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.
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They drove for eight and a half hours that Friday night, alternating between driver and passenger. Michael Vaughn knew better than anyone that Sydney Bristow knew how to speed if necessary, and there were a few occasions when he saw her slightly slide over the speed limit. The ride was a remarkably pleasant one, in spite of the traffic and length. He held her hand, his thumb soothing the top of her knuckles. They talked, the music played comfortably in the background and he rounded up the courage to casually mention that perhaps Santa Barbara should be their next road trip. Her only response was a smile and a soft confirmation that she'd like that too.
Saturday morning Bryce sat down in their regular dining hall. This morning Claire barely noticed him as he sat down across from her. Instead his nose wrinkled as he noticed her meal. "Is that ice cream?"
"Yes," she answered, swallowing a bite of chocolate.
"For breakfast?"
"Yes," she groaned. "Is that okay with you?"
"Where's the bagel?"
"I'm not in a bagel type mood," she cut him off. Bryce sighed. For a few moments they were silent as he took the opportunity to plunge into his cereal as she devoured the rest of her ice cream. When she finally met his eyes again, the tip of her nose was colored and her eyes bloodshot. "You're coming this afternoon, right?"
"I wouldn't miss it," he promised. "As soon as things are wrapped up after the game, I'll meet you at the restaurant."
"You have the directions?" Claire worried.
"Mapquest is a wonderful thing," he smirked. "When are you supposed to meet them?"
"Noon outside of Maples."
"Listen Claire," he sighed, leaning closer to her. "Just chill and be nice during the game, okay? I'll get to the restaurant as soon as I can."
"I'll be pleasant," she vowed.
Leaning across the rickety dining hall table, he grabbed her nose and gently tugged it until a smile appeared on her face. "I'm serious kid."
"One of these days I'm seriously going to kick your ass for calling me that."
"No you won't," he corrected. "If you would, you would have done it a long time ago."
While it was without a doubt the truth, Claire just shrugged her shoulders and took another bite of her ice cream, "that's what you think."
"Just don't eat all the ice cream in the county kid, please?" he pleaded.
"I don't know why I'm so nervous . . . I mean, this guy should be nervous, not me, right?"
"Maybe neither of you should be nervous," Bryce suggested. "Maybe you both should just trust that your mom wouldn't be doing this if she thought it would blow up in her face."
"I can't eat anymore," she sighed, pulling her food away. "I'm getting nauseous."
"Chill out kid," he warned. "If you keep this up, we'll have to roll you out of Maples at the end of the game."
"Why is she making me do this?"
"She's your mom, I don't think she thought this would be torture."
"Well, it is," she groaned.
"You might like this guy."
"Keep saying that," she muttered.
Across from her, Bryce smiled, "I will. C'mon, I'm supposed to be nervous here, not you."
Claire's brown eyes grew curious. "Why are you nervous?"
"I'm meeting your mom. I know how much her approval means to you."
"I'm not going to disown you if my mother hates you," she promised, even though the mere notion was absurd.
"The point is that I know it would affect how you see me Claire, and don't say it wouldn't. Her opinion means the world to you. Just like yours means to your mom."
"You better win this afternoon," she grumbled, pulling the remainder of her half-melted ice cream back to her.
"Where did you find ice cream on campus this early in the morning anyway?"
A smile blossomed on her face as she shrugged, "That's for me to know and you never to find out."
Later that morning, in one of the college town's many hotels, Sydney Bristow looked up from fixing her hair as Michael Vaughn walked out of the bathroom. The look on his anxious face broke her heart as he stood inspecting his attire. Somehow, despite the casual nature of the day's events, a polo shirt and jeans didn't seem appropriate for the occasion of meeting the mysterious Claire Bristow. Slowly Sydney stood and walked over to him, placing her palms on her chest and leaned up to slowly kiss him. Pulling back, he granted her a half smile as she spoke quietly into the small space between them. "Why are you so nervous? You weren't this anxious about meeting my father."
"Your father introduced himself to me with the barrel of a gun. I'm hoping for better luck with Claire."
For a few moments her laughter filled through the still hotel room air. "My daughter believes that guns should be abolished, even for government employees. She's been trying to convince my father to get rid of his for years."
"Somehow I don't imagine she realizes you know how to fire one either."
"No," she agreed as they sat down on the edge of the bed. "She doesn't realize a lot of things about her family. . ."
"You're just protecting her Syd," Vaughn reminded, softly squeezing her hand.
Sydney's chocolate eyes met his, "From what? Herself? Her family's past?"
"What good would it do Syd?" he urged. "I'm not a big fan of Irina Derevko, and in most instances your father and I don't see eye to eye, but what good would it do? Who they were, what you used to do, has no affect on who Claire is. Telling her would only confuse and upset her. All that matters to that girl is who you and your parents are to her. What the rest of the world sees shouldn't matter."
Her eyes were glued on the carpet in front of her as she sighed, "I don't know how I'm going to explain your knowing that her grandmother is alive. I've spent her entire life trying to avoid the subject of why she *couldn't* tell people her grandmother is alive. . ."
"We'll deal with that when the time comes," he softly insisted, gently using his fingers to tilt her face to look at him.
Finally she smiled, leaning over to kiss him. "Claire will like you," she promised. "Maybe not right away, but give her some time."
"I've got plenty of that," Vaughn smiled as they both stood, their hands still safely in one another's. "We should head out, it looks like it's getting worse out there," he noted as the rain continued to pour out their window.
"Ready for this?" she questioned as he helped her into her jacket.
Another smile and another kiss before he brought her hand up to his lips and carefully kissed it. "Let's go."
If there hadn't been the promise of seeing Bryce play in a game at Maples, Laura wasn't entirely sure her roommate would have been convinced to head out the door in time to meet her mother. Neither had slept well the night before. Instead they lay on their backs as the fan overhead circulated the room's air. Claire talked and Laura listened as she tumbled through her fears and anxieties. It had been an unexpected journey for Laura, who had walked in the dorm room just after midnight to find her friend lying still and her mind racing. What surprised her most was the tumultuous ocean of emotions that had been opened up in her calm, polite, normally composed roommate. Late into the early morning they sat deconstructing her emotions and the what if's of the situation. Just after eleven in the morning Laura, still trying to catch up on the sleep she had missed, had heard Claire sneak out of the dorm room for the day. As the door slammed behind her, she rolled over onto her back and said a silent prayer that the day wouldn't be as bad as Claire anticipated.
Decked out in her Stanford baseball cap and matching Stanford t-shirt, she comfortably blended in with the crowd pouring into Maples. Except Claire stood there, her back against the rough texture of the building as she waited. Just past the overhang the rain was pouring, reminding her of the very day she had met Bryce. Only two months ago, but it felt far longer than that. Perhaps since she'd had a crush on him on and off since she'd first seen him play basketball when she was only a junior in high school, while he was a freshman. At the time the idea of going to Stanford was absurd, and the thought of meeting him, nevermind being his friend, was ridiculous. Yet by chance or coincidence, fate or foolishness, it had happened. Lying at night, waiting for Laura to come home from a late class or a date, she'd consider the recent occurrences in her life and still wondered how it all happened as well as it did.
Easily she could imagine her Naunua telling her simply that what was meant to happen would happen. Another notion that her Grandfather would likely find absurd. Most of the time her mother would just smile and be happy when she was happy, not going so far as the question the circumstances or reasons. Even so, it was impossible to imagine her mother disliking Bryce. Sometimes she'd even conjure up the image of her Grandfather and Uncle Will meeting him. In her mind he met their approval gracefully in every single scenario. All Claire could do was hope that real life would be as kind if the situation ever arose.
As the crowds pushed around her, a wonderfully familiar sight came into view. Steadily her mother and an unfamiliar companion were working their way through the crowds, obviously searching for someone. With neither aware that she saw them, Claire allowed herself the brief opportunity to study this man who had invaded her world without her knowledge or consent. He was dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt, but he looked decent enough. While he no longer carried the same sharp features that he had in the photo her mother had shown, she could almost allow herself to see how her mother managed to find him attractive. Most of all he was clean-shaven and appeared intelligent, allowing for a fairly favorable first impression.
"Mom!" Claire finally called over the crowd. Thankfully both of them were taller than she was, finally spotting her in the crowd. Curiously she noted how her mother gently grasped his hand and tugged her toward him. It was only slightly reassuring to Claire to see that this man was as anxious about this as she was.
A smile bloomed widely across Sydney's face as she warmly hugged her daughter. "Claire! I missed you," she spoke softly.
Pulling back, she smiled in slight embarrassment, "I missed you too Mom," she promised before her eyes drew themselves to the stranger in their mist.
"Claire, this is Michael Vaughn. Michael, this is my daughter," Sydney calmly introduced, her hand tucking itself snugly into the crook of his left arm.
"It's nice to meet you Claire, I've heard a lot about you," Michael smiled and held his hand out to her. Much to his relief, she grasped it firmly and shook his hand, making no attempt to force him onto his back or shove a weapon under his nasal cavity.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Vaughn," was her instinctive reply.
"Please, call me Michael," he insisted.
Nodding uncomfortably, she softly agreed, "Sure."
"We should probably head in," Sydney cheerfully added. "Were you waiting long?" she inquired as they joined the line of people steadily moving through the south entrance of Maples Pavilion.
"Not really," she dismissed. "Just a few minutes. Sorry I didn't see you."
"That's fine Tinkerbelle," her mother promised. "How's Laura?"
"She's fine. Sleeping. We were sort of up late last night."
"Laura's your roommate?" Vaughn politely asked.
Glancing past her mother to their other companion, Claire spoke, "Yes. She's a sociology major."
"Is she on the field hockey team too?"
"No," Claire shook her head, hiding her surprise at how well he knew her. "We were matched when we filled out our residency information. So far it's gone really well."
"My freshman year I roomed with one of my friend's from boarding school. It was the first time we had roomed together and it was a disaster. That's why I told my daughter if she was going to live on campus, she's better off with a stranger. You don't bring any baggage into it, you're less likely to lose a friend," Michael offered as they handed the attendant their tickets and were directed to the central loge section of the pavilion.
"What's her name?" she asked. In the back of her mind Claire knew that her mother had told her his daughter's name, but it was a struggle to remember it.
"Alexandra."
"Mom says she goes to Arizona, right?"
"At the moment," Vaughn nodded. "She's taking a leave of absence this semester. She might transfer someplace else, she hasn't decided yet."
"What's she studying?"
"Biochemistry. She's planning on medical school."
"That's cool," Claire noted as they settled into their seats. Claire sat on the edge next to her mother with Vaughn on Sydney's other side.
"You're studying economics?"
"Yeah," she nodded, starting to finger the program they had handed out at the door of the arena. Vaughn nodded and leaned back in his seat, gladly meeting Sydney's smile as Claire wrapped herself up on reading the biographical paragraphs in the booklet.
It was a good game, an electric atmosphere in the sold-out Pavilion. Stanford was ranked thirteenth in the country that week, and the unranked USC team, who had only three losses and fifteen wins, were chomping for some national recognition and respect. The first half was close, the teams bringing a 45-41 score into the locker room with the advantage going to the Cardinals. Claire mused that whatever Coach Woodward had said in the locker room worked as the Cardinals went on a 21-5 run to start the second half. With three minutes remaining in the game and the team with a twenty-three point advantage, Bryce was taken out for the last time and given a loud, long ovation from the Maples crowd. Then, like the rest of them, he sat down to watch Stanford roll over USC, 91-67.
"Bryce will meet us?" Sydney asked as they started to leave the arena.
"He has to shower, talk to the media, and go back to campus with the team, so yeah."
"He's a good player," Vaughn evaluated.
"Yeah," Claire grinned. "He's pretty decent," she shrugged, the color illuminating her normally fair features. "Looks like it's going to rain again," she sighed with a quick look up at the clouds forming above.
"Well, we're eating inside," Sydney smiled as they approached the car.
"How was the drive?" Claire politely inquired as she buckled herself safely into the back seat.
Sydney glanced over her shoulder at her only child as Vaughn joined the flow of traffic out of the arena parking lot. "It really wasn't too bad."
"Good," she sighed and looked out the window. Various topics of conversation floated through her mind, none of which seemed appropriate or even interesting. As her mother leaned over to flip on the radio, Claire gave herself the chance to study this man who had so suddenly reentered and shaken up her mother's world. In the front of the car they appeared to be briefly in their own world, their conversation inaudible but their gestures instinctively intimate. The rain kept pounding down beyond the windows, the strings of some aged Sheryl Crow song slipping through the speakers. Unsure of what to say, she found herself doodling her initials next to Bryce's on the window's condensation as one of her mother's favorite artists sung about faith.
The waiter led them to a quiet booth of the comfortable restaurant. The two adults smiled in her direction as Vaughn and Sydney slid in to the booth across from her. Their drink orders were taken before the waiter disappeared, leaving the three to conversation. Vaughn clasped his hands in front of him, turning his head briefly to meet Sydney's comforting eyes before he dipped into the uncharted pool of conversation.
"Your mom says you play field hockey."
"Yeah," Claire confirmed, struggling not to check her watch as she fiddled with her straw wrapper.
Vaughn nodded, his expression slightly less confident as he tried again. "You play for Stanford, right?"
"Right," she nodded.
"You must be very good. Starting as goalie your freshman year."
The young woman shrugged, trying to see past the downpour to detect if Bryce had arrived. "I'm okay. I always wanted to play ice hockey but there aren't a lot of ice hockey leagues around here, and like none are for girls."
"There are some rinks in Los Angeles."
"Mom's taken me to a few. When we go to visit Uncle Will, he'll take me, but it's hard to play when you're only able to get on the ice a few times a year."
"There must be a rink somewhere in the area," he insisted, looking at Sydney for direction.
"Nah, I've looked," Claire sighed.
"So . . . Economics is your major, right?" he questioned, her eyes darting briefly to the glass.
Slowly her head bobbed as she looked back at him, giving him the same glare her mother had in the earliest days of their working relationship. "Yeah."
"I studied economics."
"Here?"
"No, Georgetown. Now D.C. is a good place for ice hockey. There are some pee wee hockey leagues out there too that I was involved in."
"That's neat," she agreed. "I couldn't have gone that far from home. Grandpa took me to D.C. once, Christmas time. It was pretty cool, but they don't have a field hockey team."
"We moved a lot when I was a kid," Vaughn conveyed. "Until I was eight," he softly corrected. "I was used to moving, and when I started college I wanted a life completely removed from my mom."
"I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet," Claire confessed, the caramel-drowned ice clinking in her glass as she stirred her straw. "I keep saying I will, that I'll go farther away for graduate school maybe . . . maybe law school," she sighed, her eyes drawn to her glass as she pushed hair behind her ear.
"With your undergrad in economics the opportunities for graduate school are endless. You could teach, or pursue law or international relations . . . especially with a degree from someplace like Stanford," Vaughn insisted.
"I should know what I want to do," she groaned and leaned against the slightly worn out booth. "Everyone else knows what they want to do . . . Mom always knew what she wanted to do."
"That's the beauty of college. You've got a few more years before you have to decide," he assured her. Absently Claire nodded, her eyes once again peering sadly out the window. "So, how long have you been seeing Bryce?" he softly inquired.
Claire's eyes snapped to his, instantly defensive, the stance of her shoulders one he'd seen another lifetime ago on the frame of another Bristow woman. "We're not dating. He's a finance major . . . I think he just wants to meet mom to talk to her about the competitive world of international banking or something . . ." she sighed, looking at her watch and than back out the window.
Unbeknownst to her, the adults shared a prolonged look before Sydney turned back to her daughter. "Claire," she quietly called. Tearing her eyes away from the window, Claire looked at her mother and waited. Sydney spoke softly, her voice so low her companions could barely hear her. "Vaughn knows . . . About everything. About how I never really worked for a bank, about the work I did for the government . . . We were partners . . . He even knows about your grandmother," she spoke. All the truth, Sydney knew, for once reassured that Claire didn't know the whole truth about her grandmother. Some things a child never needs to know.
Already porcelain skin grew nearly translucent under the restaurant's bright lighting. Just as quickly her eyes drew down to her paper placemat and her fingers toyed with the edge of her Stanford t-shirt. Thirty seconds of eternity ticked away before Claire finally broke it with a softly uttered syllable, "Oh."
The waiter reappeared. With Bryce's arrival nowhere in sight, they placed their order for appetizers, Sydney and Vaughn still hungry after eating a sparse breakfast. Once he vanished behind the kitchen doors, the minutes continued to slowly tick by. Underneath the tabletop, Vaughn's fingers intertwined with hers as Claire studied the menu then looked sullenly out the window. When the food appeared in front of them, nearly an hour after their arrival, he dared once again to break the conversation. "Did Bryce know how to get here?"
"Supposedly," Claire sighed, her shoulders progressively drooping as she pushed her food around her plate.
"I'm sure he'll be here sweetheart . . . You know men can never ask for directions, even when their lost," Sydney teased, briefly relieved to see the fleeting smile on her daughter's face. Quietly Vaughn asked about Sydney's food, the two quietly talking about their food when a long shadow fell over the table.
Bryce stood uncomfortably in front of the table. Claire looked up from her plate and sighed. Slipping out of the booth, Bryce noted how she seemed to purposely stand a few feet from him as Vaughn and Sydney stood. "Mom, Michael, this is Bryce O'Neal. Bryce, this is my mother Sydney Bristow and her . . . friend, Michael Vaughn," she introduced.
"It's nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you," he smiled and vigorously shook the professor's hand.
Sydney smiled, instantly impressed with the clean-shaven, well-dressed young man. "It's nice to meet you too Bryce."
"Sorry," Bryce sheepishly grinned as he looked over at Vaughn. "I haven't heard much about you, but it's nice to meet you."
"You played an impressive game today," Vaughn complimented in slight awe.
"Yeah," the younger man smiled and scratched his head. "I guess I moved ahead on the school's all time scoring list . . . I didn't even know until the sports reporter from the Gazette told me . . ." he shrugged.
At his side Claire sighed and grabbed her sweater out of the booth. "Excuse me, I'll be back in a few minutes," she dismissed herself. The remaining three watched as she exited out of the restaurant via the boardwalk entrance, leaning against the wooden railing, seemingly unbothered by the rain.
The skin on his cheeks burned as Bryce turned to his elders. "Excuse me Dr. Bristow, Mr. Vaughn . . . I'll be right back," he quickly followed in her footsteps.
Although she heard him, Claire didn't acknowledge him as he joined her on the boardwalk, finding sanctuary below the overhang as she remained soggy. "Kid - " he spoke softly.
"A stupid school record," she broke out over the rain. She tightened her arms around her body for comfort and to keep out the chill that grew increasingly heavy in the air. "So what, now you're fifth on the all time scoring list instead of seventh?" she muttered.
"I didn't realize -"
"You made me do this by myself because of some stupid school record?" she turned towards him. "I'm sitting there, not knowing what the hell to say to this man who I can't help but think knows more about my family than I do!" Claire bitterly spoke. As her words progressed, she walked steadily towards him, arriving under the dry sanctuary of the overhang. "I *needed* you Bryce! You *know* how upset I've been about this, and you just blew me off . . . I was starting to think you weren't going to come!" she blinked away the tears.
"Claire . . ." Bryce sighed and stepped toward her, the heat rebounding off of his body and warming hers. He seemed to suddenly remember something as he dug into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a linen handkerchief. Folded into a neat quarter, he pressed the gentle cotton against her face, absorbing the rainwater. Claire's brown eyes remained fixated on his face as her mind wondered how a man who believed all shopping should be internet-based came to carry a handkerchief.
Just as magically the soft item disappeared back into his pocket once his task was completed. As her eyes dropped back down to their feet, her eyes caught his hands as they moved to take his. The erratic thumping originating under her throat slowly died down as she braced herself to look back at him, her eyes arriving just in time to see him reverently kiss the top of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he continued, his voice just as low as dragged his lips over her forehead in the briefest of touches. With her chocolate eyes locked with his and her heart willingly in his hands, he lowered his lips to kiss her.
Back inside the restaurant, Vaughn glanced out the door the young couple had disappeared in. "Do you think they're okay?"
Sydney sighed, "I hope so . . . that has to be part of the reason why she's been acting so distant. Usually she's very friendly and personable."
He looked skeptically at her, "I'm your boyfriend Syd. I think in Claire's book that makes me public enemy number one."
"She's a good kid . . . She's amazing Vaughn. I know you probably can't tell by her behavior tonight, but she's such a wonderful person . . . She's just so uncertain of herself sometimes, and her uncertainty makes her hostile . . . She's a lot like I was," Sydney noted before looking back down at her food.
"You were never uncertain of yourself Syd," he corrected in brief amusement.
"No," she shook her head and swallowed her food. "I was. In a way, SD-6, as horrible as it was, made me the person I am. Going out there, doing those missions . . . It left me a lot more confident than I ever was before. After I started working there, I was much more certain around myself, of what I was doing . . . much more confident around boys."
Vaughn chuckled, "I don't imagine it was very hard for you to get a date in high school Syd."
"All girl's boarding school Vaughn," she reminded him. "Even if I hadn't been, since I couldn't do ballet, I played the saxophone in the marching band . . . I was terribly shy too," Sydney recalled. Glancing by him at the door he watched the worry crawl onto her features, "Maybe I should go -"
"I'll do it," he stood up.
"Vaughn -"
"I'll do it Sydney," he promised. The truth was he was anxious to be briefly alone with Claire, to find some neutral or perhaps even positive ground with the young woman. Vaughn smiled at her before he walked out the door to the boardwalk. To his amusement he watched the younger couple break out of their embrace. "Is everything okay?" he inquired.
Bryce glanced at Claire and shrugged, "Yes. Everything's fine," he promised, squeezing Claire's hand gently. "I'm going to go order something to eat," he spoke, dropping a kiss on her cheek and going to join Sydney.
Uncertain, Claire smiled briefly at Vaughn before she turned back to the water, slowly walking back to the railing. Sighing, he stuck his hands into the pockets of the worn denim and went to join her. They stood watching the water, the slowly dying showers, momentarily in silence. "In some weird way, she's been waiting for you for over twenty years . . . " she spoke up, her eyes still fixated on the rocking shores ahead of her. "I mean, she was obviously with my father, and she saw Peter, but nothing serious . . . I know she cared about my father, but I don't think it was ever completely real to her . . . So she's just been waiting," Claire's shoulders shrugged as she hugged herself. "For so long she's just been waiting on this obscure chance that you'll come back . . . I never realized it, I mean of course I didn't, until a few weeks ago I didn't even know you existed," she chuckled, mostly for her own amusement. "I can see it now, when I think about stuff, that she was just waiting and hoping, even when she wouldn't admit it to herself. And I know my mom, she's too stubborn to admit it to anyone, *especially* to herself," she commented as the man next to her chuckled.
Claire's brown eyes darted to his, the sober expression on her face reminding him of Jack's more stone faced moments. "I can't understand it, not really, having so much faith . . . Loving someone that much that you'd just wait, even when the *only* thing you have to go on is faith . . . She told me what happened, the first time you were with her. What you did . . . I know my mom, and I could just *see* how badly you hurt her then. Don't do it again," she warned, her voice low. "Don't hurt her Mr. Vaughn, because if you do, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it."
Standing in front of him was little Claire Bristow, the little girl in ponytails and stained overalls that he'd seen grow up via pictures in her grandfather's office. The only grandchild of two former spies, two people still legendary in the world of high-stakes espionage. The only grandchild of two grandparents who openly adored her. Knowing all of that, Vaughn had no doubt that Claire could easily stay true to her word, with only a phone call and a little bit of help from her grandfather.
"Your mother is one of the most loving, amazing women I've ever met," he quietly started. "After everything she's been through, after all the things I watched her go through . . Knowing what she went through when you were younger, how difficult it must have been raising you on her own . . . Claire, your mother continues to amazes me. How she can continue to be so loving and trusting and caring after all that's been done to her . . . " he trailed off.
Claire studied this man, wondering just how much of her mother's life that he shared, parts of her mother's life that she doubted she even knew existed. "I fell in love with her the day I met her, with that stupid bozo hair . . . The day we met was during one of the most difficult times in your mother's life, but I don't regret that I fell in love with her . . ." he sighed, his voice dropping lower. "I don't regret moving on with my life after I lost her Claire. I would do anything I could to go back and change anything that I've ever done to hurt her, but I had to move on."
"You hurt her," she repeated, her voice low and harsh.
"I did," he looked regretfully out at the ocean. "I do regret that, but not a day has past since the first day we met that I haven't loved her. All I want now is to be with her, to take care of her," Vaughn explained. Before Claire could protest he continued, "I'm aware that your mother doesn't need to be taken care of, but that doesn't mean I don't want to do it . . . When she came back, I wanted closure. In some way I think I wanted her blessing, I wanted her to tell me that it was okay that I'd moved on, that she understood . . . She never did," he recalled as Claire bit back a chuckle. "When I think about it now . . . Claire, closure would have been futile. No matter where we were, no matter whom we were with . . . The relationship never really ended. Even if there was nothing going on, even though we never saw each other, as long as you love someone, the relationship always continues, even if they're not there with you."
"You still remember the day you met?"
Vaughn smiled, "like it was yesterday," he confirmed. "I was a junior agent . . . Your mother was what we called a walk in," he explained, mindful not to divulge too much. "I just happened to be up that day, it was my turn to deal with the various people who walked through our doors every day and claimed to have information . . . She was beautiful and bloody and broken," he sighed, the confusion clouding Claire's eyes. "I can't begin to tell you how much she changed my life. I half expected her to beat me up . . . I loved her though Claire, and I was terrified . . . Your mother thought for the longest time that she made my life more difficult. More complicated. She did," he softly agreed, his head tilted. "No matter what she thinks she's taken from me, she's given me back more than I ever thought I could have."
"My grandfather says that you're not good enough for her."
Vaughn studied his feet and nodded, clearly imagining the words from Jack Bristow's mouth. "Yes, I know," he spoke and looked back at her. "He's probably right . . . I've never been good enough for your mother Claire. I wasn't then and it's unlikely I am now. Your grandfather has every reason to be suspicious of me, to be dubious of my intentions. So do you Claire. I don't expect your grandfather or your Uncle Will or anyone else who loves your mother to accept me back into her life without hesitation. None of that changes the fact that I was so in love with her. And it does nothing to change the way I feel. I thought then that I was more in love with her than I could ever be with anyone, but now . . . I love her even more. The only hope I have for you, for my own daughter, is that you find someone who loves you as much as I love your mother. And I hope that if you do, and he hurts you, you can find it in yourself to forgive him, just as your mother has managed to do."
"I won't let you hurt her again," Claire softly warned. Out of the corner of her brown eyes, he saw him nod slightly, accepting her terms. The wind died down around them, bouncing slower off the water as they stood there in silence.
"We should probably go inside, our food's getting cold," Vaughn finally spoke. Claire smiled with a slight nod of her head, following him back into the restaurant.
Inside the warm restaurant, Sydney was sharing a story from Claire's childhood with an attentive Bryce. The young man had been absently eating his meal as he listened to stories that only a mother could share. The young woman smiled at her mother and beau, sliding into the booth next to him as Vaughn rejoined Sydney. "Everything okay?" Sydney gently inquired.
"Everything's fine," Claire smiled at her mother.
"Claire," Vaughn started again as she looked up at him. "You're a Kings fan?"
Bryce snorted at what he thought had to be a rhetorical question. Asking if Claire Bristow liked the Los Angeles Kings was about as rhetorical as asking him whether his life dream was to play in the NBA. The girl next to him blushed and gently nudged him in the ribs before she spoke. "I love the Kings. They look good so far this season."
"They do. If they can beat Ottawa, they've got a chance at the Cup."
"Ottawa, really?" Claire looked skeptical. "I think their biggest threat will be New Jersey."
"Do we have to talk about hockey?" Bryce teased.
"You don't like hockey?" Sydney questioned, surprised as the young man shook his head no.
"I'm trying," he explained. "I just can't get interested."
"I don't understand why. Hockey and basketball are essentially the same thing," Claire reasoned.
"They are *not* essentially the same thing," he retorted.
"Gordie Howe would have beaten Michael Jordan's butt any day," she insisted.
"Forget Michael Jordan, what about Wilt Chamberlain? Or Dr. J? Contrary to popular early twenty first century belief, there *is* good basketball beyond Jordan, Iverson, Berkley and Bryant."
Vaughn glanced over at Sydney, who rolled her eyes at their good-natured debate. Chuckling the older man reclasped her hand under the table and decided for a change of conversation. "What type of music do you like?"
Bryce snickered, "John Mayer."
"Shut up!" Claire hissed, her eyes wide and her skin the shade of blood. "Don't be stupid!" she muttered. "He's like forty-something, he's got like five kids and married to some novelist in Connecticut," she dismissed. "Anyway, I've been listening to him all my life. Mom loves his stuff."
Another look in Sydney's direction and Vaughn was granted a cheeky smile, vague remembrances of days when he woke up early in the morning to find her all but gushing over the musician courtesy of VH-1's Insomniac Theatre. "I'm doing my best to wean her off it, but it's going to take time," Bryce teased.
Looking at the young couple, both glowing and far too young to realize all the inevitable road bumps that lay ahead of them, it was impossible not to smile. At that age ignorance was bliss. Sydney was certain her daughter felt that with Bryce by her side, she could tackle anything and succeed, that nothing could halt their well-planned dream. Despite her common sense and the knowledge that nothing in life was ever that smooth, she couldn't help but wish it was that way for them.
Conversation progressed fairly naturally over dinner. Gently Sydney did her best to prod through Bryce's life without being obvious. Despite having grown up in Wisconsin, Bryce shared Vaughn's love for the Mets. Throughout the meal Vaughn took the opportunity to occasionally stir conversation with Claire, who would respond politely if not a bit distantly. Being a Bristow, Vaughn had expected nothing less. No one in that family opened up easily, especially when he was considered by the young woman to be a hostile outsider. Knowing all Sydney had endured, remembering with regret all the suffering he'd unwittingly forced her to suffer, he more than understood Claire's fierce protectiveness over her mother - he liked her even more for it.
"Do you want us to drive you back?" Sydney asked her daughter as the four walked out of the restaurant. The sun was already deeply buried beneath the night sky as a cool breeze blew around them.
"There's no need Dr. Bristow, I can drive Claire back," Bryce offered as they stood on the sidewalk.
"Well," she sighed. "I guess this is it then, huh?" she smiled at her daughter.
"I'll be home in a few weeks Mom," Claire promised, willingly entering her mother's arms as Vaughn and Bryce shook hands.
"What about you Bryce?" Sydney smiled as mother and daughter broke apart. "What are your spring break plans?"
"Hopefully we'll be playing in the NCAA regionals, so I have my fingers crossed that I won't have to make any plans."
Vaughn asked, "When is your break?"
"The nineteenth of March is the last day of exams," Claire answered.
Confused Vaughn turned to Sydney, "Isn't that the last day of our break?"
Claire sighed, "Of course it is. It always seems to work out that way."
Sydney smiled at her daughter, "I'll have more than enough time. Maybe we can even go away, I could have some of my TA's teach for a few days," she promised. Then she looked back at Bryce. "Good luck with the remainder of the season," she smiled politely and briefly hugged him. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too," he replied as he reached for Claire's hand in the dark.
"Drive safely Mom, and call me when you get home," she urged.
"I will Tinkerbelle," Sydney vowed.
As Bryce squeezed her fingers, she looked over at the newcomer in her mother's world and did her best to smile sincerely. "It was nice to meet you Michael."
"You too Claire, it was nice to finally meet the woman your mother talks about all the time."
Despite the dark, everyone could make out the red in her cheeks as she shook his hand. "Thanks. She's really got to start talking about the dog more though - I'm really not that interesting."
"That's not true," Sydney corrected. "As your mother, I'm the authority on all things Claire and I think your fantastic."
"Thanks Mom," she softly replied with a smile.
"We should get going," Bryce realized. "Have a safe trip home," he urged the older couple.
"You too," Vaughn called. Then they stood on the sidewalk, watching as Bryce and Claire got into his car and with a wave in their direction, drive way. "She's great," he spoke softly, his fingers intertwined with hers as he led her over to the car.
"She is," Sydney confirmed and a slight nod. "Thank you," she whispered as he held her car door open for her. Even in the darkness, she noticed his eyes soften and his smile bloom. Even after a lifetime apart, he still knew her.
Bending over, he gently kissed her. "No regrets Syd."
As he got into the car, she looked over at him with a smile and a nod, her voice confident, "no regrets."
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.
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They drove for eight and a half hours that Friday night, alternating between driver and passenger. Michael Vaughn knew better than anyone that Sydney Bristow knew how to speed if necessary, and there were a few occasions when he saw her slightly slide over the speed limit. The ride was a remarkably pleasant one, in spite of the traffic and length. He held her hand, his thumb soothing the top of her knuckles. They talked, the music played comfortably in the background and he rounded up the courage to casually mention that perhaps Santa Barbara should be their next road trip. Her only response was a smile and a soft confirmation that she'd like that too.
Saturday morning Bryce sat down in their regular dining hall. This morning Claire barely noticed him as he sat down across from her. Instead his nose wrinkled as he noticed her meal. "Is that ice cream?"
"Yes," she answered, swallowing a bite of chocolate.
"For breakfast?"
"Yes," she groaned. "Is that okay with you?"
"Where's the bagel?"
"I'm not in a bagel type mood," she cut him off. Bryce sighed. For a few moments they were silent as he took the opportunity to plunge into his cereal as she devoured the rest of her ice cream. When she finally met his eyes again, the tip of her nose was colored and her eyes bloodshot. "You're coming this afternoon, right?"
"I wouldn't miss it," he promised. "As soon as things are wrapped up after the game, I'll meet you at the restaurant."
"You have the directions?" Claire worried.
"Mapquest is a wonderful thing," he smirked. "When are you supposed to meet them?"
"Noon outside of Maples."
"Listen Claire," he sighed, leaning closer to her. "Just chill and be nice during the game, okay? I'll get to the restaurant as soon as I can."
"I'll be pleasant," she vowed.
Leaning across the rickety dining hall table, he grabbed her nose and gently tugged it until a smile appeared on her face. "I'm serious kid."
"One of these days I'm seriously going to kick your ass for calling me that."
"No you won't," he corrected. "If you would, you would have done it a long time ago."
While it was without a doubt the truth, Claire just shrugged her shoulders and took another bite of her ice cream, "that's what you think."
"Just don't eat all the ice cream in the county kid, please?" he pleaded.
"I don't know why I'm so nervous . . . I mean, this guy should be nervous, not me, right?"
"Maybe neither of you should be nervous," Bryce suggested. "Maybe you both should just trust that your mom wouldn't be doing this if she thought it would blow up in her face."
"I can't eat anymore," she sighed, pulling her food away. "I'm getting nauseous."
"Chill out kid," he warned. "If you keep this up, we'll have to roll you out of Maples at the end of the game."
"Why is she making me do this?"
"She's your mom, I don't think she thought this would be torture."
"Well, it is," she groaned.
"You might like this guy."
"Keep saying that," she muttered.
Across from her, Bryce smiled, "I will. C'mon, I'm supposed to be nervous here, not you."
Claire's brown eyes grew curious. "Why are you nervous?"
"I'm meeting your mom. I know how much her approval means to you."
"I'm not going to disown you if my mother hates you," she promised, even though the mere notion was absurd.
"The point is that I know it would affect how you see me Claire, and don't say it wouldn't. Her opinion means the world to you. Just like yours means to your mom."
"You better win this afternoon," she grumbled, pulling the remainder of her half-melted ice cream back to her.
"Where did you find ice cream on campus this early in the morning anyway?"
A smile blossomed on her face as she shrugged, "That's for me to know and you never to find out."
Later that morning, in one of the college town's many hotels, Sydney Bristow looked up from fixing her hair as Michael Vaughn walked out of the bathroom. The look on his anxious face broke her heart as he stood inspecting his attire. Somehow, despite the casual nature of the day's events, a polo shirt and jeans didn't seem appropriate for the occasion of meeting the mysterious Claire Bristow. Slowly Sydney stood and walked over to him, placing her palms on her chest and leaned up to slowly kiss him. Pulling back, he granted her a half smile as she spoke quietly into the small space between them. "Why are you so nervous? You weren't this anxious about meeting my father."
"Your father introduced himself to me with the barrel of a gun. I'm hoping for better luck with Claire."
For a few moments her laughter filled through the still hotel room air. "My daughter believes that guns should be abolished, even for government employees. She's been trying to convince my father to get rid of his for years."
"Somehow I don't imagine she realizes you know how to fire one either."
"No," she agreed as they sat down on the edge of the bed. "She doesn't realize a lot of things about her family. . ."
"You're just protecting her Syd," Vaughn reminded, softly squeezing her hand.
Sydney's chocolate eyes met his, "From what? Herself? Her family's past?"
"What good would it do Syd?" he urged. "I'm not a big fan of Irina Derevko, and in most instances your father and I don't see eye to eye, but what good would it do? Who they were, what you used to do, has no affect on who Claire is. Telling her would only confuse and upset her. All that matters to that girl is who you and your parents are to her. What the rest of the world sees shouldn't matter."
Her eyes were glued on the carpet in front of her as she sighed, "I don't know how I'm going to explain your knowing that her grandmother is alive. I've spent her entire life trying to avoid the subject of why she *couldn't* tell people her grandmother is alive. . ."
"We'll deal with that when the time comes," he softly insisted, gently using his fingers to tilt her face to look at him.
Finally she smiled, leaning over to kiss him. "Claire will like you," she promised. "Maybe not right away, but give her some time."
"I've got plenty of that," Vaughn smiled as they both stood, their hands still safely in one another's. "We should head out, it looks like it's getting worse out there," he noted as the rain continued to pour out their window.
"Ready for this?" she questioned as he helped her into her jacket.
Another smile and another kiss before he brought her hand up to his lips and carefully kissed it. "Let's go."
If there hadn't been the promise of seeing Bryce play in a game at Maples, Laura wasn't entirely sure her roommate would have been convinced to head out the door in time to meet her mother. Neither had slept well the night before. Instead they lay on their backs as the fan overhead circulated the room's air. Claire talked and Laura listened as she tumbled through her fears and anxieties. It had been an unexpected journey for Laura, who had walked in the dorm room just after midnight to find her friend lying still and her mind racing. What surprised her most was the tumultuous ocean of emotions that had been opened up in her calm, polite, normally composed roommate. Late into the early morning they sat deconstructing her emotions and the what if's of the situation. Just after eleven in the morning Laura, still trying to catch up on the sleep she had missed, had heard Claire sneak out of the dorm room for the day. As the door slammed behind her, she rolled over onto her back and said a silent prayer that the day wouldn't be as bad as Claire anticipated.
Decked out in her Stanford baseball cap and matching Stanford t-shirt, she comfortably blended in with the crowd pouring into Maples. Except Claire stood there, her back against the rough texture of the building as she waited. Just past the overhang the rain was pouring, reminding her of the very day she had met Bryce. Only two months ago, but it felt far longer than that. Perhaps since she'd had a crush on him on and off since she'd first seen him play basketball when she was only a junior in high school, while he was a freshman. At the time the idea of going to Stanford was absurd, and the thought of meeting him, nevermind being his friend, was ridiculous. Yet by chance or coincidence, fate or foolishness, it had happened. Lying at night, waiting for Laura to come home from a late class or a date, she'd consider the recent occurrences in her life and still wondered how it all happened as well as it did.
Easily she could imagine her Naunua telling her simply that what was meant to happen would happen. Another notion that her Grandfather would likely find absurd. Most of the time her mother would just smile and be happy when she was happy, not going so far as the question the circumstances or reasons. Even so, it was impossible to imagine her mother disliking Bryce. Sometimes she'd even conjure up the image of her Grandfather and Uncle Will meeting him. In her mind he met their approval gracefully in every single scenario. All Claire could do was hope that real life would be as kind if the situation ever arose.
As the crowds pushed around her, a wonderfully familiar sight came into view. Steadily her mother and an unfamiliar companion were working their way through the crowds, obviously searching for someone. With neither aware that she saw them, Claire allowed herself the brief opportunity to study this man who had invaded her world without her knowledge or consent. He was dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt, but he looked decent enough. While he no longer carried the same sharp features that he had in the photo her mother had shown, she could almost allow herself to see how her mother managed to find him attractive. Most of all he was clean-shaven and appeared intelligent, allowing for a fairly favorable first impression.
"Mom!" Claire finally called over the crowd. Thankfully both of them were taller than she was, finally spotting her in the crowd. Curiously she noted how her mother gently grasped his hand and tugged her toward him. It was only slightly reassuring to Claire to see that this man was as anxious about this as she was.
A smile bloomed widely across Sydney's face as she warmly hugged her daughter. "Claire! I missed you," she spoke softly.
Pulling back, she smiled in slight embarrassment, "I missed you too Mom," she promised before her eyes drew themselves to the stranger in their mist.
"Claire, this is Michael Vaughn. Michael, this is my daughter," Sydney calmly introduced, her hand tucking itself snugly into the crook of his left arm.
"It's nice to meet you Claire, I've heard a lot about you," Michael smiled and held his hand out to her. Much to his relief, she grasped it firmly and shook his hand, making no attempt to force him onto his back or shove a weapon under his nasal cavity.
"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Vaughn," was her instinctive reply.
"Please, call me Michael," he insisted.
Nodding uncomfortably, she softly agreed, "Sure."
"We should probably head in," Sydney cheerfully added. "Were you waiting long?" she inquired as they joined the line of people steadily moving through the south entrance of Maples Pavilion.
"Not really," she dismissed. "Just a few minutes. Sorry I didn't see you."
"That's fine Tinkerbelle," her mother promised. "How's Laura?"
"She's fine. Sleeping. We were sort of up late last night."
"Laura's your roommate?" Vaughn politely asked.
Glancing past her mother to their other companion, Claire spoke, "Yes. She's a sociology major."
"Is she on the field hockey team too?"
"No," Claire shook her head, hiding her surprise at how well he knew her. "We were matched when we filled out our residency information. So far it's gone really well."
"My freshman year I roomed with one of my friend's from boarding school. It was the first time we had roomed together and it was a disaster. That's why I told my daughter if she was going to live on campus, she's better off with a stranger. You don't bring any baggage into it, you're less likely to lose a friend," Michael offered as they handed the attendant their tickets and were directed to the central loge section of the pavilion.
"What's her name?" she asked. In the back of her mind Claire knew that her mother had told her his daughter's name, but it was a struggle to remember it.
"Alexandra."
"Mom says she goes to Arizona, right?"
"At the moment," Vaughn nodded. "She's taking a leave of absence this semester. She might transfer someplace else, she hasn't decided yet."
"What's she studying?"
"Biochemistry. She's planning on medical school."
"That's cool," Claire noted as they settled into their seats. Claire sat on the edge next to her mother with Vaughn on Sydney's other side.
"You're studying economics?"
"Yeah," she nodded, starting to finger the program they had handed out at the door of the arena. Vaughn nodded and leaned back in his seat, gladly meeting Sydney's smile as Claire wrapped herself up on reading the biographical paragraphs in the booklet.
It was a good game, an electric atmosphere in the sold-out Pavilion. Stanford was ranked thirteenth in the country that week, and the unranked USC team, who had only three losses and fifteen wins, were chomping for some national recognition and respect. The first half was close, the teams bringing a 45-41 score into the locker room with the advantage going to the Cardinals. Claire mused that whatever Coach Woodward had said in the locker room worked as the Cardinals went on a 21-5 run to start the second half. With three minutes remaining in the game and the team with a twenty-three point advantage, Bryce was taken out for the last time and given a loud, long ovation from the Maples crowd. Then, like the rest of them, he sat down to watch Stanford roll over USC, 91-67.
"Bryce will meet us?" Sydney asked as they started to leave the arena.
"He has to shower, talk to the media, and go back to campus with the team, so yeah."
"He's a good player," Vaughn evaluated.
"Yeah," Claire grinned. "He's pretty decent," she shrugged, the color illuminating her normally fair features. "Looks like it's going to rain again," she sighed with a quick look up at the clouds forming above.
"Well, we're eating inside," Sydney smiled as they approached the car.
"How was the drive?" Claire politely inquired as she buckled herself safely into the back seat.
Sydney glanced over her shoulder at her only child as Vaughn joined the flow of traffic out of the arena parking lot. "It really wasn't too bad."
"Good," she sighed and looked out the window. Various topics of conversation floated through her mind, none of which seemed appropriate or even interesting. As her mother leaned over to flip on the radio, Claire gave herself the chance to study this man who had so suddenly reentered and shaken up her mother's world. In the front of the car they appeared to be briefly in their own world, their conversation inaudible but their gestures instinctively intimate. The rain kept pounding down beyond the windows, the strings of some aged Sheryl Crow song slipping through the speakers. Unsure of what to say, she found herself doodling her initials next to Bryce's on the window's condensation as one of her mother's favorite artists sung about faith.
The waiter led them to a quiet booth of the comfortable restaurant. The two adults smiled in her direction as Vaughn and Sydney slid in to the booth across from her. Their drink orders were taken before the waiter disappeared, leaving the three to conversation. Vaughn clasped his hands in front of him, turning his head briefly to meet Sydney's comforting eyes before he dipped into the uncharted pool of conversation.
"Your mom says you play field hockey."
"Yeah," Claire confirmed, struggling not to check her watch as she fiddled with her straw wrapper.
Vaughn nodded, his expression slightly less confident as he tried again. "You play for Stanford, right?"
"Right," she nodded.
"You must be very good. Starting as goalie your freshman year."
The young woman shrugged, trying to see past the downpour to detect if Bryce had arrived. "I'm okay. I always wanted to play ice hockey but there aren't a lot of ice hockey leagues around here, and like none are for girls."
"There are some rinks in Los Angeles."
"Mom's taken me to a few. When we go to visit Uncle Will, he'll take me, but it's hard to play when you're only able to get on the ice a few times a year."
"There must be a rink somewhere in the area," he insisted, looking at Sydney for direction.
"Nah, I've looked," Claire sighed.
"So . . . Economics is your major, right?" he questioned, her eyes darting briefly to the glass.
Slowly her head bobbed as she looked back at him, giving him the same glare her mother had in the earliest days of their working relationship. "Yeah."
"I studied economics."
"Here?"
"No, Georgetown. Now D.C. is a good place for ice hockey. There are some pee wee hockey leagues out there too that I was involved in."
"That's neat," she agreed. "I couldn't have gone that far from home. Grandpa took me to D.C. once, Christmas time. It was pretty cool, but they don't have a field hockey team."
"We moved a lot when I was a kid," Vaughn conveyed. "Until I was eight," he softly corrected. "I was used to moving, and when I started college I wanted a life completely removed from my mom."
"I don't think I'm ready for that quite yet," Claire confessed, the caramel-drowned ice clinking in her glass as she stirred her straw. "I keep saying I will, that I'll go farther away for graduate school maybe . . . maybe law school," she sighed, her eyes drawn to her glass as she pushed hair behind her ear.
"With your undergrad in economics the opportunities for graduate school are endless. You could teach, or pursue law or international relations . . . especially with a degree from someplace like Stanford," Vaughn insisted.
"I should know what I want to do," she groaned and leaned against the slightly worn out booth. "Everyone else knows what they want to do . . . Mom always knew what she wanted to do."
"That's the beauty of college. You've got a few more years before you have to decide," he assured her. Absently Claire nodded, her eyes once again peering sadly out the window. "So, how long have you been seeing Bryce?" he softly inquired.
Claire's eyes snapped to his, instantly defensive, the stance of her shoulders one he'd seen another lifetime ago on the frame of another Bristow woman. "We're not dating. He's a finance major . . . I think he just wants to meet mom to talk to her about the competitive world of international banking or something . . ." she sighed, looking at her watch and than back out the window.
Unbeknownst to her, the adults shared a prolonged look before Sydney turned back to her daughter. "Claire," she quietly called. Tearing her eyes away from the window, Claire looked at her mother and waited. Sydney spoke softly, her voice so low her companions could barely hear her. "Vaughn knows . . . About everything. About how I never really worked for a bank, about the work I did for the government . . . We were partners . . . He even knows about your grandmother," she spoke. All the truth, Sydney knew, for once reassured that Claire didn't know the whole truth about her grandmother. Some things a child never needs to know.
Already porcelain skin grew nearly translucent under the restaurant's bright lighting. Just as quickly her eyes drew down to her paper placemat and her fingers toyed with the edge of her Stanford t-shirt. Thirty seconds of eternity ticked away before Claire finally broke it with a softly uttered syllable, "Oh."
The waiter reappeared. With Bryce's arrival nowhere in sight, they placed their order for appetizers, Sydney and Vaughn still hungry after eating a sparse breakfast. Once he vanished behind the kitchen doors, the minutes continued to slowly tick by. Underneath the tabletop, Vaughn's fingers intertwined with hers as Claire studied the menu then looked sullenly out the window. When the food appeared in front of them, nearly an hour after their arrival, he dared once again to break the conversation. "Did Bryce know how to get here?"
"Supposedly," Claire sighed, her shoulders progressively drooping as she pushed her food around her plate.
"I'm sure he'll be here sweetheart . . . You know men can never ask for directions, even when their lost," Sydney teased, briefly relieved to see the fleeting smile on her daughter's face. Quietly Vaughn asked about Sydney's food, the two quietly talking about their food when a long shadow fell over the table.
Bryce stood uncomfortably in front of the table. Claire looked up from her plate and sighed. Slipping out of the booth, Bryce noted how she seemed to purposely stand a few feet from him as Vaughn and Sydney stood. "Mom, Michael, this is Bryce O'Neal. Bryce, this is my mother Sydney Bristow and her . . . friend, Michael Vaughn," she introduced.
"It's nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you," he smiled and vigorously shook the professor's hand.
Sydney smiled, instantly impressed with the clean-shaven, well-dressed young man. "It's nice to meet you too Bryce."
"Sorry," Bryce sheepishly grinned as he looked over at Vaughn. "I haven't heard much about you, but it's nice to meet you."
"You played an impressive game today," Vaughn complimented in slight awe.
"Yeah," the younger man smiled and scratched his head. "I guess I moved ahead on the school's all time scoring list . . . I didn't even know until the sports reporter from the Gazette told me . . ." he shrugged.
At his side Claire sighed and grabbed her sweater out of the booth. "Excuse me, I'll be back in a few minutes," she dismissed herself. The remaining three watched as she exited out of the restaurant via the boardwalk entrance, leaning against the wooden railing, seemingly unbothered by the rain.
The skin on his cheeks burned as Bryce turned to his elders. "Excuse me Dr. Bristow, Mr. Vaughn . . . I'll be right back," he quickly followed in her footsteps.
Although she heard him, Claire didn't acknowledge him as he joined her on the boardwalk, finding sanctuary below the overhang as she remained soggy. "Kid - " he spoke softly.
"A stupid school record," she broke out over the rain. She tightened her arms around her body for comfort and to keep out the chill that grew increasingly heavy in the air. "So what, now you're fifth on the all time scoring list instead of seventh?" she muttered.
"I didn't realize -"
"You made me do this by myself because of some stupid school record?" she turned towards him. "I'm sitting there, not knowing what the hell to say to this man who I can't help but think knows more about my family than I do!" Claire bitterly spoke. As her words progressed, she walked steadily towards him, arriving under the dry sanctuary of the overhang. "I *needed* you Bryce! You *know* how upset I've been about this, and you just blew me off . . . I was starting to think you weren't going to come!" she blinked away the tears.
"Claire . . ." Bryce sighed and stepped toward her, the heat rebounding off of his body and warming hers. He seemed to suddenly remember something as he dug into the pocket of his khakis and pulled out a linen handkerchief. Folded into a neat quarter, he pressed the gentle cotton against her face, absorbing the rainwater. Claire's brown eyes remained fixated on his face as her mind wondered how a man who believed all shopping should be internet-based came to carry a handkerchief.
Just as magically the soft item disappeared back into his pocket once his task was completed. As her eyes dropped back down to their feet, her eyes caught his hands as they moved to take his. The erratic thumping originating under her throat slowly died down as she braced herself to look back at him, her eyes arriving just in time to see him reverently kiss the top of her hand, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he continued, his voice just as low as dragged his lips over her forehead in the briefest of touches. With her chocolate eyes locked with his and her heart willingly in his hands, he lowered his lips to kiss her.
Back inside the restaurant, Vaughn glanced out the door the young couple had disappeared in. "Do you think they're okay?"
Sydney sighed, "I hope so . . . that has to be part of the reason why she's been acting so distant. Usually she's very friendly and personable."
He looked skeptically at her, "I'm your boyfriend Syd. I think in Claire's book that makes me public enemy number one."
"She's a good kid . . . She's amazing Vaughn. I know you probably can't tell by her behavior tonight, but she's such a wonderful person . . . She's just so uncertain of herself sometimes, and her uncertainty makes her hostile . . . She's a lot like I was," Sydney noted before looking back down at her food.
"You were never uncertain of yourself Syd," he corrected in brief amusement.
"No," she shook her head and swallowed her food. "I was. In a way, SD-6, as horrible as it was, made me the person I am. Going out there, doing those missions . . . It left me a lot more confident than I ever was before. After I started working there, I was much more certain around myself, of what I was doing . . . much more confident around boys."
Vaughn chuckled, "I don't imagine it was very hard for you to get a date in high school Syd."
"All girl's boarding school Vaughn," she reminded him. "Even if I hadn't been, since I couldn't do ballet, I played the saxophone in the marching band . . . I was terribly shy too," Sydney recalled. Glancing by him at the door he watched the worry crawl onto her features, "Maybe I should go -"
"I'll do it," he stood up.
"Vaughn -"
"I'll do it Sydney," he promised. The truth was he was anxious to be briefly alone with Claire, to find some neutral or perhaps even positive ground with the young woman. Vaughn smiled at her before he walked out the door to the boardwalk. To his amusement he watched the younger couple break out of their embrace. "Is everything okay?" he inquired.
Bryce glanced at Claire and shrugged, "Yes. Everything's fine," he promised, squeezing Claire's hand gently. "I'm going to go order something to eat," he spoke, dropping a kiss on her cheek and going to join Sydney.
Uncertain, Claire smiled briefly at Vaughn before she turned back to the water, slowly walking back to the railing. Sighing, he stuck his hands into the pockets of the worn denim and went to join her. They stood watching the water, the slowly dying showers, momentarily in silence. "In some weird way, she's been waiting for you for over twenty years . . . " she spoke up, her eyes still fixated on the rocking shores ahead of her. "I mean, she was obviously with my father, and she saw Peter, but nothing serious . . . I know she cared about my father, but I don't think it was ever completely real to her . . . So she's just been waiting," Claire's shoulders shrugged as she hugged herself. "For so long she's just been waiting on this obscure chance that you'll come back . . . I never realized it, I mean of course I didn't, until a few weeks ago I didn't even know you existed," she chuckled, mostly for her own amusement. "I can see it now, when I think about stuff, that she was just waiting and hoping, even when she wouldn't admit it to herself. And I know my mom, she's too stubborn to admit it to anyone, *especially* to herself," she commented as the man next to her chuckled.
Claire's brown eyes darted to his, the sober expression on her face reminding him of Jack's more stone faced moments. "I can't understand it, not really, having so much faith . . . Loving someone that much that you'd just wait, even when the *only* thing you have to go on is faith . . . She told me what happened, the first time you were with her. What you did . . . I know my mom, and I could just *see* how badly you hurt her then. Don't do it again," she warned, her voice low. "Don't hurt her Mr. Vaughn, because if you do, I'll make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it."
Standing in front of him was little Claire Bristow, the little girl in ponytails and stained overalls that he'd seen grow up via pictures in her grandfather's office. The only grandchild of two former spies, two people still legendary in the world of high-stakes espionage. The only grandchild of two grandparents who openly adored her. Knowing all of that, Vaughn had no doubt that Claire could easily stay true to her word, with only a phone call and a little bit of help from her grandfather.
"Your mother is one of the most loving, amazing women I've ever met," he quietly started. "After everything she's been through, after all the things I watched her go through . . Knowing what she went through when you were younger, how difficult it must have been raising you on her own . . . Claire, your mother continues to amazes me. How she can continue to be so loving and trusting and caring after all that's been done to her . . . " he trailed off.
Claire studied this man, wondering just how much of her mother's life that he shared, parts of her mother's life that she doubted she even knew existed. "I fell in love with her the day I met her, with that stupid bozo hair . . . The day we met was during one of the most difficult times in your mother's life, but I don't regret that I fell in love with her . . ." he sighed, his voice dropping lower. "I don't regret moving on with my life after I lost her Claire. I would do anything I could to go back and change anything that I've ever done to hurt her, but I had to move on."
"You hurt her," she repeated, her voice low and harsh.
"I did," he looked regretfully out at the ocean. "I do regret that, but not a day has past since the first day we met that I haven't loved her. All I want now is to be with her, to take care of her," Vaughn explained. Before Claire could protest he continued, "I'm aware that your mother doesn't need to be taken care of, but that doesn't mean I don't want to do it . . . When she came back, I wanted closure. In some way I think I wanted her blessing, I wanted her to tell me that it was okay that I'd moved on, that she understood . . . She never did," he recalled as Claire bit back a chuckle. "When I think about it now . . . Claire, closure would have been futile. No matter where we were, no matter whom we were with . . . The relationship never really ended. Even if there was nothing going on, even though we never saw each other, as long as you love someone, the relationship always continues, even if they're not there with you."
"You still remember the day you met?"
Vaughn smiled, "like it was yesterday," he confirmed. "I was a junior agent . . . Your mother was what we called a walk in," he explained, mindful not to divulge too much. "I just happened to be up that day, it was my turn to deal with the various people who walked through our doors every day and claimed to have information . . . She was beautiful and bloody and broken," he sighed, the confusion clouding Claire's eyes. "I can't begin to tell you how much she changed my life. I half expected her to beat me up . . . I loved her though Claire, and I was terrified . . . Your mother thought for the longest time that she made my life more difficult. More complicated. She did," he softly agreed, his head tilted. "No matter what she thinks she's taken from me, she's given me back more than I ever thought I could have."
"My grandfather says that you're not good enough for her."
Vaughn studied his feet and nodded, clearly imagining the words from Jack Bristow's mouth. "Yes, I know," he spoke and looked back at her. "He's probably right . . . I've never been good enough for your mother Claire. I wasn't then and it's unlikely I am now. Your grandfather has every reason to be suspicious of me, to be dubious of my intentions. So do you Claire. I don't expect your grandfather or your Uncle Will or anyone else who loves your mother to accept me back into her life without hesitation. None of that changes the fact that I was so in love with her. And it does nothing to change the way I feel. I thought then that I was more in love with her than I could ever be with anyone, but now . . . I love her even more. The only hope I have for you, for my own daughter, is that you find someone who loves you as much as I love your mother. And I hope that if you do, and he hurts you, you can find it in yourself to forgive him, just as your mother has managed to do."
"I won't let you hurt her again," Claire softly warned. Out of the corner of her brown eyes, he saw him nod slightly, accepting her terms. The wind died down around them, bouncing slower off the water as they stood there in silence.
"We should probably go inside, our food's getting cold," Vaughn finally spoke. Claire smiled with a slight nod of her head, following him back into the restaurant.
Inside the warm restaurant, Sydney was sharing a story from Claire's childhood with an attentive Bryce. The young man had been absently eating his meal as he listened to stories that only a mother could share. The young woman smiled at her mother and beau, sliding into the booth next to him as Vaughn rejoined Sydney. "Everything okay?" Sydney gently inquired.
"Everything's fine," Claire smiled at her mother.
"Claire," Vaughn started again as she looked up at him. "You're a Kings fan?"
Bryce snorted at what he thought had to be a rhetorical question. Asking if Claire Bristow liked the Los Angeles Kings was about as rhetorical as asking him whether his life dream was to play in the NBA. The girl next to him blushed and gently nudged him in the ribs before she spoke. "I love the Kings. They look good so far this season."
"They do. If they can beat Ottawa, they've got a chance at the Cup."
"Ottawa, really?" Claire looked skeptical. "I think their biggest threat will be New Jersey."
"Do we have to talk about hockey?" Bryce teased.
"You don't like hockey?" Sydney questioned, surprised as the young man shook his head no.
"I'm trying," he explained. "I just can't get interested."
"I don't understand why. Hockey and basketball are essentially the same thing," Claire reasoned.
"They are *not* essentially the same thing," he retorted.
"Gordie Howe would have beaten Michael Jordan's butt any day," she insisted.
"Forget Michael Jordan, what about Wilt Chamberlain? Or Dr. J? Contrary to popular early twenty first century belief, there *is* good basketball beyond Jordan, Iverson, Berkley and Bryant."
Vaughn glanced over at Sydney, who rolled her eyes at their good-natured debate. Chuckling the older man reclasped her hand under the table and decided for a change of conversation. "What type of music do you like?"
Bryce snickered, "John Mayer."
"Shut up!" Claire hissed, her eyes wide and her skin the shade of blood. "Don't be stupid!" she muttered. "He's like forty-something, he's got like five kids and married to some novelist in Connecticut," she dismissed. "Anyway, I've been listening to him all my life. Mom loves his stuff."
Another look in Sydney's direction and Vaughn was granted a cheeky smile, vague remembrances of days when he woke up early in the morning to find her all but gushing over the musician courtesy of VH-1's Insomniac Theatre. "I'm doing my best to wean her off it, but it's going to take time," Bryce teased.
Looking at the young couple, both glowing and far too young to realize all the inevitable road bumps that lay ahead of them, it was impossible not to smile. At that age ignorance was bliss. Sydney was certain her daughter felt that with Bryce by her side, she could tackle anything and succeed, that nothing could halt their well-planned dream. Despite her common sense and the knowledge that nothing in life was ever that smooth, she couldn't help but wish it was that way for them.
Conversation progressed fairly naturally over dinner. Gently Sydney did her best to prod through Bryce's life without being obvious. Despite having grown up in Wisconsin, Bryce shared Vaughn's love for the Mets. Throughout the meal Vaughn took the opportunity to occasionally stir conversation with Claire, who would respond politely if not a bit distantly. Being a Bristow, Vaughn had expected nothing less. No one in that family opened up easily, especially when he was considered by the young woman to be a hostile outsider. Knowing all Sydney had endured, remembering with regret all the suffering he'd unwittingly forced her to suffer, he more than understood Claire's fierce protectiveness over her mother - he liked her even more for it.
"Do you want us to drive you back?" Sydney asked her daughter as the four walked out of the restaurant. The sun was already deeply buried beneath the night sky as a cool breeze blew around them.
"There's no need Dr. Bristow, I can drive Claire back," Bryce offered as they stood on the sidewalk.
"Well," she sighed. "I guess this is it then, huh?" she smiled at her daughter.
"I'll be home in a few weeks Mom," Claire promised, willingly entering her mother's arms as Vaughn and Bryce shook hands.
"What about you Bryce?" Sydney smiled as mother and daughter broke apart. "What are your spring break plans?"
"Hopefully we'll be playing in the NCAA regionals, so I have my fingers crossed that I won't have to make any plans."
Vaughn asked, "When is your break?"
"The nineteenth of March is the last day of exams," Claire answered.
Confused Vaughn turned to Sydney, "Isn't that the last day of our break?"
Claire sighed, "Of course it is. It always seems to work out that way."
Sydney smiled at her daughter, "I'll have more than enough time. Maybe we can even go away, I could have some of my TA's teach for a few days," she promised. Then she looked back at Bryce. "Good luck with the remainder of the season," she smiled politely and briefly hugged him. "It was nice meeting you."
"You too," he replied as he reached for Claire's hand in the dark.
"Drive safely Mom, and call me when you get home," she urged.
"I will Tinkerbelle," Sydney vowed.
As Bryce squeezed her fingers, she looked over at the newcomer in her mother's world and did her best to smile sincerely. "It was nice to meet you Michael."
"You too Claire, it was nice to finally meet the woman your mother talks about all the time."
Despite the dark, everyone could make out the red in her cheeks as she shook his hand. "Thanks. She's really got to start talking about the dog more though - I'm really not that interesting."
"That's not true," Sydney corrected. "As your mother, I'm the authority on all things Claire and I think your fantastic."
"Thanks Mom," she softly replied with a smile.
"We should get going," Bryce realized. "Have a safe trip home," he urged the older couple.
"You too," Vaughn called. Then they stood on the sidewalk, watching as Bryce and Claire got into his car and with a wave in their direction, drive way. "She's great," he spoke softly, his fingers intertwined with hers as he led her over to the car.
"She is," Sydney confirmed and a slight nod. "Thank you," she whispered as he held her car door open for her. Even in the darkness, she noticed his eyes soften and his smile bloom. Even after a lifetime apart, he still knew her.
Bending over, he gently kissed her. "No regrets Syd."
As he got into the car, she looked over at him with a smile and a nod, her voice confident, "no regrets."