Rhapsody

~~~

caz: Thanks! Weiss is a wonderful character; so much fun to write… Thanks for quoting your favorite line. Knowing what you guys like (or don't like) helps me when I write other chapters… I'm glad I was able to make your day with the last chapter; I don't know if you'll be saying the same for this one…

lemily: I thought about that, but since I named one of Syd and Vaughn's little boys William in the last story I wrote, and a lot of the people who read this story are the same who had read that one (on a different site, not this one) I decided to switch things up a bit. Thanks for reviewing!

valley-girl2: You broke the record again, without a doubt. You amaze me. That's really all I can say… I thoroughly enjoyed reading your "shield-less" review. You never fail put a smile on my face. I really wish I could say more, and I would respond to more of your comments, but this is already taking forever (although you take an hour to make your reviews. I'm just… wow… speechless… and honored, really) since my roommate is trying to sleep and I'm "quiet typing." I'm sure you'd much rather have the chapter anyway. At least that's what you think now…

lightning bug: Thank you! (twice!) Jack's a fun character as well. Not as fun as Weiss, but still… I'm glad you liked it, and thanks again for taking the time to review both chapters.

And here's a warning: Killing the writer after reading this chapter will leave the story unfinished. Just keep that in mind…

~~~

Chapter 5: Dissonant

Vaughn stood with both hands on the crib railing just as he had last night and all those that had come before. He always needed both of them there for balance, to keep the scene from completely overwhelming him and toppling him to the ground, even though he had stood in the exact same spot too many moments to count, hundreds, maybe even thousands of times in the month since they had brought Gabriel home, since he had actually become a part of their lives.

The only light illuminating the sleeping child was a warm glow that issued forth from a nightlight, coiling with a few stray moonbeams that fell through the window, and the shadow-filled pool that flooded softly through the doorway, an echo of the kitchen light that radiated brightly further down the hall. But it was more than enough for him to see the outline, clearly make out every tiny feature on his son's sleeping face. Vaughn had spent that entire first day, week, month committing every patch of skin, every hair, every trait to memory, just as he had with the child's mother what now seemed so long ago. In these two people, he would have been able to detect the slightest bruise, the tiniest wound, scar or wrinkle of unhappiness or anguish even with his eyes closed, even when…

Before he could run his eyes once more over the beautifully intricate and somehow simplistic little body that he had helped create, a sudden, satisfying warmth filled his heart and pressed against him. Sydney's arms had snaked underneath his own, encircling his chest, her hands linking as she held him tightly. He hadn't heard her approach, but would have been able to pick her touch out from a million others, would recognize it anywhere.

Silence permeated the room, imbued with the susurrus ripple of words that had been spoken so often, the hum of vocal cords was no longer needed to send them trembling through the air, glancing off walls and souls and eardrums; the ghosts of sentiments that had been voiced so many times before...

It's unbelievable, isn't it?

He's beautiful… perfect… amazing…

He's ours.

Leaning back against her, threading the fingers of one of her hands through one of his own, he turned this head just enough so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye, her ear so close to his lips that he barely had to whisper to be heard. "Do you need anymore help with the dishes?"

"No," she mumbled softly against his shoulder, smiling. He could almost feel her dimples pressing against his skin. They had lived together for over a year and somehow neither of them had gotten used to sharing such normal domestic moments; both hoped that they never would, that even the simplest of tasks would remain sacred and special, moments worshipped and lived for instead of taken for granted. "They're all…"

"Sorry…" he interrupted, as suddenly as the thought washed over him, glad that she wouldn't be able to see his flushing cheeks in the dark, not realizing that she could tell he was blushing simply by the way he had spoken, how his voice had become soft and shy, and he had shifted against her, seemingly unsure how to balance his weight.

Sydney hadn't had more than a few hours' sleep at a time since the baby had arrived. She had dealt well with it the first couple of weeks. His mother had stayed for a while after Gabriel had been born, helping however she could, and Sydney had been somewhat accustomed to spurts of short-houred, odd sleeping patterns, one of the mildly useful quirks leftover from her double life. But now the hours were starting to take their toll.

Vaughn knew he should have stayed in the kitchen and finished helping her, should have been able to hold out for a few minutes longer before dropping the damp dishrag and slipping from the room. He had been spoiled by the time off and short hours the CIA had allowed him, but since returning to work full-time a few days ago, his hours had been long and tedious, as if to make up for it; he had barely had a chance to see his little boy, was already going through withdrawal.

He hadn't been able to spend much time with Sydney either, apart from when he held her sleeping in his arms. He loved that she waited to eat dinner with him, no matter what insane hour he returned home. Although a part of him wished she wouldn't stay up so late, a sentiment he had voiced each time, silently praying that she would disagree; and she always had. Every time, he would insist on her going to bed as soon as they had finished eating, knew that it had been an effort for her to keep her eyes open and sustain a shadow of something resembling conversation.

Tonight he had been selfish; he would be the first to admit that. But he had wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, had needed desperately to see their son, knowing that soon he would have to spend a long stretch of time, thousands of miles away from them both, that in a few short hours he would have to leave, and…

"Don't," Sydney replied, halting his apology and sighing as she leaned her head against his shoulder. He would have gladly carried that weight with him for the rest of his life. "We were almost done anyway."

She tightened her grip around him and he stood watching their little boy, their angel, sleep peacefully for a few moments longer. Only the soft pressure of Sydney's head on his shoulder, her sighing breaths echoing softly in his ears and tickling over his neck kept his fingers back, kept him from reaching out to touch their son. Vaughn would have scooped the child into his arms in a heartbeat, but Sydney had told him over dinner what a long day it had been, how it had taken her nearly forever to soothe the little boy to sleep. The last thing she needed right now was to have Gabriel awaken and demand all her attention and energy before she even had the chance to snag at least a couple hours of sleep.

After only a few moments, Sydney's arms started to loosen their hold on him, her breathing becoming deep and steady. Vaughn would have gladly stayed that way forever, content to never move again for as long as he lived. With the woman he loved pressed tightly against him and their child asleep before them, the little boy that such a short time ago, had seemed nothing more than a fantasy...

There truly wasn't any place he'd rather be.

He knew there must have been others before this instant, but for the life of them he couldn't remember, had no idea what they were. He wondered if she knew that, hoped that that would have been among the things she had gotten used to: how she could depend on him just as strongly as he did on her; how he wanted her, needed her, would never lose that vital desire as long as they both lived; how he loved her more than…

"Syd?" he murmured, gently lifting her hand to meet his waiting lips. He didn't really know what he wanted to say. Not for lack of ideas; there were so many thoughts streaking through his mind, fighting for dominance, screaming to be pitched from his lips and caught by her ears. She always left him wrestling for words, and nine times out of ten, he was forced to surrender to speechlessness.

"Hmm?"

She had drifted into that luscious cloud between consciousness and dreaming; not quite lost in slumber, but not fully awake, letting the cool, somnolent mist fog her vision and mind. His voice had lured her back from the precipice of sleep, tugging her just a shadow shy of wakefulness as she rubbed her face drowsily into his shirt, not wanting to open her eyes just yet.

There were so many ways he could have continued his statement, his question; enough to keep them both awake long into the night, and even then he still wouldn't have been able to express half of the feelings he felt for her. They multiplied exponentially with each passing second, every breath she took, each heartbeat and blink of an eye.

Did you even think it was possible?… You're beautiful…  Do you want to try again someday?… I love you…  Can we just pretend it's already been six weeks and…?

But every last one of them ruptured the second he heard her sighing answer, bursting and hissing and spilling their contents into the air. He didn't have the heart to question her or make her think in the slightest, to keep her awake for an instant longer than necessary.

Letting go of her hand, he turned in her arms and pulled her into his own, brushing his fingers through her hair and down her back. "Baby, you're exhausted."

"No, I'm not," she answered, her still-closed eyes and slow, soft tone clearly relaying the exact opposite of her words, picking at and twisting them until he thought for a moment that she had actually agreed with him.

Placing a gentle kiss against her temple and taking an arm from around her, he kissed the tips of his fingers and dared to brush them lightly against his little boy's head, knowing there was no way he would be able to leave for a mission without being able to touch the child at least once. Letting his fingertips caress the fuzzy strands of hair for a heartbeat of time before reluctantly pulling them away, Vaughn murmured a goodnight, taking one look at the drowsy woman at his side before sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. She didn't complain as he carried her to the bedroom, instead burying her face in his neck and taking those few minutes to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse quivering underneath his skin in her own soft lullaby.

He sat her on the edge of the bed, as gently as if she had been made of delicate fragments of glass, pieces for which the glue had yet to dry completely and stick them back together. Removing her shoes and socks, he let his fingers burn against her bare skin as he lifted her shirt over her head.

"I can do it," she protested weakly. But her words were so soft that they could easily have been overpowered by not much more than a whisper, and Vaughn's low murmur was sufficient to at least momentarily silence her objections.

"I know."

He placed his lips at the hollow of her throat and continuing a sweet trail a few inches downward, as far as he dared to go knowing that they couldn't take things any further. They had been so careful, up until now, not to kiss too hard for too long, to let their caresses wander anywhere near the vicinity of the point of no return. Her body needed time to heal completely and he didn't want to hurt her, but somehow he needed this, as simple as it was, a few extra kisses and caresses, before he had to leave.

"I want to do it," he continued after a moment, adding, "You made dinner," because he expected her to protest, was ready to offer her a hundred reasons as to why she, a grown woman, should let him perform the simple and seemingly ridiculous task of getting her ready for bed, tucking her in as if she were three years old. "Are you sure you're feeling up to visiting my mother this weekend? I can always call her and…"

But she surprised him. And perhaps he should have expected that, should have been used to the fact that just like their baby would never fail to awe him by performing the simplest of actions, she would continue to amaze him day after day.

It wasn't her answer to his spoken question; he had known that she would nod even before he had a chance to finish speaking, that she would want to take their trip to his mother's house just as they had planned, had been looking forward to it ever since Charlotte had taken the liberty of blocking the days off on their calendar before she had returned home.

But he hadn't expected Sydney to lean forward, to silence him with a soft kiss and a smile, before pulling back and surrendering to him completely. Letting him pull one of his t-shirts over her head and gently smooth her hair out from underneath, she didn't fight in the least as he undid the buttons of her jeans, pulling them off in a way that was nothing but tender, completely different from almost every time he had done it before. Somehow he had forgotten that it was just on the brink of sleep that she was at her most vulnerable, that she…

"Michael?"

His first name still didn't fall from her lips very often, but he didn't mind, didn't expect it, savored the thrilling sound those few times that it had tumbled from her tongue and tiptoed to his ears. His eyes captured hers the moment she spoke; she had his undivided attention, exclusive use of his entire palette of affections, and his thoughts lying in wait for hers to begin, every time.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

The words themselves were unnecessary. Her eyes had shouted them to him all through dinner and his had answered, both of them skirting around the topic of the mission, of his leaving her side for even a second and going so far away.

The fear itself was what frightened them. It was unfounded; they both knew that. He was going on a simple reconnaissance mission: he had done dozens in the past and would have time for plenty more in the future. It wasn't so much the mission itself, the particulars of it or even the risk it entailed; she hadn't asked for details, and so he hadn't offered any more than necessary.

There was just something about having a child that changed everything, that magnified every worry and danger to almost irrational proportions. And somehow, they had let anxiety overtake them, corkscrewing its way through their bodies and minds and hearts until there wasn't room for anything else, until they were both so sure that something was going to go wrong, that their fears didn't seem so ridiculous after all.

"Me too."

All he could do was whisper an answer and hug her tightly, not breaking contact as he slipped underneath the covers with her, capturing her fingers with his own and kissing the spot just below where he had placed her ring so many months ago. Sydney let go of his hands, but only so that she could turn to face him, needing to breathe in his heartbeat, to be so close in his arms that nothing in the world could ever go wrong…

~~~

The wind howled through the air, finding just the right paths to leave those trying to weave their way through its fingertips breathless, gasping desperately, fruitlessly, for air. Ruthlessly, it rushed across mouths and noses to prevent any intake of breath, stealing inside and sucking what oxygen was left from shocked and shuddering lungs.

Blinding and relentless, the precipitation fell from the sky and joined in this mad pursuit, ensuring that eyes and ears and fingertips would have choked and frozen nearly to the point of complete worthlessness. If anyone was going to make their way through the elements that night, they were going to have to prove their mettle first, were going to have to battle their way through the tempest and all its vile henchmen.

How many tens of hundreds of people had lost that battle, given up before even going outdoors, slamming them shut with a shake of the head and a shiver, staring dejectedly out the window as the scene cooled from metal-gray to midnight-black. Everyone but those who really would have mattered; two shadows, impossibly darker than the moonless air surrounding them, trudging relentlessly onward as if inhuman, mechanical, robotic; as if they possessed no souls, were going in search of those they could filch from others.

Fear and Pain followed in their wake, two still-tiny monsters yanked along as if by heavy chains, sliming a whispering trail in those two leaden and scuffled pairs of footprints. Tiny, emaciated, not yet fed on the blood and screams of victims, but still too heavy to be blown away by the wind, somehow dodging the precipitation pelting from the sky, without the willpower or the means to escape, these emotions were latched to the dark beasts, those shadows of men, and destined to wreak their havoc, to make the innocent pay a price larger than they had.

They stopped in front of a door, the shorter of the two men barreling into the larger one with the suddenness of it, Pain and Fear cracking their skulls against his stained boots, the ache and rage that this induced serving as temporary nutrition, strengthening them to ten times what they had been before.

Only a few quick seconds were needed to pick the lock. Perhaps if it had taken longer, all would have been prevented, the unknowing victims would have sighed in sleep until morning dawned, bringing with it lifetimes brimming with succeeding days and golden opportunities.

But the bolt and springs gave way, the wind trying as a last resort to purloin the door from those dirty fingers that held it, nearly winning and slamming it open in warning. It was caught just in time, fingers holding strong, not slipping or freezing off it, a nearly superhuman strength that in a matter of minutes would prove hopelessly fatal.

The door shut with a soft and final click, the wind moaning in defeat as water dripped off shoe soles and noses, weeping a whisper of droplets to the ground. One, two, three seconds without sound or movement, before beady eyes adjusted to this new darkness, and ears became attuned to the creak of wooden furniture at night and the constant electric hum of the refrigerator. Three seconds where the world paused and sighed, where anything had yet to happen and everything was still all right.

Footsteps thundered silently across kitchen tile, wanting so badly to screech in warning but not finding the strength, the floor creaking softly as it was trounced under hard, unforgiving soles. Skin-crawling, opaque blackness crawled from somewhere deep within, penetrating every nook and quiet corner, swallowing sounds that didn't even exist, surging through and charging the air with incipient danger.

If they hadn't known the layout exactly, hadn't somehow obtained photographs and blueprints, hadn't sat squinting for hours through binoculars or pretended to work for the telephone company so that they could come and fix the wires that they themselves had clipped… then they surely wouldn't have been able to make that seemingly interminable journey of only a few feet. The quest of a lifetime, bent on bringing an end to those at the cessation of its path, where death hung in the air as thick as fog in the hills, adding a red-gray-black tinge that was more a feeling than a color, that sighed like hot, hungry breath on the back of an unsuspecting neck late at night, right before…

Revenge became a sixth sense, swiftly and rabidly overpowering all the rest so that none of them were necessary any longer. Taking over and tainting mind and body, until it became the sole hunger and thirst, threatening to induce excruciating, smoldering dehydration and starvation, the likes of which had never been experienced by anything close to mortal, if its one fatal craving was not immediately slaked.

The quiet crunch of carpet was a deafening shock; the short, squat man nearly having his head clobbered off his shoulders for letting the bedroom door squeak as he opened it further, escaping that surly fate merely because the snap of a spinal column and the echo of a skull thumping across the floor would have surely woken those who they wished to remain asleep. A sneer stood in this action's place, the gruesomeness of it greeted with just as much trembling horror as the decapitation itself would have been.

With a few final, tripping steps, these human monsters stood at opposite sides of the bed, both pairs of feet planted firmly, harsh breaths coming and going with a panting quickness that should have been shriekingly audible, that should have woken the woman sleeping before them. Vengeance poisoning their minds in flavors of sweet and sour, black and red, sharp and dull; aching, burning, bleeding to be released, to retaliate for an act committed not so long ago. These two men had been drawn from all those willing, the unlucky, or lucky, as they saw it, ones to…

A flash of lighting that glimmered long after it should have disappeared, proving not to belong to Mother Nature's sparking electric fingers but from the gleam of the glowing numbers of a clock on the bedside table reflecting off cool, cruel metal.

Pulled from the hidden depths beneath a heavy jacket, unfortunately not slicing its owner on the way out, perhaps preventing what was becoming more imminent with each passing moment, the blade of the knife was suspended in the air, hanging precariously in the space and moment between life and death, quivering as the man's fingers trembled for reasons he didn't understand. The banshee-like wind moaned and howled in protestation, pleading for mercy to any and all who would listen, tapping precipitation like fingertips against rooftops and windows, clamoring a long, drawn out Pleeease…

Some in the city heard it; most did not. All who did, shivered in ignorance, disregarding the way that hair stood on end on the backs of necks and the lengths of arms; how their hearts started beating a little faster, a little harder; and the way dewy drops of perspiration bloomed on foreheads like crocuses that blossom at the first sign of horror rather than spring. Shuddering and pulling blankets tighter around them, snuggling closer to loved ones in an effort at some kind of warmth and comfort, there would only be a few who would remember this moment when they watched the news tomorrow, and the sick-to-their-stomach feeling would return with a vengeance.

A pause.

A handful of seconds thrown down from the heavens, a few extra heartbeats that otherwise might never have pounded into existence. Almost enough time to quell the shaking of his hand and either lower it to his side or send it plunging downward…

But a new sound came murmuring through the sinister darkness, the babbling, nonsensical speech of a child upon waking; shifting and screeching to a sudden ear-splitting, skin-prickling wail. Terror and panic and helplessness mingling so well in that sound that they almost rendered it inhuman, ethereal, unreal.

But it was real, more so than anything else. Waking the woman, her two dark eyes snapping open so quickly that the action should have been painful, drinking in surroundings that ought to have been left behind in nightmarish sleep: dark sneers, shadows, the gleam of callous metal flashing to motion…

The little demons of Fear and Pain flew from their positions behind the men's heels, salivating and panting, crawling one over the other in the frenzy to be the first to spring to her shoulders and claw its way through skin to mind, blood, and body. The woman's eyes screaming in terror before her lungs had the chance…

From carmine to cerise to coral and back, with all the millions of variations in between that change its hue just subtly enough to be called by another name, coloring apples and fire engines and lips and licking flames. So many shades of red, but not a single tint that can describe the exact shade and horror of liquid life as it drips from sharp, gleaming metal, that can embody the last shuddering gasp of breath as it leaves the body, and the eyes as they widen and flicker before freezing in death.

The cries continued, increasing in strength and volume, exacerbated by the sympathetic gales without, causing the knife handle to burn white-hot in the man's hand and slip from his fingers, landing with a soft thump on the body below. The crashing rush of blood pounding against eardrums, hearts hammering with such force that they should have exploded against ribcages, and in that moment the two men, the two murderers, were almost transformed into beings that could actually think, breathe, feel…

A sudden shout hurled them into stone-cold reality before emotion and regret could wholly take over, hardening hearts, grabbing the chains of Fear and Pain before they could nip at their owners' ankles. Joining in the wailing's chorus, but adding discordant notes instead of making any effort at harmonizing; it was a voice, another pair of footsteps beating their way across the kitchen tile…

The eyes of the two slaughterers' locked, meandering a path across the bed that quickly but carefully avoided the bloodstained section of the sheets. Picking up the knife that had slipped from his fingertips, the larger of the two men hurriedly hid it back within his jacket. His face twisting into a grin of pure maniacal malice, contorted with rage, shooting blame across the room as the footsteps slowly transformed into a visible shadow of a man in the hallway.

Perhaps the words really were spoken, but even more likely, they were not. The actual sound of them, the language, whether it had been English or Russian or Japanese, didn't matter in the least. The sentiment was felt, dripping from pores, eyes, a hissing tongue and an angry fist as it shattered the glass of a window, providing a hasty means of escape.

"I told you we should have killed the boy first."

~~~

Sighing and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Vaughn watched the red light refract through the rain that was streaming down his windshield, broken at short, regular intervals by the swish of the wipers, and blinking as the traffic light swayed in the wind. There was no one else at the intersection and he had nearly made up his mind to run the light, when the droplets switched suddenly from a glowing red to crystalline green.

Foot already on the gas pedal, he pressed down and continued onward at a much slower pace than he would have liked. But between the blinding rain and the wind that kept trying to propel his vehicle off the road, he was already taking enough chances simply driving, and didn't want to do anything to worsen the situation.

He had thought Weiss was going to kill him when he'd convinced the pilot to land in this weather. His friend's face had turned a putrid shade of green, his fingers alternately flexing and balling into fists, as he had appeared to be trying to decide whether he should try his luck in a fistfight, or simply go straight to strangulation.

But Vaughn hadn't cared; friend or not, he could have taken him. Maybe it was the storm or perhaps he was merely being overprotective, but he needed to get back to Sydney and Gabriel as soon as possible. Circling in the air while waiting for the rain to subside was just not an option; it would certainly have killed him a thousand times over, in too many diverse and creatively excruciating ways for even the most imaginative person to visualize.

Even then, the storm hadn't been this bad, and they had been able to land more or less safely. What little blood had been drawn had come from Eric's fingernails digging into the flesh on his arm rather than anything life-threatening. Vaughn had promised not to tell anyone at the office that Eric had cried out for his mother during an especially jarring moment of turbulence, and in return, Weiss had decided to revoke his pledge to render his friend sterile the moment they had landed. With few words spoken and a more embarrassed than friendly shaking of hands, the two men had parted in the airport parking lot and gone their separate ways. 

But that had been almost an hour ago, and it was nearly four in the morning by the time Vaughn pulled into his usual parking space outside of the apartment. The few steps it took to get from his car to the door left him soaked to the skin, his jacket little help in such a relentless deluge.

Although he desperately longed to see her smiling face, he hoped that Sydney hadn't tried to wait up for him, that both she and little Gabriel were sleeping peacefully despite the storm, and he would be able to whisper a song to their little boy before snuggling up behind her in bed, his arm tight around her as he drifted off and found her in his dreams.

These thoughts filled him with a sudden uncontrollable need to see his fiancée and son again, a desire twisted like a spring, wound so tightly that any second it would snap out of control, nearly to the point that it would physically make his eyes burn and his skin bleed if he had to wait any longer to see and touch the two people he loved more than anything, to breathe in their unique and beautiful scents, to hear their soft sleeping sighs…

This desperate yearning tugged vehemently at his heart, speeding up its rhythmic beating, making his hands tremble so violently that it cost him valuable seconds opening the door, time that stretched into forever and nothingness, that he would never be able to regain.

Even with the screeching of the wind and rain filling his ears, the second the door cracked open, he heard it, sensed immediately that something was wrong. His blood froze in his veins, nearly congealing him into a helpless, icy heap on his own doorstep as one by one the systems of his body forgot how to function, as he had to remember to breathe, to blink, to move in the slightest.

If someone had told him a few years, months, or weeks ago, that it was possible to distinguish the cry of one baby from another, he would have laughed. He would have declared it impossible to even differentiate between the tears of two separate children, much less the wailings of a single infant. It was something that he hadn't been able to understand until he had a child of his own; until he could pick up the tearful little boy and know exactly what was wrong, had to convince Sydney to stay in bed at three AM because Gabriel just needed to be changed and he could handle that as well as she could. His son's tears were the voice that the little boy had not yet developed, that only his mother and father could understand.

And though the wail echoing down the hall, through the doorway and piercing straight to his heart and eardrums was not one that Vaughn could ever remember hearing, he somehow recognized it right away. It was the escalated, pleading scream of a child who had been waiting for a while for someone to hear him, was begging for anyone to wrap their arms around him in comfort, let him know that he wasn't alone.

Vaughn almost didn't want to open his mouth or step forward, wasn't sure what he'd do if he didn't get an answer, if she wasn't there, if she… He didn't know if he even had the strength to call out, to force his voice into something stronger than a whisper, thought for sure that any words would have been caught on their way out, wouldn't have been able to squeeze through the ever-constricting space past his heart as it jumped up and beat wildly in his throat.

The last words he had said to her before his cell phone had died in a fit of crackling static echoed mockingly through his head, hitting nerve endings and warping to even crueler, more desperate pitches and tones: Syd, I'll see you… Syd, I'll see you… Syd, I'll see you… Those thoughts and feelings and promises he would have issued last never got to spring from his throat. He never even had the chance to tell her that he loved her. He would kill for that now. If he could just hold her in his arms and…

He wasn't even aware that he had spoken until he heard his own voice mingling with the tears of both his son and the wind, echoing off the suddenly hollow walls. It had issued forth as automatically as his suitcase had slipped from his hand, his keys had somehow found the edge of the counter, and his dripping jacket had landed in a puddle on the floor.

His footsteps hammering in time with each cold gasp of air, measuring the breaths that he otherwise wouldn't have remembered to take. Left foot in, right foot out, left foot in, right foot out…

"Syd?"