Title: Different [2/10] Author: Winking Tiger Rating: PG Setting: AU; General Season 3; post Crossings Summary: Different can be good. [Sydney/OC] Dedications: I have to thank Jude for the inspiration and Mel for betaing this for me. Author's Notes: I know that this started off angsty but it goes through a whole range of emotions and happenings. Please read and review, I hope you enjoy this

2

In between the chaos of my life, I've never stopped visiting the beach. I don't know exactly how it happened, or why, but it was something I came to need, to want, that helped—actually helped. I used to be able to compartmentalize, separate painfully well, until I needed to extract the memories, the information—the emotions. But recently, since my infamous two years, I just can't do some of the things I used to, or at least not as well.

The waves and the water, and the sun or the moon, and the stars, and the sand, and the ... everything just sort of took a hold of me. They almost became a literal part of me. They take away everything I don't need to think about, everything I should but don't want to, and everything I just don't need to be able to live, at this very moment. It may not be best to set aside feelings, emotions—bottled up emotions explode—but it's sure as hell easy enough to do right now, and works well enough.

Absolute nothingness. Water rolling to and fro. The wind, leaves rattling, the warmth of the sun. Nothingness. There's a noise I keep hearing, faint and in the back of my mind, but I let the noise of nothing overpower it.

It is a battle, but the noise is continuous and getting louder by the second. I can't not think anymore—I am being brought back to reality. Nothingness doesn't include a ... dog barking. Not just a dog barking, but an actual dog, up against me, tail wagging, pleadingly looking up into my eyes, tongue out slightly, puppy dog eyes staring at me.

"Casey, no! No! I'm so—Casey! Casey!—I'm so sor—Case!—sorry. I—Casey!" I look up and see the outline of some guy, he must have been the one who had just called out to the dog all over me—this must be his dog. He sounded genuinely apologetic, but not too surprised, as if it were a common occurrence. His words didn't really make a difference—Casey, it seems, was now only encouraged by his owner's yells, he is bodily on top of me.

"It's ok, really," I tried to get out. Between my teary eyes and the growing smile on my face, I must look like an idiot. What was this guy going to think? His dog runs off the leash and into me. I'm smiling while the dog's all over me and licking my face, with puffy and red eyes—maybe Casey's licking my face because of the salt from my tears. That made my smile even wider and I can't help myself, the very thought made me laugh, really hard.

Truth list: 6. Silence is sometimes overrated.

"He seems to really like you," the owner laughs. "I'm so sorry," he says again to me. Between the waves and Casey's surprisingly strong thumping tail against me and the sand, I can barely hear the man. "Casey's a little ... over exuberant around people. I guess it's a good thing that you seem to like him," I think I heard him say.

Looking up, I glance at the guy. He is smiling and his body shakes a little from laughing. I give him a smile; this is a nice deviation from my normal. "It's really okay. I love dogs—and Casey is adorable."

"I'm Colin. Obviously that's Casey. And as adorable as this big lug is, I'm sorry all the same for him rushing you," he says with a big smile. A smile, a cute dog, and manners—nice.

Petting Casey some more, I look up and give both of them a reassuring look. "It's really okay. I love dogs. It wasn't like I was in the middle of performing brain surgery, he didn't interrupt anything." I couldn't help but smile. Nice and light, nothing heavy or serious.

"Here, let me help you up," he says with a smile and an outstretched hand. I didn't realize how heavy a dog could be. Casey's sweet, but he's big! As I reach out for his hand, his smile falters, "Ah—I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

Getting up, Colin helps get Casey off of me, and I look over at the two of them and smile, "Sydney".

He laughs and Casey barks. He looks over at me and then at the water, over to Casey and then back to me. "I'm not a stalker and I'm not a psychopath," he says with a smile and a glint in his eyes. "I'm a strange guy on the beach with his dog." I laugh at him, again, and crouch down to pet Casey. "Would you like to ... walk along the beach with us—the attack dog and the strange man?"

I can't help myself. I stand up, give Casey one more pat, look at Colin, grin and then laugh so hard tears come to my eyes. "Sure".

Truth list: 7. laughing is good.

The weather holds up and we are able to go on for miles, only stopping when Casey runs into the water. It's nice: walking as far as I can see and then back again. We talk about small things, important things, everything imaginable.

"Yeah, I come to the beach all the time," I admit.

"Well, I live nearby, I can't help coming over all the time."

"Oh really?" I ask, with raised eyebrows. You had to have money, lots of it, to live anywhere near here.

"Yeah, my house is just a little ways over. It's been in my family for a while now. You know, grandparents, parents, me."

"How sweet," I coo. What am I, a thirteen year old girl with a crush?

"Yeah. It's a great house, with memories all over," he tells me. Waiting a second, he leans over, as if he was going to share a secret. "My Mother insisted that I keep it. I'm not the only one in the family—I have a sister. But it's in a great school district—she has yet to give up her extreme ... desire that she get grandkids out of me."

Laughing, it seems so perfect. "You're lucky to have a mother that cares. And what about your sister?"

"Well, she's too flighty—and too young. Apparently she thinks the task is all on me—I alone," he began to mock, "can continue on the family." He shakes the humor off and says seriously, "I don't know about that though." He sobers even more for a second, hesitating on how to continue. "I have an amazing family. Not everyone's family is perfect, but I lucked out to have mine. I am really lucky to have my Mom—and my Dad too. They're great people, but I don't see them much anymore. My Dad had a midlife crisis a little late and became a judge—in the smallest town you could ever find. Mom's trying not to kill him and keep herself happy, all at the same time. Needless to say, I don't see them too much. And I don't know about me 'continuing the family' any time soon—there is a certain order to things, typically. All I've got is Casey, and I don't think we'll be ... reproducing any time soon." He laughs at his joke and I can't help laughing too. "But I'm not teaching this summer and I'm going to visit my parents for a while, try to write while I'm up there."

"Teach? Write? What exactly do you do?" I ask, confused.

"I'm lowly literature professor over at USC. By some strange coincidence someone thought I was good, and someone died, and then I got the job and tenure." He looks at me seriously, but his words give him away. "The pages don't write themselves," he jokes.

I laugh and then think on how amazing this all is. "That's amazing. That's what I got my masters in." What a small world. "I always wanted to teach, follow in my Mom's footsteps. But then ..." I realize, remember, just how small things really are. Not Laura the literature teacher but Irina, the woman that's done so much to hurt. "I never got the chance to teach though."

Even when things get to serious topics he has a way of making them okay. "Well, when I'm reading and grading papers, it's not exactly my favorite thing. It's not for everyone, but I'm sure you would have been a great teacher." I get this look from him; he makes me want to believe him. I don't think I'll ever really be okay on that subject. "But with Case around, he's not always one to be left alone—well. That could be my problem," he jokes.

"Well, Casey here seems like a pretty good dog to me," I insist.

"He is, most of the time," he assures me. He goes on, jokingly, about how he's had Casey for just over a year. He'd gone to get his little sister a dog, as a birthday present, and fell in love with this little golden pup that followed his every move while he'd looked at all the other dogs at the pound. "... something about these eyes that wouldn't stop following mine. I couldn't help myself." He shrugs it off, trying to lessen everything, but failing miserably.

"I always wanted a pet as a child," I admit. "As soon as I could, I got a pet—just not exactly the best pet to have gotten, I realize now," he looks intrigued and decide that I'll tell him the rest of the pitiful story. "I went and got a small bird, a cockatiel. I named it Cuddles. A month later it turned evil. A month after that it dropped dead in its cage. I didn't get any pets after that," I say, ashamed. Even though Cuddles was mean, I still feel responsible for his death. I don't know what I did wrong, but I don't think I'll try pets again, at least never a bird.

I'm being serious and honest and he laughs at me and my story. Shaking his head disapprovingly, he gives me a mock apologetic look, seeing the anger building on my face. "I'm sorry," he spurts out, between restrained laughter. "I didn't think you were so ... serious about it. Its okay, I don't think kids should ever have pets, they experience death too soon. Don't worry, at least I know to never get you a bird," he tries, knowing that nothing he's said has been too helpful.

Realizing he is trying to mend things, I lessen my angry face and try for a smile. He gives me a goofy face, one akin to what 3-year-olds on a playground make to each other. I just laugh and smile. And the stranger from the beach, as I called him when he said something devilish, just made everything okay.

Truth list: 8. Not everything has to be okay.

Walking back, I realize—when we'd almost reached the point where everything had started—that I feel more comfortable with this man that I just met then with a lot of the people in my life. There was—is—this tug he had, that if I got too far away he'd pull me in and I'd feel good again, and happy.

I struggle with myself as we were approaching the end. I had just met this guy, and who knows who he really is and if anything he's told me is the truth—I should know that better then anyone. But there is something about him that makes me want to trust him. He'd told me so much about himself, his life—but I keep reminding myself that it could all be his cover story. How many times have I been a different person, with a cover story that really could be someone's life? One too many.

I'm going to make sure to leave without hinting that I know anything and that'd be that. I wouldn't see him again and I wouldn't have to worry if he was someone out to get me. We walk, talking and joking, to where I'd gotten off the path to reach the beach—so many hours ago. He looks up at the steps and then over to me. I smile, give Casey a hug goodbye and then say something to the effect of: 'Thanks for the walk boys' and walk away.

I have this feeling in my gut as I take each step closer to my house, my car, my real life. But I just keep walking, you can't always put life on hold—not my life at least. It is my day off, but that doesn't mean much of anything. I'm half expecting to hear a phone ring, a beeper go off—something to let me know I have to return to my reality of spy life and espionage. Then again, I also remember how things almost never go according to plan. With that fleeting thought I hear feet pounding against the pavement behind me and someone shouting out, "Hey, wait up for me Syd!"

tbc