Rhapsody
Chapter 13: Spate
Somewhere amidst sensation and thought, some as nonsensical as an infant's prattle, others just as crystal clear, she lost all track of time and reason. Sydney could remember fifteen if she tried, if she cared enough to try, that is. Fifteen minutes and five seconds, a measurement that meant no more than a few seconds added to a quarter of an hour, carried the world with it since it was the last number she had before the ability to count had traipsed away from her. And all she knew now was that it had been more than that, more than fifteen minutes and five seconds since…
More than enough time to start hearing his ghost, to be haunted by something she had thought she would always have; always wanted to remember, but never wanted to have only as a memory.
She didn't think that she must have looked ridiculous, even frightening, to those agents who were so used to the Sydney Bristow they had seen in action and heard such heroic tales about: the one who hadn't flinched in the line of fire or batted an eyelash when a bomb detonated a mere three feet from where she had been standing, had somehow jumped from the tenth story of a building and not received a scratch. There was no way this fractured and so-close-to-breaking woman could have been their heroine, would have been able to go anywhere near danger without flitting away faster than a mouse.
With her eyes squeezed shut and her jaw set to hold in shrieks and sobs, she had become so suddenly small and vulnerable, looked painfully like a little girl, crouching by her bedside with a hand poised, afraid to lift the blankets and see what monsters lurked underneath. The lightning of cruel reality had struck her dumb, leaving her burnt and motionless, stripped of every thread of reason and at the disposal of whatever sensations took the fancy to wash over her.
Without the power of sight, it was impossible to tell which were real and which were not, each feeling adding itself to the confused snarl that increased in size and complexity as the moments wore on. Hissing static became Gabriel's hungry cry, the surrounding agents murmured her name in Vaughn's voice, reached their hands out to touch her like only he could, and then seemed to be tugging at her hair as the grade school boys had done so long ago.
His voice was still echoing, teasing, taunting, beckoning to her as the shimmering oasis does to the parched desert traveler, promising thirst-quenching paradise, but always seeming a few too many steps away. When the spectral whisper of his fingertips joined it, she had to fight to keep the tears from seeping past her closed eyelids. She still didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to find herself with a mouthful of sand, even thirstier than she had been before, and this time, devoid of even the tiniest glimmer of hope, all that would have kept her moving through heat and sun, reminded her to breathe, to eat, to live.
Sometime in what could have only been a few seconds, she must have whispered his name, calling to him and begging him to respond, to tell her that this was real, not a dream or a nightmare, that it was safe to open her eyes. She couldn't hear anything past the blood rushing in her ears, didn't know whether she truly had called out to him or not, if it would have been loud enough for him to hear if she had.
After that solitary lapse into what might have been speech, her mouth snapped shut to prevent the escape of sobs, and without the assistance of any other semi-reliable senses, she was left only with touch, could still feel the phantom of his fingertips traveling down her cheekbone, coming to rest at her chin and propping it up as he had so many times before…
Without warning, Sydney was hurtled backwards through time, passing all the moments of the past year in less than the instant it took to gasp half a lungful of air. They had been in the warehouse then; him, standing by the fence and her seated at the table, hand on her forehead to hold her head up. There had been an explosion then, too. In Sweden, she remembered; one that had killed half a dozen of their agents. She was supposed to have stopped it; she had set it, too, but she was supposed to have stopped it. She hadn't been able to reach it in time.
She remembered telling Vaughn what had happened, just as she would have at any other debriefing, explaining in a flat, emotionless tone that she was the one who had killed those four men and two women, the six agents who had been defending their country, had been blown away because of one mistake, one woman not quick enough to defuse the bomb she herself had set.
The next few minutes were a blur. There was something about SD-6 and then the CIA's plans for the agents' burials. There were tears that had flooded, not only to mourn the so recent turn of events, but because she had been holding them in for far too long. There was Vaughn's hand on her shoulder, his arms around her and then…
The world had stopped and nothing had mattered. His lips had traveled from the top of her head, where they could have been accidentally placed as he had held her, down her cheek where they might have been merely another attempt at comfort, and had trailed across and attached to her own with such gentle insistence that there could be no mistaking his intentions, that this hadn't been simply about comfort anymore.
There had barely been any pressure at first, and if he had pulled away when he had first tried to, Sydney would have thought that she had imagined the entire thing. Vaughn may have been willing to write it all off as a mistake, but she hadn't allowed it, pulling him closer, running her fingers up and down his arms and back.
There had been no use denying what they had both wanted for so long. There had been no way she would have been able to forget the feel of his lips after that first touch. Sydney had tasted paradise before; she had felt love and had had it returned to her. With Danny she had had all those things; but after his death, after her life had been ripped from her, chewed up and spat violently back into her body, she had never thought she would have felt like this again.
The tingling of something too much and not enough, the uncontrollable craving, the way she had been more aware of every sensation than she had ever been, but still her body had not felt like her own… It was hard to remember, hard to describe. Even then it had been, immediately afterwards, her mind still reeling; later as she had nodded off to the first good night of sleep that she had gotten in weeks; all those nights and days that had followed, when she hadn't had him by her side...
While she stood in the Operations Center, eyes still shut tightly, she tried so hard to capture everything: every feeling, sensation, those few thoughts that had rattled their way through her mind, no matter what they had been. She would have thought it impossible; it all seemed so long ago, and there had been so many kisses since then that had rivaled that one in sweetness and far outdone it in lust and passion, that it could have easily been lost in ranks.
But suddenly time and numbers no longer mattered. All that did was the jogged memory of his lips against hers for that very first time: a whispering pressure that almost disappeared as her hands reached out and tugged him closer; the gentle, quivering caresses as if he weren't sure she would want this as much as he did; her mouth opening to him, letting a sigh escape with the torrent of emotion and a muffled sob that she couldn't remember being there that first time.
She had been scared, even then, she had been frightened beyond anything that she would open her eyes and all of it would have disappeared; she would have been in her bed, in class, on a plane… anywhere but in his arms. She remembered the explosive mixture of fear, relief, passion and doubt; all of it, everything.
But she didn't remember her body shaking as it was now, as if something volatile had been pent up for too long and was struggling to escape, to pull her over the edge with it and into tears. And even though she could recall him being just as gentle as he had been then, there was something here that was bordering on weakness, as if she were truly the one holding him up, as if he were struggling to gather enough air to keep himself standing and…
"Vaughn…"
Sydney didn't seem to be the master of any of her muscles today, and her eyes opened of their own accord, shutting again instantaneously with the relieved shock of finding him before her, his name half smothered by his lips as they pressed softly against hers, unable to get enough and peppering her face with kisses before pulling away, gasping for breath.
She wasn't able to open her eyes again as her face buried itself in his chest, not caring about the dirt and blood that stained his tattered clothing. His scent, something in between rapture and ardor that she had never quite sensed anywhere else, lingered beneath ash, oil and gunpowder, the reek of danger and the scent of I almost lost you. She wanted to look at him, to ask if he was all right, to see for herself, to find out what had happened, but…
"Syd…" His voice was gasping, wheezing from more than just the aftermath of his assault on her lips, churning with raw emotion and flooding relief. "Are you okay?"
How he was able to find those words before she did was beyond her; she was still struggling in her search for something more than just his name. His thumb was caressing her cheek, and her arms were around him so tightly that it must have pained him, especially in the condition that he was sure to be in; but he hadn't complained, wouldn't have even if the pain had been excruciating, worse than thousands of nails driving into all the tenderest points in his body. He was content simply to hold her, never wanted to let her go.
With a shaking sigh, she ventured a look up at him, found his eyes greeting her own, unchanged despite everything, shining through the wounds and filth on his face. "Vaughn, you're…"
Her sentence halted, her mind sparking to overload with options for finishing it; some too painful to give breath to, others too obvious, not a one that seemed just right. Back, bruised, beautiful, bleeding, broken… If only there were on word to encompass all of that and so much more. But to search for it would have been useless; even if she were somehow able to find it, after using it this once, she would loathe it, would never want to have occasion to even think of it again.
An ugly gash ripping across his forehead was sure to be the source of the sticky crimson that smeared his face, littered with dirt and ash, all three of which she was surprised she hadn't tasted a moment ago when his lips had been on hers. She didn't think to run her hand across her mouth to erase the residue, was too involved in trying to discover every last contusion that lay hidden beneath the blood, searching the rest of him for any sign of injury without moving any further out of his arms. Had she dared to open her eyes earlier, seen the way he hobbled across the room to be with her, pain and determination scribbled onto his face, it might have pushed her over the top; as it was, all this was enough, almost too much.
"I'm fine."
She shook her head, unable to do anything else. She wished she could find it within her to scream, to sob, to do anything that would ease the tidal wave of emotions pitching through her, to save her from being dragged beneath by the undertow. Couldn't he see that the hitching harshness of his voice, too soft even for a whisper, was evidence in itself of something other than fine? That each of his short breaths was shaking both their bodies, and, for once, she was physically holding him up more than he was her?
"I have you… and the boys… You're all safe."
It was so slight that it crept up almost unnoticeably; and perhaps it was only due to the proximity of her ear to his lungs, but Sydney noticed the nearly imperceptible changes in his breathing, how it was slowly worsening instead of getting better. She loosened her arms and tried to pull away, not wanting to put any more pressure than necessary on his suddenly fragile ribs and lungs. But while he allowed her to loosen her grip, he held her close, seemingly more afraid of losing her than she had been of losing him, quickly capturing her lips in a chaste kiss that still left him gasping.
"Vaughn…" she began carefully, truly getting nervous now, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to let him stand there and hold her up, to forget his needs for her own. But she caught the gleam in his eye, the promise that he was all right for the moment, would tell her if anything changed; a plea for her to let him have these few minutes. Sydney believed and trusted him, would do anything for him, and quickly amended her statement to fit their silent accord. "What happened?"
"I don't know," he finally confessed, the few moments he had spent trying to come up with an answer proving fruitless. There were bits and pieces floating aimlessly through his mind, but other than that, nothing was there. "Bykov found me… had me cornered… and Weiss…"
"Where is he?" she asked quickly, nervously, ashamed that she hadn't thought of it earlier and suddenly remembering that they weren't alone, that the room around them was buzzing with activity, not a place for such shows of emotion as they had just exhibited.
Vaughn nodded toward a group of agents, including her father, and Sydney noticed that Weiss was at the hub of this circle. He quickly caught his friend's eye and extricated himself from the group. His left arm hung limply at his side, and, like Vaughn, his face was marred with blood and bruises, but the majority of the former seemed to have streamed from his nose and mouth, the lack of a head wound putting him in much better condition than his friend.
"You know," he began seriously, his eyes jumping from Vaughn to Sydney and back again, "I considered following the rules, not going after you and letting you get yourself into trouble this time." He smiled wryly and continued. "But I figured that by trying to get your ass out of trouble, I actually had better odds of surviving. If I had come home alive and you hadn't, Sydney would have kicked the shit out of me. And that was something I really didn't want to have to face."
Sydney couldn't help but crack a smile, moving out of the way so that Vaughn could carefully embrace his friend with one arm while still holding her in the other and wheeze a quiet, "Thank you, Eric."
"Don't mention it, man," Weiss responded as he pulled away. "Now you owe me. And I plan to use all the vacation time I get out of this to figure out ways you can pay me back."
Sydney shifted gingerly into Vaughn as Weiss spoke, allowing him to lean more of his weight against her. He pulled her closer, pausing a moment to sigh into her neck, and she reveled in the fact that he still had life and breath to hold her, had come back to watch their son grow. The two men exchanged a few more words, piecing together bits of the story while Sydney interjected a question or two at appropriate moments, becoming more and more comfortable in Vaughn's embrace as the conversation began to dwindle.
None of them felt Jack's eyes on them, saw them soften or the corner of his mouth curve upwards in the tiniest, most fleeting of smiles. "Weiss," he called, not moving from his position a few feet away. "I need the rest of your mission details."
"But I already…" Weiss stopped, raising an eyebrow as he caught Jack's glare and quickly following his line of vision to face Sydney and Vaughn. "Oh… Gotcha."
He followed Jack to a far corner of the room as the older agent looked over his shoulder and smiled at his daughter. Sydney returned it gratefully, wanting to run and thank her father, but not having the courage to leave Vaughn's side. She stood unmoving in his embrace, finally tilting her head to listen to him breathe; his breaths were short and cautiously controlled, but had slowly begun to steady. Her fingers trailed tenderly along Vaughn's chest, brushing against the cloth of his shirt, but not pressing any harder, lest they land on some hidden wound.
"You should sit down," she murmured after a moment. "And we should get you something for that gash before…"
Vaughn shook his head slowly, closing his eyes when even that slight motion seemed to dizzy him, hoping that the stars and spots wouldn't continue to sparkle behind his eyelids. He knew, as she fluidly moved to steady him, that Sydney would see through the gesture, that he wouldn't be able to fool her so easily.
"Not yet."
"But you have to get to the hospital."
"I need to see Gabriel first."
"Your mother, Vaughn," Sydney tried to argue softly. "Seeing you like this will…"
"I think," Vaughn interrupted quietly, pressing his fingers against her lips to silence her and smiling sardonically, "that my mother is much more… used to this than we give her credit for… Please, Syd… I have to see them. All of them."
Sydney agreed, but only because she could never refuse him such a simple request, not when it was all that he had fought so hard not to lose. Without a word, she led him from the room, wincing as he limped alongside her. He was leaning on her carefully so as not to hurt her, but the ache that wormed its way through her being did not stem from any physical pain; rather, it began with the gnawing of guilt and sorrow on the most tender, secret places deep in the backs of her mind and heart.
Someone shoved a first-aid kit in Sydney's free hand on her way out the door. She felt her fingers wrap around the handle and knew at once what it was, whispering a thank you, but never knowing to whom. She wouldn't let her eyes leave Vaughn for more than a quarter of a second, watching as he put one foot slowly in front of the other so that she would be ready to catch him if he should fall.
Vaughn didn't question as their straight course down the hallway took a sudden turn, letting Sydney pull open the door to the men's room and steer him inside. Neither of them noticed the strange looks that its few occupants gave them before hastily leaving, or would have cared if they had. Unable to find a better seat, Sydney eased Vaughn to the floor, helping him lean against the wall. Not a word was spoken while she ran the water over a cloth and tenderly began to wash the blood and grime from his face.
She was barely halfway through when she had to stop. There had been hundreds of events and emergencies before this one that she had greeted with gritted teeth and a level head; she didn't know why she was breaking today. Other times, there had been other reasons: near lethal combinations of stress, exhaustion and caged emotions; death; pregnancy hormones; SD-6…
But here, today, it had just been another operation, one that had in many ways ended more smoothly than dozens of others. Still, there was just something that…
I think I can pull out the crystal without touching the lasers.
Want me to do it? My hands are pretty steady.
So are mine.
It was strange how she remembered that at this instant, felt the look they had exchanged, the weight of the pliers and the tingle of his fingers brushing against hers as he handed her the tool. Her hands were quivering so uncontrollably now that she would have completely botched that mission, blown the whole of SD-6 to the ground, and her and Vaughn along with it. It was as if all control had been drained from her, slowly slipping through the cracks until its loss became near frightening, enough for her to finally notice.
"Syd?"
She knew which words to speak, but they were caught in her throat. Each breath lodged them deeper within her, as they wrestled against every attempt or even thought of speech, mocking her with tears, threatening to chip loose the sobs that were building in her lungs and free them in one howling wail of anguish. Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, glancing at Vaughn as he watched her carefully, she let her fingers gently dance over his own, waiting for her words to come to life.
When it finally did break free, her voice was softer than a sigh, its sweet harshness evidence of its struggle to escape without letting the tears follow. "I thought I lost you."
Vaughn took her hand and placed it against his lips, planting a kiss on her palm before responding, his words vibrating against her skin and through her veins. "Me too."
They sat like that for a moment; Vaughn slumped against the wall and Sydney crouching beside him, her palm against his lips and his breath washing over her in waves. The soothing ecstasy of that instant was undeniable, mingled in the wake of a heady sensation that was as close to heaven as one could get without leaving the ground. Sydney could have stayed like that forever, never moving a muscle so long as he was close by her, content to remain frozen for a thousand forevers.
But while it may seem to, time does not stop in moments like these. Sanity and reality eventually crept their way through the haze of euphoria, bringing with them glimpses of the blood, his blood, that now stained both their bodies. Sydney took her hand from his and went back to work on his face, silently keeping tally of the bruises she uncovered as she went, denying the impulsive urge to kiss each and every one of them until they gradually faded away.
"It's how you felt every time," she murmured after a moment, glancing quickly into his eyes, but losing the nerve to keep her own there. "Isn't it?"
He closed his eyes and sighed in answer, wishing there could have been a way to evade this issue forever, live in a blissful semi-ignorance, with all the benefits of knowledge that this revelation had brought them, without any of its biting aftermath. "That doesn't matter now."
But she wouldn't relent, not even when he sat before her like this, when they were on the floor of the men's lavatory: him, bleeding; both of them broken. There were some things that didn't have a proper time or place, needed to be spoken as they presented themselves before the heart and mind gave in to cowardice and bottled them back up, losing them forever. She opened the first aid kit and extracted the alcohol, busying herself to keep her own words from stinging. "Like your body was being ripped…"
"… ripped in half – " he admitted softly, his whisper splintered by a slight gasp of pain as Sydney swabbed at his forehead with the alcohol.
"Sorry…" she mumbled mechanically, the word falling through a crack in the conversation but not breaking it. "Half doesn't even begin to…" she trailed off and frowned, watching new blood trickle steadily from the gash that she had just wiped clean. "This is deep, Vaughn. What did you hit it on?"
Vaughn didn't try this time, knew that maybe later he would find some sense in the random flashes, put the pieces into order. For now, all that was there was Bykov's words, a rush of panic and adrenaline, the earth-shattering thunder that had spat fire in his direction and painted his whole world in black until…
"You'd have to ask Eric."
Silence descended, comfortably veiling them both as she did her best to clean the wound, finally pressing a handful of gauze against it and bringing his hand up to hold it there until she could tape it in place. Wordlessly, she moved down to his leg, helping him stand and gritting her teeth as she tore one leg of his pants apart, attempting to get a better look at the injury she knew would be hiding beneath the already tattered and stained cloth. Her eyes widened with the unwelcome sight of ugly teeth marks that were already darkly bruised, blood still trickling from the ripped holes in his tender flesh. She let out a hissing breath of air, her thoughts catching on the end of it and springing to life.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, hesitantly reaching a finger out and brushing it against the wound to examine it, only feeling him tense with the pain, not realizing that this was coupled with a sigh of relief and contentment, that the touch of her fingers on him, anywhere, even when unintentionally bringing him pain, was exquisite. "For not realizing sooner…"
"Sydney…"
"… For killing a part of you…"
"Stop."
"… every time I…"
Somehow he garnered the strength to pull her up, careful not to wrench her still wounded arm and disregarding his own injuries, not giving a damn about the fiery, stabbing twinge that seemed to start at his heart and tear through his body. Soon that was all but forgotten, nothing more than the gentle ache of a stubbed toe, pulsating somewhere behind all other sensation, not allowed to the forefront of thought.
His fingers were on her face, running across her cheekbone and down her jaw to her chin. He met her eyes, nearly drowning in the remorse that churned within them but staying strong, his words flowing from him between gulps of air.
"When I was there, Syd… Bykov, the bullets, the lies and deception, SD-6… none of that mattered… All I could think of… all I saw… was you…"
There had been moments when Sydney had thought she had been speechless before, but they were nothing compared to this. The words had always been there during those instances, skipping and laughing just out of reach, taunting her with their inability to be captured and made to behave. That feeling was a twenty-minute soliloquy to an audience of thousands when compared to this: the complete void of all thought, the fear-provoking emptiness that filled her mind and mouth, leaving nothing to grasp at, no hope of finding a few stray letters to string into words, or a sound or gesture willing to stand in their place.
"He's gone, Syd," Vaughn murmured, watching as a million different emotions clouded her eyes and knowing that she had fallen prey to them, was powerless to respond in any other way than to let them penetrate her and speak to him.
If he were going to tell her of Bykov's threat, to share how they had been watched over the months, hadn't had a night alone since… now would have been the time. It was a revelation that would have shattered all that he had just worked to piece back together, but this would have been the moment for its unveiling, so that she would know the truth just as he did, would not innocently cling to false hope.
But his lips stayed sealed as his bruised and nearly-numb fingers tangled themselves in hair. Perhaps one day he would tell her. Or maybe the secret would stay buried inside him forever; he would let it kill him slowly, day by day, endure the pain of having to keep something, anything from her rather than have to see the look on her face when he told her the truth, crush her spirit for probably the millionth time and cringe as he wondered how much more she could take.
Instead, he cradled her head to his chest, repeating the two words that he had longed to shout out since the beginning, would give the two of them so much hope. "He's gone…"
Sydney pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat, murmuring what was probably her thousandth thank you and surely wouldn't be her last. His silence served as acceptance; he wouldn't admit that he was suddenly worn out, aching in more places than he had thought existed and starting to see with slightly blurred vision. She seemed to know anyway, let him uphold his front of strength as she pulled away and finished checking him over, cleaning his injuries as best she could with only the supplies of a half-stocked first aid kit and the rough paper towels from the bathroom dispenser.
As they left the room and continued down the hall to Vaughn's office, they were a perfect balance of each others' strengths and weaknesses: he leaned on her more heavily than he had before, but she was easily able to take it, the very weight of him calmed the emotional turmoil that seethed within her, soothing her from anxiety better than anything else could.
When she carefully opened his office door, the notes of that ever-familiar lullaby struck her ears, nearly snapping her back to one of thousands of instants when those same lyrics had enraptured her, the voice singing them, different from the one now, holding her under its spell. Charlotte looked up from her song, ready to greet them with a smile, but any happiness quickly slipped away when the caught a glimpse of her son.
She was at his side in an instant, Gabriel still cradled in one arm as her other hand skimmed over her own little boy's face. "Oh, Michael…"
It was a much better reaction than Sydney would have hoped for, Charlotte's petrified look and crinkled brow disappeared almost as soon as they had melted into existence, replaced with a sad smile as her eyes pierced her son's.
"Your father came home just like this one night," she began, turning so they could walk further into the room and helping Sydney ease Vaughn into a chair. "I was shaking, I was so frightened, but he wouldn't let me take him to the hospital, not until he had seen you. You were barely three years old at the time, had been asleep for hours, but he insisted."
Charlotte smiled with the memory of her late husband's determination, her eyes glazing over for half an instant as she became lost in a world that seemed so long ago. "Your aunt came to look after you while we went to the hospital; we told both of you that your father had gotten into an accident on the way home from work. You were afraid to ride in the car for weeks afterwards, but you would have been too young to understand the truth…"
Sydney glanced at Vaughn, wondering if he remembered, could feel the fear of a little child living in a too-big world, where there were too many questions to be answered and everything was distorted, seen from down below, only raised momentarily with the help of tiptoes, footstools and strong pairs of arms. A little boy who had listened to a story such as they were hearing now, one of truth, not fantasy, where heroes easily died and the villains could get away, would not have been a little boy any longer, would have been tainted too soon by reality. Children were better off with fairy tales and bedtime stories, the small lies that were fed in place of truths too big to swallow.
"… He told me everything that night, all the little things he had kept from me before. I had known he had worked for the CIA before, but… for the first time, I felt like I was really seeing the man I had married."
A further explanation of this type of revelation wasn't required, the two agents before her having experienced it themselves more times than they cared to count. Mostly, its effects were ghastly, pulling nightmares out of the gloom and into the light where they didn't belong. A few times, it had been tolerable, divulging truths that were better kept out of the dark. Only once it had been deliriously breathtaking, the baring of one soul to another…
"My love for him didn't change," Charlotte added, glancing at them with a smile. "True love doesn't. It endures through everything… But I don't need to tell the two of you that."
"No, Maman," Vaughn whispered softly, sincerely, would have risen from his chair if Sydney's gentle hand on his shoulder hadn't kept him down. "But thank you."
Charlotte tilted her arms, bringing the infant within them to their full attention. "I still cannot get over how perfect this child is," she mused, deftly changing the subject and handing the little boy over as Sydney reached for him. "Or you are, my dear..."
Sydney tried to murmur her thanks but found the words caught in her throat. Her reddened cheeks relayed her thoughts, however; her eyes returning to her child, intent on rememorizing every last one of his features, seeing if anything had changed in the short time she had been away from him. Without Vaughn, she could have eventually found happiness in only their little boy, but would have been scared to death of somehow failing, didn't think she would have been able to raise the child alone.
"… Michael's former taste in women left something to be desired."
Normally, Vaughn would have inserted an embarrassed Maman! at this point, but after all that had happened that day, he didn't mind, was too busy focusing on his child's nose and lips, the tiny fingers that reached for his own as he let it hover over the boy, afraid to touch him with all the blood and dirt that was caked on his hands. His hand alternately drew closer and flew further away as the all but irresistible inclination to touch the child warred with what little reason he had left.
But Sydney lifted Gabriel so that his father's fingertips brushed against his tiny cheek, putting an end to Vaughn's inner battle. Filth could be washed away at the end of the day. Some things simply mattered more. With the three of them together, it was completion, relief, happiness, uncertainty, love and fear all mixed up and tangled together; the essences of a growing family squeezed out of a jumble of emotions. But still there was something missing, something that…
"Where's Ilya?" Vaughn asked suddenly, taking his eyes from his son for only a moment to meet Sydney's, noticing how hers clouded with confusion as she struggled to grasp the correct answer to this question.
The child had been with her in the Operations Center, she knew that, couldn't forget the sound of his little voice as he had called out to Vaughn, the sight of him struggling with her headphones, his face twisted in concentration. But at times he had seemed no more than extension of herself, merely a comforting weight that had belonged against her shoulder and in her arms; he just seemed to fit so perfectly…
Snuggling Gabriel closer to her, she let the confusion of the Ops Center swim through her mind; she never thought she would have wanted to relive it all so soon. But there it was: the tumult, the static, the calmly and frantically shouted orders; scrambling agents, her father, Ilya and…
"Amy took him," she stated, sighing with relief at the sudden revelation. "Amy Lee. Devlin needed to see him."
No one took the time to process those words as they probably should have. Not that it would have mattered. Ilya was safe within the CIA building, and for the moment that was all that anyone needed to know. Panic and alarm lay panting, had been worn out by the day's events, needed to rest and recharge before they could sense trouble and spring to alert, prickling the mind with fear and haunting thoughts of what if…
If one slight reflection of what if was let through their defenses in this state, it would trip the lock and the others would come flooding out in droves, scrambling over each other in their dash to escape, scratching and scraping so that meanings were twisted and outcomes appeared worse than they once might have been: What if Weiss hadn't shown up? What if Bykov isn't dead? What if I had lost you? What if Gabriel is drawn into this life? What if I had never learned the truth…
They would trail to wheres and whens and whys and hows, completely eradicating any chance at normalcy, at a heartbeat that wasn't racing uncontrollably, at a life that wasn't twisted, hurled upside-down and inside out with even the slightest shadow of fear.
Quite frankly, it just wasn't worth it. Not when they were all too aware that time was something precious, that it could be spent in so many better ways. Sydney felt her hand find its way to the curve of Vaughn's neck, his climbing up to join hers there, weaving his fingers with her own. Despite all the questions, all the obstacles and threats, they had found their way back to each other. They always did.
"Michael?"
They both started at the sound of his mother's voice, saw her smile softly at them before continuing. "I know this probably isn't the time, and I don't mean to be rude, but I noticed your calendar sitting on top of your desk, and I see that you have the weekend of the 25th free… If Sydney doesn't mind my help, I think three and a half weeks gives us plenty of time to plan a wedding. Just say the word…"
Sydney's gaze traveled impulsively to the ring that rested on her finger, discovering it hidden by Gabriel's body. But the little boy was a welcome obstruction, and she wiggled her fingers as she held him simply to feel the weight of the metal shift against her skin. Color rose to her cheeks as she considered his mother's offer, wondering what Vaughn would think. Three and a half weeks seemed so soon, but it felt as if they had already waited a lifetime…
Neither of them dared to spoil the moment by answering, seemed to have some unspoken agreement not to let their eyes meet quite yet. It was when Sydney felt his fingers tighten around hers that she knew their answer, perceived the three little letters that seemed to jump from his flesh to hers, barreling through her skin and to her lips.
"Yes."
She paused to let that word work its way through her system, stimulate every single part of her body with its solitary sweetness, bring her back to a moment she could relive very day of her life and never tire of, would simply want to experience it again and again…
Really?
Yes, really… And not just because of the baby… Syd… Ever since I kissed you, ever since I met you, I've been waiting for the perfect moment... But every second I spend with you is more than perfect and I'm tired of waiting. I know I don't have the ring yet, and we don't have to do it now or even soon… I just want to know if…
Yes…
The deliciousness of that one word thrilled her, just as it had that night. The answer to a single decision that, back then, had seemed to effect so many changes for the better; now, wouldn't make much difference, except perhaps to change her last name so it matched that of her son and his father. But even that alone made her wonder why life had been so cruel as to make them wait so long.
"Charlotte, thank you. That would be…"
"Agent Bristow?"
Following her own voice, Agent Lee was suddenly in the doorway, eyes wide and arms empty, breathless from having just sprinted down the hallway. Her tone was unmistakable; an echo from just a while ago when those exact words had flown from her mouth and carried so much with them.
"Where's Ilya?"
Sydney wasn't sure who asked the question, whether the halting, careful voice belonged to her, Vaughn, or was a combination of both of them whispering together. No matter how it was created, the effect was lethal, could easily riddle guilt and sorrow through anyone possessing a heart.
"The doctor's examining him. He feels that in order to minimize further psychological damage, Ilya should be placed with a family right away…"
Those words in themselves were potentially painless, which was fortunate, because they were able to cushion the blow of what came next. It was a statement that stung worse than the bite of the winter wind on half-freezing fingers, screamed whys and hows and strains of something close to too emotionally attached…
"… Devlin ordered me to call the Department of Children and Family Services."