Rhapsody

Raina: Hopefully this is soon enough. ;-) Thanks for reviewing!

Caz: Your wish is my command and your reply is in the email. :-)

Natalie: Whoa… I'm not sure if I should be frightened by that, or…That's one tough policy. But at least it leaves open Jack and Weiss and… ;-) Thanks!

valley-girl2: Hmm, wisdom teeth… Yeah, your mouth will hurt and soon you'll be able to feel (and see) the tooth coming in. It's really not bad getting them out. Getting my braces tightened hurt worse. Of course, they didn't give me Vicodin for that, so… I can sympathize with your 'TOO' ordeal. I was just typing something out today and wanted to write 'beginning' and couldn't for the life of me make it look right. I finally had to type it into Word, and when no red squiggly came up, I figured I was okay. I felt like an idiot, but at least I had the right spelling… As always thank you so much for the effort you put into your reviews, the smilies, the quotes, the reactions… I love it.

Again, thank you so much to all of you who take the time to review. I love every single one of them. You are the ones who let me know that people are actually reading this; sometimes I wonder… :-) My muse kinda ran off with this chapter, so it's a bit long. You've been warned…

Chapter 9: Tailspin

For half a second, the ocean waves seemed to slow down, had once crashed in time with Sydney's heartbeat, but now didn't ever stand a chance of catching up to the insane ten thousand miles a minute that each thump of her heart slammed against her chest. In that half-second, her world seemed to blur and collapse, blackening and withering even with the sun shining brightly overhead. An icy blast breathed goose bumps down the back of her neck, tingling her spine with cold, clammy sweat, and she swore that if she turned around, she would come face to face with death itself.

They say in moments like these that an entire lifetime can flash before your eyes in an instant, and they're not completely wrong. But Sydney did not see her entire life flicker behind her closed eyelids, only those moments that mattered, stemming and budding from the past few months in bright bursts of color and flashes of light, moving pictures with stumbling beginnings and fuzzy edges: Gabriel's toes wiggling while she gave him his bath, Vaughn's smile flitting its way through the dark of their bedroom, Ilya's bright red cheeks and haunted eyes as they had examined him that very first time…

Sights blended to become no more than colors, those colors drifting into sound. Strawberries were no longer something she and Vaughn had savored in the summer twilight, but a bright red emanating an unchained melody, their very own moonlit sonata coalescing with Vaughn's ever-reassuring whisper, Ilya stumbling over her name, and the very first cry that had ever left her son's lips… Some no more than blips or screeches that rushed into the next, a crazy quilt of stertorous half-seconds that didn't even last that long linked end to end, could play out a year's worth of music in a twinkling.

With this overwhelming bombardment of senses zipping pell-mell, tearing one into the other and still unable to decide which sensory organ to have the most jarring effect on, capturing them all at once and wreaking such havoc that Sydney's normally steadfast resolve weakened. All life and color drained from her face in an instant, so that Vaughn had to force air past his vocal chords and out his lips, whispering her name as he brought a hand to her shoulder to steady her slightly swaying body. She snapped to attention long enough for her eyes to meet his, to read the guilt and fear that shot back at her from his own, to brush off the thousand and one silent apologies that he tried to offer.

But she would never dream of blaming him, of ever blaming anyone but herself. A hundred failed missions could not have equaled the ravenous remorse and wretchedness that wafted over her in that moment, a thick, black liquid filling her lungs so that there was no room for air, leaving an acrid, noxious taste in her mouth so intense it was nearly impossible to ignore, almost sent her stomach heaving, retching its contents onto the shore.

The time it took for his eyes to flicker to hers was all that was required for Sydney to know that he felt the same way, that his own senses and emotions had run rampant, his thoughts quivering with ifs and mights and could be's. All those threatened to be overrun by a seething, treacherous anger; aimed at himself for putting those he loved within the limits of danger, at the unknown enemy, but never, in an entire universe of lifetimes, at her.

Before either of them could blink, he had communicated a million unspoken remarks, all understood and responded to as if they had actually been given breath. Sydney's fingers tightened on his, practically wringing all feeling from his hand, but giving the added reassurance and pressure necessary a moment later when she removed her hand from his. It was almost as if Vaughn had suddenly become completely in tune with her being and body, could feel her muscles tightening; and he knew the instant that her hand started to let go of his, that she was going to run.

The sand flew wildly around her feet, biting into her legs, her arms pumping so rapidly through the air that it wouldn't have required much more effort for her to take flight. Sydney had eventually worked her way at least partially back into her morning jogging routing, taking Gabriel in his stroller and making her way through the park. But she couldn't remember the last time she had actually run as if her life had depended on it, as if a hundred enemies were snapping at her heels, bullets and danger piercing the air just over her head. She thought that by now she would have forgotten how, wouldn't have been able to get up to the same speed she had before.

But even though he had seen it in her eyes, had known that she was going to flee almost before she had herself, Vaughn was pushed well to the edge of his sprinting capabilities to keep up with her. Only the thought of Gabriel and Ilya kept the air from completely incinerating his lungs and the muscles in his legs from turning to jelly, only because he resolved not to let Sydney's adrenaline push her out of his sight, that even the few feet she still held over him was too far.

The sight of blood haunted him, seeming to mutate out of the dark ocean water, terrorizing them both; its stench overpowering, like liquid death trickled drop by drop into their waiting nostrils. Just the thought that they could return to smoke, fire, utter destruction, chaos… was too dizzying to bear at the moment. But nothing, not the need to breathe, keep going in the right direction, or force one foot swiftly in front of the other, could shake the visions of peeled and burning skin; red, oozing flesh; the vacant stares that had once been so full of life, had been the center of their entire lives…

The back door, the closest visible entrance, was slammed open with shaking fingers. In her rush to enter the house, Sydney had almost plowed straight into and through it, fortunately remembering just in time that while her seemingly superhuman capabilities proved their mettle with Running Like the Wind, they abruptly ended at Unharmed Forced Entry Through Screen Door. She followed the sound of voices to the living room, nearly collapsed against the wall when she found Charlotte seated on the couch, Gabriel in her arms and Ilya at her side, with a photo album spread open before them.

"Mommy's home!" Charlotte exclaimed with a curious glance in Sydney's direction, adding, "And Daddy, too," when the screen door crashed open again and Vaughn appeared at Sydney's side, arms around her without a second thought as he tried desperately to catch his breath.

"I was just showing the boys some old pictures of their daddy," Charlotte continued. No one caught her slight mistake in identification, would have bothered to point it out if they had. "When am I going to be able to add some wedding photos to this album?"

If either of the other adults heard her, neither made a motion to respond. Sydney only paused for a quarter of an instant to revel in Vaughn's touch, to breathe in both his life and those before her, barely enough time to be registered with even the most hi-tech device, for the blink of an eye to begin its motion. But Vaughn felt it, knew that that split second was needed to recoil her strength, to gather her wits and her voice, to rein in the tears that were so precariously close to spilling over. He understood when she pulled away from his grasp, and was one step behind her when she flew forward, nearly scaring his mother as she all but yanked Gabriel from her hold.

Vaughn similarly lifted Ilya from Charlotte's side. The photo album fell to the floor with a clatter as he pulled the little boy to his chest and quickly arrived back at Sydney's side, kissing the top of his son's head and finding his fiancée's lips. Ilya carefully watched every move he made, close enough to Sydney to eagerly mimic his motions, placing his lips carefully against Gabriel's back and throwing his arms around Sydney's neck in order to offer her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

She couldn't help but smile at that, her heartbeat starting to return to normal, her breathing finally steady after nearly threatening to rip open her lungs. Only her voice had yet to return, the ever straggler of the group, and it took all her effort to coerce a few broken letters past her trembling lips, as her hand found its own way to the back of Vaughn's neck, pulling him so close that his forehead brushed against her own.

"Michael…"

If all the previous events hadn't been riddled with enough hints for poor Charlotte, that alone would have hurtled her into the hazy realm of Something's Wrong. She had spent a week in the home of her son and his fiancée, and the only time she had ever heard the other woman call her son by his first name was during one of the emotion-filled moments after they had named their own little boy.

"Is… is everything all right?" Charlotte stammered, rising from the couch and watching the group before warily, her ever-cheerful front beginning to crumble around the edges.

Vaughn pulled back a few inches, eyes still glued to Sydney's and not willing to move away so soon. She gazed back at him as if to apologize for a multitude of things that were not her fault: that she had let his mother talk her into coming over; that she had given birth to a child that was now part of their life of danger; that she had blindly disobeyed his orders, tiptoed through snow and wind to that sound in the bushes so many months ago…

With a gentle squeeze of Sydney's hand, he hadn't known or cared how his own fingers had found their way to hers, Vaughn compelled himself to break eye contact, to search out his mother and provide her with some kind of answer. "Maman, it's…"

"Michael Vaughn," Charlotte cut him off, almost before he had had a chance to begin, her gaze stern and voice as commanding as Sydney had ever heard it. "I never let you tell me anything but the truth while you were growing up; don't think that just because you no longer live under my roof, I'm going to let that change now."

Ordinarily, Sydney would have found this scolding amusing, would have saved its memory to tease Vaughn with later, so that the two of them could revel in the fact that they were proof that he had to have been able to keep a few things from his mother over the years. But there was nothing humorous about it now, not when each second that ticked by only served to remind her of life that was lucky to be lived, that they had already stalled too long with their two boys in their arms and each instant was…

"No, Maman," Vaughn answered quietly. "Everything's not all right. We need to go back."

"I'm sorry," Sydney added, losing none of her genuine remorse with her quick delivery. Her words echoed off the walls, reverberating in his ears over and over again with more force each time, until she seemed to be practically screaming them directly at him.

A hush of no more than a second was enough for any normality that the situation had once possessed to slip though the minute holes in the back screen, all that was needed to alert Sydney and Vaughn to the fact that there was no part of this that was all right, that at the rate they were going, they would never be able to catch a break, never be able to…

"Don't apologize, dear," Charlotte replied, smiling so sweetly that only the two pairs of sharply trained eyes focused on her would have ever been able to pick up the glimmer of sadness that skulked in the corners of her own eyes, the regret that she had let her son choose this life for himself. "There's nothing you could have done to prevent it. Now, it'll just take me half a second to pack up these sandwiches, and then you four can be on your way…"

They couldn't protest against half a second, not when the so many half seconds that had come before it had not proven fatal, when they were already unintentionally depriving the woman of so much. After their lunch had quickly been packed into a paper bag and they were on their way out the door, Charlotte suggested that they leave Gabriel with her for the weekend, teasingly pointing out that at least that way, they were assured to come back to visit her soon.

When Vaughn had originally gotten the phone call from Jack, he had thought that he would be returning alone, that there was no reason to ruin Sydney's vacation for something that had at first seemed so trivial; but it had only taken one glance into her eyes to tell him that she would be accompanying him, both back to LA and into the CIA building for whatever briefings he had to attend, that there was no way she would leave his side. He could see that Sydney wanted to protest against his mother's solution, didn't want to let the little boy out of her sight again for awhile. But looking at the sweet way their son snuggled into his grandmother's arms, neither of them could think of a safer place for him to be.

And so, on their way out to the car, they juggled the children from one to the other, both parents needing to hold and kiss their infant goodbye before passing him off to his grandmother. Ilya sat against Sydney's hip, his tiny arms wrapped languidly around her neck as he watched the proceedings; but he jumped to full alert when Charlotte said her goodbye to him and he noticed Gabriel lying in her arms.

As she stepped back from the car and Sydney was about to put Ilya into his car seat, the little boy struggled in her arms with more strength than he should have procured in his nearly two-and-a-half years of life. Surprised at his sudden change in behavior, Sydney had to back away from the car, holding him tightly to prevent escape or injury, Vaughn running to help her so that the child didn't fall to the ground.

"Ilya," Sydney proclaimed as she breathlessly tried to hold him, "what's…?"

"N-n-no!" he shouted, stuttering helplessly over the word and nearly losing his grip on it. But he won out in the end, forcing it past his lips, and almost causing Sydney to drop him. Ilya didn't seem to notice how close he had come to falling; he held out his arms and lunged in Gabriel's direction, uttering his newfound word once more and adding another, near tears this time. "No!… Babe!"

If the world could have stopped at that moment, told each and every one of its occupants to drop whatever they were doing and applaud, it would have. But the few exclamations of joy and surprise that surrounded little Ilya were enough, carrying themselves on the wind and snagging in the bushes fifty feet away, nearly catching on the nose of a sniper rifle that was already having a hard enough time training on a target that was being rocked gleefully back and forth.

They had known that their prey would come to America, had followed it to Los Angeles, easily pinpointing the Vaughn's apartment as its temporary place of residence. They had waited until now to take vengeance, assuming that the caretakers' guard would relax while on vacation, making a quick hit and run all too easy. Unfortunately, they had grossly underestimated the strength of Agents Bristow and Vaughn, and their window of opportunity was closing with frightening rapidity.

A few Russian words hissed from the scarred lips of one man to the ears of the one crouching with the gun, a shrug standing in place of what should have been a grumbled reply. The third was shorter, fatter, standing further out of the way and holding a wolfish dog by the collar, mumbling something to one of his taller companions and receiving a smack for his efforts. Fumbling wildly while he tried to quietly regain his balance, he stepped on his canine compatriot's hind paw, sending it into a fit of deep-throated snarls.

Almost too low to be heard as anything more than a rumble in the waves or wind, the dog's snarling traveled the same path that shouts of joy had moments before. Almost too low, but not for one who had been haunted for weeks with that very same growling, ravenous howl, who had crouched in the frigid darkness listening to the snapping of jaws and grinding of angry teeth, counting the shots and the seconds until a chilled silence had frosted over, and…

Sydney froze, head whipping in the direction of the noise as she listened intently, hoping against hope that the nightmarish echo was only in her mind, a leftover edge of a dream she had thought she'd stopped having. Vaughn's concerned face turned towards her even before she held a hand out to him, grabbing onto his elbow.

"Syd?"

"Listen."

Her voice was a whisper, the usually sweet sound of it grating harshly in his ears with its deadly urgent tone. Almost too late, the bubble of memory burst before them, the very same one that had nearly floated away with the excitement of Ilya's speech. All at once the phone call, the heart-pounding fear they had felt on the shore, the slamming of running feet in sand and snow, the steady counting of bullets before a barrage of them had assaulted their ears, the seconds until it had been over… It all showered down on them like explosive confetti, a reminder that they were never without enemies, that in their line of work, whether they would admit to or decided to show it or not, there was not a moment without fear.

Vaughn wasn't sure whether he or Sydney spoke first or if either of them had at all; he didn't know who it was that told his mother to get with them into the car. Everything happened in a flurry of color, shapes and sound, as if objects carried no more meaning than that, stood for nothing further than his senses could pick up in the blistering heat of the moment.

Somehow, he found the passenger door handle and pushed his mother toward the front seat, the only time in his life he would ever lay a hand on her. With impressive rapidity, he opened Sydney's door and moved to help her inside, but she shook him off, shouted at him to get in and get them out of there. Brown sand and blue sky, the glint of sun shining off his vehicle's hood as he somehow found his way around it. Sydney must have stayed out to make sure his mother and Gabriel were secured in the car, and he wished to God that she hadn't, wished he could have turned back time and switched roles with her.

As he struggled to swallow the bile that the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had forced into his throat, he knew that he should have been the one holding Ilya, wished that he had thought to wrestle the child from her arms, push them both into the backseat and apologize later for the bruises. Bruised flesh is less painful, heals quicker than when it has been ripped and torn, than when white-hot metal scrapes mercilessly against tender skin, surging a riptide of feeling to the core of the area, leaking a million different sensations, but all of them variations of the worst kind of pain.

Even with the silencer, they both heard the whir of the bullet as it traveled through the air. Vaughn wanted to run, jump over the car and dodge in front of Sydney, protect her from any and all harm, but everything happened in the blink of an eye, before he was able to take more than three steps in her direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sydney spin so that her back was toward the bushes and hold Ilya tightly against her chest; he heard her sharp gasp and then the ding of metal on metal as the rifle shot wedged itself into the side of their car. Vaughn froze; Sydney's rushing intake of air torturing his ears worse than a scream of pure agony.

He had been her partner on various missions, her backup waiting in the van on countless more where he would have been powerless to do anything to help her. What it felt like to hold his breath in those moments, see how long he could make it without air before he would hear her gasp in his ear, her voice whispering to his… was nothing compared to the gut-slicing pain of watching, being less than ten feet away and still not finding it within his power to prevent even the slightest scratch or bruise. His body was shutting down, anger curling around the edges of fear and inflaming his entire being, soldering him in place so that it would be impossible to move even if he…

"Vaughn!"

Sydney's voice calling his name was the only auditory cue capable of bringing him back to life, all that could melt the chains that had somehow tied him to the ground. She had glanced up just before disappearing with Ilya into the backseat of the car, willingly risking her life by staying out to rescue his, knowing that she would be nothing without him by her side.

Vaughn started at the sound of her voice, meeting her eyes across the roof of the car for the tiniest fraction of a second, needing to satisfy himself with the spark of life that still glinted within them. The wave of emotion that washed over him at the mere sight of her nearly sent him sprawling; but he held himself up, and, as if they had been synchronized, they both ducked into the vehicle. He had the key in the ignition and was speeding down the driveway even before their doors were closed, immediately launched into Mission Mode, able to take on the world now that he knew she was still breathing, would have somehow found a way to suck every particle air from his own lungs and offer it to her if it had been at all possible, would have sacrificed his life for hers in half a heartbeat.

Almost hitting his mother's mailbox and leaving tire tracks in the neighbors garden, Vaughn nearly quadrupled the speed limit of the dusty, normally quiet road, swiftly losing the vicious dog that had appeared out of nowhere to chase their car down the driveway, and only catching a glimpse of three dark figures in his rearview mirror.

No one moved or spoke until they had driven for at least ten minutes, curving in and out of streets that they otherwise wouldn't have driven on, taking detours and sharp turns as often as possible. It wasn't until they had skirted around the entrance ramp a few times that both Vaughn and Sydney were absolutely sure they were not being followed, and he drove steadily onto the highway, letting a shaking breath of air rush forth from his lings. Only then would Sydney dare to let Ilya out of her firm hold, buckling him into his car seat with trembling fingers and reaching to the front to take Gabriel from Charlotte.

"Sydney, dear," Charlotte whispered, her voice sounding odd, almost strangled after the altercation and following silence, "you're bleeding."

Vaughn nearly turned his body completely around in order to get a good look at her, decided last minute that glancing in the rearview mirror would be a better option, his eyes finding the trickle of blood that had already made its way down Sydney's arm before she could quickly cover it with her other hand. He had seen her with wounds that were worse; she had come back from missions numerous times with injuries that were near life-threatening, that she somehow always seemed able to bounce back from. He didn't know why this wound, barely a scratch from a bullet, they both knew that, seemed so much worse in his eyes.

Maybe it was because his mother had been there to witness it, had been the one to answer the door so many years ago and listen when the CIA agents told her of the death of her husband, and had just watched her son's, her grandson's, her own life flash before her eyes. Maybe it had something to do with the two little boys that were in their hearts and arms, one his very own flesh and blood, his own son who he would do anything to protect; the other loved just as fiercely, even though he had once lived half a world away. Maybe it was because he had been there himself, had been utterly powerless to protect any of them…

Whether it was solely one of those reasons or a tricky combination of those and so many more, Vaughn couldn't decide. He had to gulp down the biting anger that was bubbling its way to his face, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he saw Sydney's covered in the sticky crimson of her own blood when she brought her hand away, finally daring to meet Vaughn's eyes in the mirror. Battle ensued within him, reason versus emotion in a fight to the death, and it took all the common sense he had to keep his foot on the gas pedal, to not pull over and convince himself that she was okay.

"I'm fine," Sydney murmured in answer to the question he had never voiced. "It just nicked me."

She couldn't describe the glaze that clouded Vaughn's eyes at that moment. A swell of concern blended with the familiar mixture of fear and sadness that she had seen so many times before. But this time, there was something different, the sadness tinged with a hue bordering on betrayal and seeping into fury, as he wondered how he could let her convince him of that, when the very fact that her blood had started dripping back down over where she had wiped it away was all the proof he needed to tell him otherwise. How he could hear her words, let her speak assurance with her eyes, and simply concede and drive on, tell his mother that…

"There's a first aid kit in the glove box."

Perhaps the answer could be found in that very kit itself. Most would be lucky to find a few band-aids and napkins from drive-thru restaurants lingering in their glove compartments. But Michael Vaughn had an arsenal, complete with various creams, bandage sizes, gauze, and even a few anti-toxins that he had been able to legally obtain not as a citizen of the United States, but as a Central Intelligence Agent of that country. It was a box very similar to the one he had opened himself countless times in the back of their government-issued van, not knowing that the very touch of his fingers was doing more to heal her wounds than any medication or bandage ever could.

While Sydney did her best to clean herself up, Vaughn took out his cell phone and carefully and pointedly relayed what had happened, fighting not to dwell overly much on the occurrences, to let the freshness of the memory fuel the fire of his anger. Once he had finished and Gabriel had been passed into the backseat, they continued on in utter silence. Not a word was spoken as the miles crawled by, until both Sydney and Vaughn had thought that Charlotte had joined the two little boys in their slumber.

"Vaughn," Sydney whispered, the word nearing a whimper as she fought to control her voice. "I'm…"

"Don't," he interrupted just as quietly, eyes flashing in the rearview mirror as his right hand snaked its way to the backseat and found hers, grasping it tightly. As many times as she had tried to offer it, there was no way he was going to accept an apology. "Syd, I…"

There was no ringing telephone or honking horn to cut off his words this time, but they still trailed off of their own accord, no doubt used to interruptions and losing themselves on the way to his lips, catching on the emotion suddenly tangled in his throat. Her hand tightened in his to the point where it should have been painful, but wasn't tight enough, her voice somehow tripping its way to his ears.

"I know."

It would have been considered pitiful to those well-versed in the art of spoken conversation, but with those four syllables, they spoke of love, longing, guilt, sadness, fear, and a multitude of other emotions that didn't yet have names. Silence found its way inside the vehicle again, and eventually Vaughn was forced to extricate his hand from hers and return it to the steering wheel, the strange angle well past starting to burn a dull ache within his shoulder. Neither of them noticed Charlotte's small smile, ever knew that anyone had shared in that moment but the two of them.

When they finally reached the CIA parking garage, Vaughn carefully unfastened Gabriel from his car seat, probably faster than he ever had before, needing to see for himself that the boy's mother was all right. Quickly kissing his son before handing him off to his own mother, Vaughn gingerly helped Sydney over the empty seat, unwrapping the gauze she had managed to secure around her arm and checking her wound before letting her step even a foot away from the car.

"I'm fine," she mumbled softly, her body betraying her words, not a muscle moving to protest his ministrations or pull away from them.

The bullet had just grazed her; in a few weeks, it would be nothing more than another faded scar to add to the dozens of others that speckled her skin. In the beginning, he had spent hours memorizing each and every one: knife fight in Bergen three years ago, metal pipe in Sana'a a few months before that, falling off the swings at the playground when she was five years old, slammed against the concrete in Port-au-Prince days after finishing agent training…

She had never forgotten even one, and neither had he; he made sure of it. The wounds themselves healed without a hitch, it was the woman beneath them he was more afraid of harming, had wondered nights, when he held her in his arms, how she had escaped so relatively unscathed thus far, how she was able to force her eyes open, to drag herself out of bed each morning.

"Vaughn, I…"

"I know."

No matter what happened to her, whether a knife, a bullet, a rusted pipe or the swings, she always held strong, managed to persuade the world that she was all right even when she hadn't yet convinced herself. Vaughn stopped examining her arm for a moment, eyes peering up and quickly finding hers. Straightening, he kissed her softly, always reveling in her taste as if each time would be his last, days like this magnifying that fear a thousand times in grim black and white, the reality of it startlingly apparent through the bleakness.

Reaching past her and into the car, he extracted the first aid kit, pausing long enough to offer Ilya a reassuring smile before opening the box and finding the supplies he needed. Gently rejecting his mother's offer to help, he tenderly wrapped Sydney's arm in clean gauze, knowing that although his mother had worked wonders back in his playground days, this was something he needed to do himself. In their line of work, it was impossible for him to even try to protect Sydney from everything; but it only served to make these moments more precious, what little he could do for her almost but not quite outweighing all the pain.

Sydney offered herself to him willingly, hypnotized by his careful and delicate attention. Even the slight brush of his fingers against her skin stirred a nearly asphyxiating rush of emotion within her, the likes of which still frightened her; how even the smallest whisper or promise of his touch could send her spinning into orbit, reeling into a world where only the two of them existed, and… Wincing slightly as he secured the bandage and quickly snapping to attention, she found a worried apology already waiting in his eyes.

"Better?" Vaughn murmured, his fingertips still dancing gently down the skin of her arm, acting of their own accord, unable to break contact with her.

"Much," she whispered, knowing that the garage was monitored, that his mother was right there, that even though they were in the safety of the CIA building, each second could only put them all in more danger… and still having to wrestle with herself not to lean into his touch. "Thanks."

His smile was her only response, but it was all that she ever needed. Returning the first aid kit to the backseat, Vaughn stopped to kiss his mother and brush his fingers against Gabriel's cheek, as if realizing for the first time that Sydney was not all he could have lost that day. He didn't know, didn't even want to consider what he would have done if his mother or his own little boy had been hurt in any way. The mere thought of it shot like a cannon straight through his heart. Gabriel wriggled in Charlotte's arms, wildly flailing his hands as he tried to catch his father's finger. To think that he could have lost all that…

"It's okay, Michael."

It was his mother's voice softly reaching his ears; Sydney's fingers pressing into his shoulder in a silent proclamation. He glanced up to meet his mother's eyes, and even after all that had happened that day, she was still able to offer him a smile, to give her own child what little comfort she could when he was too old, too big, to climb into her lap and cry.

Her next words were simple, but she was able to spin them like straw into gold. It was the voice he remembered from when she used to make him kneel down next to her beside his bed, his pajama-covered feet tapping impatiently against the floor as they whispered his prayers, and moments later, after she had tucked him into bed, singing the very same lullaby he used for his own son today. The way she spoke, it was as if he were four years old again, and she was reading the last page of his bedtime story, her voice hushed as it always had been when she got close to the end.

"Five hearts are still beating… We're all okay."

And just like her special tea and honey, her words helped. But only for a moment. He had seen too much of the world to be so easily comforted, no longer believed that the picture books she had read to him were true. Sydney's arm was still bandaged. When he went to get Ilya out of the car, he would see the dent the bullet had made, could be thankful that the metal had taken the brunt of the impact instead of the beautiful woman who was standing by his side. Words didn't change the fact that they were standing in the CIA parking garage on his day off. And he still could have lost all of them: his mother, his love, his son, Ilya…

But Vaughn swallowed those thoughts, offering his mother a mirror of her own smile as he walked around the car and unbuckled Ilya. He ruffled the child's hair and couldn't help but grin as the little boy searched earnestly for Gabriel before resting his head on Vaughn's shoulder. He hadn't spoken a word since shouting his pseudo-brother's name, seemed to know that he was the cause of all the trouble, the reason that both they and happiness had fled from the beach so quickly. Vaughn wished there was something he could say or do that would magically make everything better, take away all of the little boy's worries and fears; knew that all the words and actions in the world would not suffice to erase what the poor child had been through.

Sydney watched Vaughn carefully as he carried Ilya around the car toward them, seemed to sense that there was still something amiss about him, that his mother's words had soothed him momentarily, but he hadn't taken them to heart. He caught her concerned gaze and tried to brush it off as he took her hand and squeezed it lightly, not giving in when she tried to take Ilya from him, merely kissing her knuckles in response and leading their little group inside.

The five of them had barely made their way into the building when they ran into a veritable thundercloud wearing a suit and tie: one Jack Bristow who did not seem at all thrilled with the recent turn of events. "Surveillance logged you as driving in almost ten minutes ago," he stated, letting that serve as his greeting to Sydney and Vaughn, but at least having the courtesy to nod in Charlotte's direction. "Is everything all right?"

"We're fine, Dad," Sydney replied, taking a step forward to answer for them, but not relinquishing her grip on Vaughn's hand. Somewhere in between her last brush with death and this recent escapade, she had completely given up caring about decorum and protocol, had begun sweeping the rules out the window long ago. "At least we are now."

"Have you identified who was after us?" Vaughn asked, his voice not sounding like his own, nowhere near to matching the tender whisper Sydney had heard just moments earlier, as he quickly stepped forward and fired another question at Jack, "Where are they now?"

But if Jack heard either question, he made no motion to acknowledge it, instead bringing a hand to Sydney's elbow and lifting her arm. "Are you all right?" he asked, most of the warmth leaving his voice as he turned to Vaughn, eyes narrowing. "You didn't say anything about this over the phone."

Vaughn swallowed visibly, his jaw setting as Sydney's simultaneous squeezing of his fingers matched the pressure of his mother's hand on his back. That was all that could keep the harsh words from springing to his mouth, that could rein in the red-hot passion galloping full force from every pore in his body. "We…"

"I asked him not to, Dad," Sydney quickly cut him off, loathing the lie even as it left her lips but finding it a small price to pay if it would bring a rapid end to the tension, stop whatever seemed to be brewing itself between the two men in her life, those who would do anything to protect her, even war against each other. "It's nothing really. Please."

Jack conceded, nearly as powerless as Vaughn when it came to her soft tone, those dark, pleading eyes. He led them inside, speaking politely to Charlotte; something about apologizing for the circumstances of the visit and Vaughn's office, but Vaughn didn't hear a word. It was too hard to focus on speech when all he could feel was the weight of Ilya in his arms, the pressure of Sydney's fingers intertwined with his own. Both of which he might have lost if that single bullet had gone a few inches in a different direction. Both of them and so much more…

"Have you been able to track whoever was after us?" Vaughn interrupted, repeating his earlier question with greater force and impatience. The long drive back to LA had nearly killed him. The enemy could have reared its ugly head around any corner, and he had only had a single weapon hidden away in his glove compartment, hadn't been prepared for the ambush. Now that they were finally in Headquarters, had the power and capability to seek and destroy…

"I think it's advisable if you wait for a formal briefing, before…"

"Come on, Jack," Vaughn cut in, startling Ilya with the strength in his tone. "It's a simple question. Have you tracked them?"

"No."

"No?!" Vaughn's shouted question made Ilya whimper, the little boy hiding his face in Vaughn's shirt in an attempt to escape the anger. "How could you have…?!"

"Perhaps if you hadn't waited until ten minutes after the fact to call…"

"What was I supposed to do?! We were…"

Their words clamored together now, neither able to finish a sentence before the other would shoot out half an answer, all words lost in the fray, ripped to shreds and barely understandable. The two agents had gotten along surprisingly well in the past few months, Jack having seemed finally willing to accept Vaughn as a suitable match for his daughter. Their last altercation had been well before Gabriel had even been born. But the increasing strain of the past few days and the sudden explosion of danger…

"Dad! Vaughn!"

Sydney's voice was magic, sounding over the two men's own tones and silencing them immediately. Her hand tightened on Vaughn's to the point where it actually was painful, drawing him away from the monster of ire and pulling him back to himself, her other arm held out gingerly to her father, begging him to stop. There were no apologies, was barely a pause long enough to take a breath.

Anger snapped its jaws menacingly, trying to lure Vaughn back into the bloody grip of its fangs. It was oddly enticing, glimmering with the promise of unleashed fury and the sudden, volatile release of tension. But Vaughn stayed just a claw's reach out of its grasp, the whispering touch of Sydney's thumb brushing circles over his hand, the warmth of her body next to his, so close that the skin of her arm grazed against his own... Those sensations were more powerful than any evil emotion, enlisted the brute force and ammunition of all the feelings associated with love. When he spoke, his words were slow and controlled, contrasting strangely with his earlier force, nearly smothered on their way out of his throat.

"They came after my family, Jack."

It served as both an explanation and an apology. Ordinarily, he would have won with such a baring statement; anyone else would have had to bow down to the ties of love and blood, given in to the fact that there was nothing stronger. Only Jack Bristow would have ever been able to counter it. His own words were just as soft, spoken a few moments after Vaughn's, the time needed both to collect them and to gather the strength needed to give them voice.

"Mine too, Michael... Mine too."