home. Any time she was in the area she was welcome to visit, and Michael thanked her for the beautiful floral arrangement that they had sent, unable to get away or pay for the flight east to attend the services. Unofficial moving day was Sunday, a few short days before his new life was scheduled to begin. Most of his life would remain in boxes in temporary in storage in Los Angeles until he found a house to settle into. Instead he took the mandatory things in suitcases and duffels, the Weiss' seeing him off at the house that he'd bought with a young, vibrant cartoon artist twenty years ago, the home that he'd measured his daughter's steady growth, taught her how to play catch and the beauty of hockey before her childhood seemed to vanish overnight and they were left alone in the house, watching her embark on her first date. Standing in the driveway, he wondered how it all happened so suddenly and yet how during moments of your life the passage of time was immeasurably painful. Mindful of his friends, he was determined to focus on them and the life he was beginning and not what he was saying goodbye to. Megan allowed the tears to shine in her eyes, hugging him tightly and making him promise not to forget them. Once she was assured that he would not easily forget his closest friends, he hugged his long-time friend goodbye, both men too proud to let the tears show.
The car arrived in Arcata late in the evening. There had been a part of him, a piece of that hopeful little boy who had never completely died, that had imagined Sydney being at the faculty apartment for him when he arrived. Her presence wouldn't have made his grief any less palpable, and she couldn't be expected to eradicate the weight of his regrets. So alone in the meager apartment he called for take out, briefly recalling Will's off-handed mention of the best Chinese place in northern California, and began to unpack his belongings with a new appreciation for the furniture the school provided him. The place wasn't much, one bedroom, a kitchenette and tiny dining area, but it was only until May, when school would end and he'd be free to move elsewhere.
Monday morning the Bristow house was eerily quiet. From her desk in the family room Sydney swore she could hear the cats purr as all three curled up on the living room sofa. Since Claire's departure nearly a week ago, she'd managed to stay busy. The previous evening Georgia had called her in near tears, arriving on her back stoop less than two minutes later. Sipping coffee, watching Gehrig walk a patient, curious lap around the back yard, she listened to her friend relay the story of Peter's expected question. To Georgia, however, the question had been anything but expected. The two sat on the steps as Sydney listened to her friend and then promised her that Rick wouldn't want her to be miserable, that there was no shame in going out with Peter. Especially since it was nothing fancy, just a play at the theatre in Arcata the following weekend. She had promised her friend that she was certain that wherever Rick was, he was happy to see her happy.
Alone in the house, Sydney smiled as she pulled out the pictures of their holiday journeys. Whatever emotions she felt regarding Kate's death had been pushed aside in time to enjoy New Years with her family. Claire's Koliadki was fantastic, and Irina had insisted it was better than her own, as they drank Sbiten and opened gifts from Ded Moroz. As wonderful as the experience was, Sydney always found herself pausing to study whatever photos she'd take in Washington, doing her best to reassure herself that it was real. That her mind wasn't playing tricks on her if she saw her parents in the same snapshot, laughing, or to promise herself that the smile on her father's face was as genuine as the nearly undetectable spark of joy in his eyes. Whatever mistakes they had made with her, whatever sins they had imprinted upon the other's soul, all was forgiven and corrected in Claire's eyes.
Unused to sending Claire off so soon after their arrival home, they had barely made it in time to do what they had to. The roughly forty-six hours they had spent together in Trinidad had been chaotic. Massive quantities of laundry were done as they repacked her for her travels, preparing her for the upcoming start of the spring semester. They made sure she had clean sheets to bring, and took nearly half a dozen trips to the drug store to pick up the various odds and ends that the two kept remembering. Then she stood in the driveway again, hugging her little girl and making her promise to drive safe and to call her, no matter what time she arrived in Stanford. With a final wave, she watched the Jeep disappear out of the driveway, her Aunt Carrie's aged Joni Mitchell CD humming softly on the radio, leaving Sydney once again with her empty nest.
The loneliness wasn't as painful as it had been earlier. Instead she was eagerly looking forward to the start of the new semester, and quickly tucked away her true motive. Plunging head first into her work, she kept busy putting final touches onto class plans, her syllabus and various other odds and ends. By Monday most of it was done, much to her amazement. Sitting at her desk, she mused the possibility of putting a copy of the photos into the photo albums, Gehrig howled as she heard someone tap loudly on the screen door to the front porch.
Confused, having spent the last nearly twenty years greeting people at her back door, she hushed Gehrig and approached the door. Moments later her concern and confusion turned to relief and heartache. Vaughn stood uncomfortably on her front stoop, his hands in his jeans and his eyes on his shoes. Sydney opened the front door and then stepped onto the front porch, holding the door for him. When his head raised at the sound of the door creaking open, his reaction was one of surprise, leaving her to wonder how tired and torn he truly was. Without a word, she allowed him into the house, through the rarely used formal living room into the family room. Finally, as Gehrig howled for a moment and then settled back down onto the sofa after his mistresses command, Sydney turned fully towards him.
"How's Alex?" she softly inquired.
Vaughn pulled his eyes way from hers in a reaction so familiar that the punch reappeared in her gut after a blissful twenty year absence. Silently he let his eyes rest everywhere but on her, blinking away the tears. Allowing him this, her father's advice ringing in her ears, she considered that no response was appropriate. There was no appropriate way for a young girl who'd just lost her mother to behave, no play book on what to expect and when, and certainly no fast cure. If there was, Sydney would have gone out and bought it herself for the little girl who she could assume was in pieces.
Just as suddenly his eyes were back on hers before they slid shut. Under the sanctuary of his eyelids, he swallowed painfully before they opened. Then Vaughn was in her arms, clinging to her as the tears began against her shoulder. Without hesitation she returned the gesture, her fingers running through his hair, allowing him the tears as she kissed his temple. "I'm sorry Syd," he pleaded, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry . . . I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry for hurting Kate . . I'm so sorry for getting all of us into this mess, for not knowing . . . For not knowing that you were still out there Syd. I'm so sorry," he sniffled, his trembling obvious to her as his larger body shook against hers. "I never meant to hurt you . . . I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead . . I swear I thought you were dead Syd, or I never would have . . . "
"Shh," she soothed, her fingers rhythmically running through his hair, gently kisses against the side of his swollen face. "It's okay Vaughn, it's okay," Sydney promised. Standing there, holding him as he cried for her, for him, for Kate and most especially for Alex, she was too old for what if's and what might have been's. What mattered was then, that she was once again there for him and he there for her. That was the only thing that meant anything.
Authors Note: Another thanks to Dae for such a quick return & for taking the time to beta this for me. I checked the Humboldt State website (all the dates here are from the Stanford & HSU websites, when applicable), and the spring semester starts on a Thursday. It says instruction begins that Monday, but I'm assuming that teachers have to do *something* when the semester starts, even before classes - right?! Also, HSU is in Arcata - Trinidad's a tiny village (pop. 400) that neighbors the college town, and it's where Sydney & Claire live.
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: Special thank you to Dae. Thank you so much for stepping in as my beta, I really enjoyed reading your comments & ideas, etc.
Dedication: To everyone who survived the series opener without wanting to cry . . .
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They buried Kate on a rainy Wednesday, the last day of the year. The rain fell slow and steady, plump drops of moisture that stained their dark attire. Michael stood in between his daughter and the man his former wife had been so intent on starting over with. Standing in the cemetery, surrounded by people he barely knew, his daughter clung to his hand and fought back her sobs. All around her stood friends and family desperate to try to help her, cousins and friends from high school and college who had come to support her. Yet she stood there, unwilling to move too far from her father's side, as he struggled to offer her the solace she so desperately needed.
The group returned to the house for a small reception. For two hours Vaughn found himself stuck in the current of the party. Guests clamored to talk to him, to try to give their condolences to his daughter via him. The food the caterers had provided was steadily disappearing, and the flowers that had been purchased for the funeral had already been sent to local hospitals. All the while, as he choked down a plate of food and made small talk with people he barely remembered, he tried unsuccessfully to find his daughter.
Climbing the staircase, having finally snuck away from the slowly dwindling crowd, his ears were met by the familiar sound of an aged Stevie Nicks tune. Vaughn instantly recognized it as one of Kate's CD's, and followed his ears not to the room of his former wife but to that of his daughter's. Cautiously he cracked the door open, his relief momentary when he saw that his daughter was in her room. The pain reappeared just as quickly when he sat her sitting on the edge of her bed, her body violently shaking with tears.
"Go away," she called as she heard her door open.
"It's me sweetheart," Vaughn struggled to keep his voice calm as he sat down next to her. "Alex? Sweetheart?"
"Daddy," she gulped for breathe. The scene before him, the red eyes, tear-stained face and the hiccups that began to escape her reminded him of the stubborn little girl who would cry so violently that she'd end up sick.
"Take a deep breath," he soothed, reaching out to brush the hair away from her sweaty face. "Your going to make yourself sick Alex, so take a deep breath," he ordered.
Alex continued to shake her head, nevertheless following her father's orders as her door once again opened. Only a moment later Matt stepped inside, his own blue eyes echoing empty shades of gray and his suit, once crisp and neat that morning, showing the signs of wear. "Are you okay?"
"Go away," she snapped at him, wiping her eyes with the balls of her hands. Then she reached over and turned up the volume on her CD player, the only sound detectable over the music was her loud struggle for breath.
Matt took another step into the room, slowly approaching his stepdaughter. In that moment Vaughn felt his sympathy go out to the man, trying to mourn the woman he lost while caring for the child who ultimately wasn't even his. "Please turn down the music and talk to me Axie," he plead.
Her blonde hair, once neatly set in a French braid on her head, now puffed around her head in a halo of unruly locks. The braid her father had so carefully watched her create that morning was barely recognizable, and she had locked herself into her room, changing from her simple linen dress to an all black ensemble of t-shirt, shorts and slippers. At his innocent slip of her nickname, Alex turned towards Matt with angry eyes. "Don't call me Axie!" she demanded. "Just get out! Please!" For a moment her stepfather looked at in her in terror. Then he swallowed and nodded slowly, turning around and leaving the room. As her father stood to join him, she softly called out his name, wanting him to stay.
The two men studied one another for a second before Matt nodded and disappeared. Not wanting to further upset his daughter, Vaughn slowly rejoined her on the bed, surprised when she reached out for his hand. More surprisingly, her body had slowly stopped trembling as her voice neared it's normal sound. "Mommy called me Axie."
"I know."
"I don't want anyone to call me that anymore."
Although he nodded, his daughter hadn't turned her eyes on him. "They won't."
"Mom," she sniffled over the single syllable, her eyes glassy as they met his. "Mom and I talked about it. I'm not going back to school . . . Not yet anyway," she shook her head. To his confusion she stood for a moment before settling back on her bed, this time her feet tucked safely underneath her. "Mom and I agreed that I should take a leave of absence . . It was a last minute decision, but she agreed," Alex shrugged. "I just . . I can't go back right now," she struggled to explain.
"That's fine sweetheart, I think it's a good idea, especially if it's what your Mom wanted," he assured her, dropping her hand to rest his arm around her shoulders. Instinctively she cuddled close to his side as he wished he could hold her tight enough to bar out the painful reality of the world, just as he'd been able to do when she was a little girl.
"Mom . . Aunt Megan told Mom that they have a biology and chemistry department at that college your going to."
Vaughn nodded, kissing the top of her head, "they do."
"Mom said I might want to go there," she hiccupped, still struggling to regain her breath and what little composure that could be expected. "I don't know . . " she sniffled, the tears welling again. "I don't know what I'm going to do yet Daddy."
"You don't have to decide now Alex," he promised her. "You don't need to decide now. There's time. Whatever you want to do, Matt and I will help and support you."
"I hate not knowing."
"There's no need to rush this sweetheart," he reminded her.
"I just," she gasped for breath, beginning to tremble again. "I don't want to let Mommy down," she confessed, burying her face into the wrinkled cotton of her father's dress shirt.
"Oh, sweetie," he sighed, holding her close. Softly he murmured incoherent nothings, struggling for the impossible words to rectify an impossible situation. There was nothing he could do or say to make this easier on her, but he did the only thing he could, holding her as she cried, doing his best to understand the words that escaped in between her sobs. Unaware and uncaring of the time that past, he remained silent until she finally pulled back. Slowly she wiped the tears from her eyes, pulling another tissue from the box that she kept by her bedside. Helpless, Vaughn could do nothing but watch her struggle to calm down before her puffy, bloodshot eyes turned to him.
"Mom told me," she explained, pausing to blow her nose. "Before . . Before Christmas, Mom told me about her. This woman you've been seeing," she shook her head, taking her eyes from his. "Mom says that she's really smart, and nice, and that she's a good person . . . I think she was trying to make it easier for you," she briefly chuckled, wiping the corners of her eyes. "She says you'll probably marry her."
"Alex -"
"Mom made me promise to give her a chance," Alex stopped him, her eyes awake for the first time since his arrival, although her grief was still visible in every crack. "Mom made me promise to be nice and to give her a chance and to not give you a hard time, because," she stopped as her face crumbled. For a few long moments she cried, roping in her sniffles and her sobs, shaking her head as he tried to comfort her. "I'm fine," she muttered before she continued. "Because your not doing this to make things harder on me . . I'm sure she's a nice person Daddy, I'm sure, but . . I don't think I'm ready to meet anyone yet. Especially . . Especially your girlfriend."
"Sweetheart," he sighed and pulled her back into his arms. "You don't have to meet her yet," he promised, feeling her tears dampen his already drenched shirt. "You don't have to meet her any sooner than your ready for," he vowed. "We'll do this at your pace. If you want to come visit me and look at the school, we can do that when you're ready. If you want to stay here and go to Arizona, that's fine too. Whatever you want sweetie, there's plenty of time for you to decide," Vaughn assured her, his voice barely heard over her heart breaking tears.
"I'm . . I'm so scared," she confessed. "I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to do? She took care of everything, I don't know . ."
"I'm scared too," he assured her, pulling back only for a second to pull the hair off of her sticky skin. "I'm so scared too sweetheart, but we'll figure this out. You are being so smart and so brave . . And no matter what you do, your Mom is *so* proud of you. We both are. We love you, and we'll both always love you, no matter where any of us are."
"I want her here!" she demanded angrily. "How come she just gave up? How come she left me Daddy? Wasn't I worth sticking around for? How could she just leave?!" she snapped between her tears. The anger rose in her as she pulled away from her father, ripping a pillow from the neat pile on her bed and hurdling it to the floor. "How could she just leave . . . " she repeated, her voice small. "Why did she leave me?!" she demanded, grabbing a stuffed animal and tossing it even farther. "Damn her! Damn her!! I hate her! God, I hate her for leaving me!" she snapped, crashing down onto the bed. "I just hate her so much!" she insisted, slamming her pillow against her mattress before she started to cry. "I miss her," Alex confessed, burying her head into her abused pillow. "I miss her so much Daddy . . I didn't want her to go . . I wanted her to get better . . . . I just wanted her to stay," she conceded, sobbing into her pillow.
"I know sweetheart," he wiped the tears from his eyes and ran his hand up and down her back. "I know."
A few hundred miles northwest of Tucson, the safehouse on Puget Sound was celebrating the most festive day of the year. Now free to be herself, Irina Derevko had returned to her Russian roots, and had instilled a belief in her granddaughter that New Years Eve & New Years Day were the most important days of the year. It was a custom that had been taught to her as a child when her family had been unable to practice Christmas legally. There was lots of food, customary Russian dishes and the preparation for Ded Moroz. Grandfather Frost, a man who bore an eerie resemblance to Santa except he wore blue, was a tradition that Jack and Irina had insisted on maintaining although their granddaughter was years past believing in Santa Claus. Claire spent the day in the kitchen making Koliadki with her grandmother, filling the treats with a variety of different fillings. Together they worked throughout the kitchen, singing the old Russian carols that Claire had known and loved since youth as Irina shared some of the more acceptable tales of her childhood.
Laughing at the sight, Jack Bristow complied as his wife shooed him out of the kitchen as his granddaughter agreed. Stepping into the living room, his smile faded as his eyes fell onto his only daughter. Although Sydney had smiled and helped with the festivities earlier, it was obvious to see something was bothering her. There she sat in the noiseless living room, so wrapped up with staring at the newspaper in her lap that she didn't even hear him enter.
"Sydney," he sighed and lowered himself onto the sofa next to her. "Are you alright?"
Glancing up at him, she smiled, "I'm fine."
Nodding, Jack looked over her shoulder. That morning his daughter had taken the obituaries of the newspaper and was staring at a large article about the death of cartoon artist Katherine Reeve. Jack looked back at his daughter's profile, her eyes once again reading the article. "How's Agent Vaughn?"
"I don't know," she conceded, her shoulders low and her eyes remaining on the article. "He's with Alex . . I can't bother him now . . . . I wouldn't know what to say anyway."
"Do you intend on avoiding Vaughn now?"
"She was only fifty-five."
"Yes," Jack nodded. "Ms. Reeve was relatively young."
"I didn't even realize this, but she won the Reuben Award a few years ago," Sydney explained, looking at Jack. "It's the highest honor in comic art."
"She lived a successful, happy life."\
"I'm trying to imagine what Alexandra must be feeling . . . . I guess I can, to a certain extent . . . But she's older, she'll remember it better . . . She's watched her mother suffer for so long . . "
"There is no solution to this Sydney, and Mr. Vaughn and his daughter will have to do the best they can."
Turning towards him, Sydney softly reminded, "they're not us Dad."
"Mr. Vaughn is an intelligent man. His daughter is, in her own right, a young woman. They will do fine," he assured her. Jack was right, and Sydney knew as much. They would do fine because they had no other option, other than to let it eat them alive.
"I don't know how to help them."
"If you recall Sydney," he slowly stood and then kept his eyes on her. "There were times when Mr. Vaughn helped you the most by not saying anything at all," he reminded her, his lips twitching slightly as he rejoined the others in the kitchen.
Classes were to begin at Humboldt two weeks and one day after they buried Kate. Vaughn remained in Tucson for as long as his daughter let him. He made sure guests, family and friends who had flown in for the services made it safely home, ensured that the headstone would be properly placed and engraved, that the funeral home had been paid and that the attorney was aware of her will. In short he struggled to do everything he wished someone had done for him when Sydney had been dead.\par
Matt would have let him stay as long as he wanted, seeing no problem with Michael temporarily taking over the guest room. Sometimes the older man suspected Matt even liked him being there. Understandably still soaked in his grief over Kate and his concern for Alex, he was relieved to walk into his kitchen every morning to a meager yet warm breakfast, to be reassured that the tiny details that no one could expect him to remember had been cared for. For two days the men went about their business alone, Alex only coming out to use the bathroom. Steadily she began to make her presence known in the house. She'd come out for a meal or to escape to the movies, or sit in the living room and read the paper with the two men as companions. Alex would rarely initiate the conversation, but she could manage to hold her half of a brief conversation without bursting into tears. Then, on the ninth morning of the month, a Friday six days before he began his tenure at Humboldt, his daughter told him it was okay to leave.
There had been protests and assurances on his part that it was no trouble to stay. Although his grief was no near as heavy as theirs, it still existed and he was well aware that misery *did* love company. Matt was returning to work Monday, Michael suspected more out of a desire to escape her memory then an actual readiness to return to his job. The company could run well without him, but at that point the escape was mandatory.
Eventually Michael agreed to leave. Deep inside he suspected his daughter wanted to be alone, wanted to be the only one in the large house when she went through her mother's massive closet and the years and years of knickknacks and memories that mother and daughter had collected together. That she wouldn't want to see anyone again see her collapse to tears or damn the woman she obviously missed so desperately. Even so Alex's argument had been logical, it had been over a week since they buried her, he was starting a new job in less than a week. Kate would want him to get his ass back out there.
Eric in a rare moment of brilliance had enlisted his wife and Carrie's assistance in the beginning steps of packing up Vaughn's modest home. Over half of his home was in boxes when he arrived home Friday night. Entering the eerily bare home, he made a brief phone call to Arizona, briefly talking to Alex, encouraged to hear that she was going to go bowling with Matt. Any escape, any cause to get her out of the house, was positive in his mind. Kate wouldn't want her life to end, wouldn't allow the grief to consume their little girl, and he made it his personal mission to see that it never did.
Saturday Megan insisted on making him a massive lunch, sighing when he entered the house and scolding him for how haggard he'd grown. Alone Eric had inquired on how he was, while Megan's main concern had been her goddaughter. Upon hearing that Alex might transfer out of Arizona, she made the offer that if she decided to study at a school in Los Angeles; she was always more than welcome to stay at their home. Any time she was in the area she was welcome to visit, and Michael thanked her for the beautiful floral arrangement that they had sent, unable to get away or pay for the flight east to attend the services. Unofficial moving day was Sunday, a few short days before his new life was scheduled to begin. Most of his life would remain in boxes in temporary in storage in Los Angeles until he found a house to settle into. Instead he took the mandatory things in suitcases and duffels, the Weiss' seeing him off at the house that he'd bought with a young, vibrant cartoon artist twenty years ago, the home that he'd measured his daughter's steady growth, taught her how to play catch and the beauty of hockey before her childhood seemed to vanish overnight and they were left alone in the house, watching her embark on her first date. Standing in the driveway, he wondered how it all happened so suddenly and yet how during moments of your life the passage of time was immeasurably painful. Mindful of his friends, he was determined to focus on them and the life he was beginning and not what he was saying goodbye to. Megan allowed the tears to shine in her eyes, hugging him tightly and making him promise not to forget them. Once she was assured that he would not easily forget his closest friends, he hugged his long-time friend goodbye, both men too proud to let the tears show.
The car arrived in Arcata late in the evening. There had been a part of him, a piece of that hopeful little boy who had never completely died, that had imagined Sydney being at the faculty apartment for him when he arrived. Her presence wouldn't have made his grief any less palpable, and she couldn't be expected to eradicate the weight of his regrets. So alone in the meager apartment he called for take out, briefly recalling Will's off-handed mention of the best Chinese place in northern California, and began to unpack his belongings with a new appreciation for the furniture the school provided him. The place wasn't much, one bedroom, a kitchenette and tiny dining area, but it was only until May, when school would end and he'd be free to move elsewhere.
Monday morning the Bristow house was eerily quiet. From her desk in the family room Sydney swore she could hear the cats purr as all three curled up on the living room sofa. Since Claire's departure nearly a week ago, she'd managed to stay busy. The previous evening Georgia had called her in near tears, arriving on her back stoop less than two minutes later. Sipping coffee, watching Gehrig walk a patient, curious lap around the back yard, she listened to her friend relay the story of Peter's expected question. To Georgia, however, the question had been anything but expected. The two sat on the steps as Sydney listened to her friend and then promised her that Rick wouldn't want her to be miserable, that there was no shame in going out with Peter. Especially since it was nothing fancy, just a play at the theatre in Arcata the following weekend. She had promised her friend that she was certain that wherever Rick was, he was happy to see her happy.
Alone in the house, Sydney smiled as she pulled out the pictures of their holiday journeys. Whatever emotions she felt regarding Kate's death had been pushed aside in time to enjoy New Years with her family. Claire's Koliadki was fantastic, and Irina had insisted it was better than her own, as they drank Sbiten and opened gifts from Ded Moroz. As wonderful as the experience was, Sydney always found herself pausing to study whatever photos she'd take in Washington, doing her best to reassure herself that it was real. That her mind wasn't playing tricks on her if she saw her parents in the same snapshot, laughing, or to promise herself that the smile on her father's face was as genuine as the nearly undetectable spark of joy in his eyes. Whatever mistakes they had made with her, whatever sins they had imprinted upon the other's soul, all was forgiven and corrected in Claire's eyes.
Unused to sending Claire off so soon after their arrival home, they had barely made it in time to do what they had to. The roughly forty-six hours they had spent together in Trinidad had been chaotic. Massive quantities of laundry were done as they repacked her for her travels, preparing her for the upcoming start of the spring semester. They made sure she had clean sheets to bring, and took nearly half a dozen trips to the drug store to pick up the various odds and ends that the two kept remembering. Then she stood in the driveway again, hugging her little girl and making her promise to drive safe and to call her, no matter what time she arrived in Stanford. With a final wave, she watched the Jeep disappear out of the driveway, her Aunt Carrie's aged Joni Mitchell CD humming softly on the radio, leaving Sydney once again with her empty nest.
The loneliness wasn't as painful as it had been earlier. Instead she was eagerly looking forward to the start of the new semester, and quickly tucked away her true motive. Plunging head first into her work, she kept busy putting final touches onto class plans, her syllabus and various other odds and ends. By Monday most of it was done, much to her amazement. Sitting at her desk, she mused the possibility of putting a copy of the photos into the photo albums, Gehrig howled as she heard someone tap loudly on the screen door to the front porch.
Confused, having spent the last nearly twenty years greeting people at her back door, she hushed Gehrig and approached the door. Moments later her concern and confusion turned to relief and heartache. Vaughn stood uncomfortably on her front stoop, his hands in his jeans and his eyes on his shoes. Sydney opened the front door and then stepped onto the front porch, holding the door for him. When his head raised at the sound of the door creaking open, his reaction was one of surprise, leaving her to wonder how tired and torn he truly was. Without a word, she allowed him into the house, through the rarely used formal living room into the family room. Finally, as Gehrig howled for a moment and then settled back down onto the sofa after his mistresses command, Sydney turned fully towards him.
"How's Alex?" she softly inquired.
Vaughn pulled his eyes way from hers in a reaction so familiar that the punch reappeared in her gut after a blissful twenty year absence. Silently he let his eyes rest everywhere but on her, blinking away the tears. Allowing him this, her father's advice ringing in her ears, she considered that no response was appropriate. There was no appropriate way for a young girl who'd just lost her mother to behave, no play book on what to expect and when, and certainly no fast cure. If there was, Sydney would have gone out and bought it herself for the little girl who she could assume was in pieces.
Just as suddenly his eyes were back on hers before they slid shut. Under the sanctuary of his eyelids, he swallowed painfully before they opened. Then Vaughn was in her arms, clinging to her as the tears began against her shoulder. Without hesitation she returned the gesture, her fingers running through his hair, allowing him the tears as she kissed his temple. "I'm sorry Syd," he pleaded, his voice muffled against her shoulder. "I'm so sorry . . . I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you, I'm sorry for hurting Kate . . I'm so sorry for getting all of us into this mess, for not knowing . . . For not knowing that you were still out there Syd. I'm so sorry," he sniffled, his trembling obvious to her as his larger body shook against hers. "I never meant to hurt you . . . I'm so sorry. I thought you were dead . . I swear I thought you were dead Syd, or I never would have . . . "
"Shh," she soothed, her fingers rhythmically running through his hair, gently kisses against the side of his swollen face. "It's okay Vaughn, it's okay," Sydney promised. Standing there, holding him as he cried for her, for him, for Kate and most especially for Alex, she was too old for what if's and what might have been's. What mattered was then, that she was once again there for him and he there for her. That was the only thing that meant anything.
Authors Note: Another thanks to Dae for such a quick return & for taking the time to beta this for me. I checked the Humboldt State website (all the dates here are from the Stanford & HSU websites, when applicable), and the spring semester starts on a Thursday. It says instruction begins that Monday, but I'm assuming that teachers have to do *something* when the semester starts, even before classes - right?! Also, HSU is in Arcata - Trinidad's a tiny village (pop. 400) that neighbors the college town, and it's where Sydney & Claire live.