Title: A New Flame

Author: Edes

Disclaimer: These characters don't belong to me

A/N Timeframe for Epilogue: During the Season Three finale, Resurrection. Pretend that there were a few days between the time when Syd and Vaughn killed Lauren and when Syd went to the bank in Wittenberg. (Not too far-fetched, right? Syd would have wanted to see Vaughn settled in the hospital, etc.) That's when the phone call takes place.

Thanks so much to my faithful reviewers (you know who you are)! I couldn't have finished it without y'all. I'd love to welcome any new readers, too—thanks for reading!

Epilogue: After the Flames

Leah

Leah decided to celebrate her release from the CIA ward by having an art show. Time to shed these demons. Will, delighted, helped her rent gallery space and advertise in the local paper. The University had already sent her paintings to the facility at no charge—Leah suspected the CIA was behind that. Well, it was fine if they pampered her a little.

She spent two days hanging and re-hanging the works. Leah banished Will from the gallery, and she chuckled to herself whenever she remembered his puppy-eyed look. But she had needed to do this alone. So much of her was in those paintings; ordering them in the space felt like fulfilling the final phase of her therapy.

Bradley's series was there, too, intercut with her works. The painting of Irina had jumped from wall to wall, never blending in. It finally settled on an easel by itself in the center of the room. It was the only one not hanging—but, then again, it was the only one not finished. Leah didn't want to make it too precious, though, so she counterbalanced its central position of honor by placing the cheese buffet right next to it. It was Wisconsin cheese, of course.

00

As evening fell on the night of her opening a sizable crowd filtered among the paintings, talking quietly, admiring. Their hushed voices blended with the soft music. The sounds of glasses chinking emanated from the wine bar. Fresh-cut lemons floated in water glasses around the room, giving off a clean scent. Leah sighed with contentment. Only one thing missing…

Leah saw Will step into the gallery, a huge bouquet nearly obscuring his face. With a grin, she crossed the room and caught him in a fierce hug. He returned it, lifting her from the ground and swinging her around until she squealed. It was a touch indecorous, but she couldn't care less.

She was laughing. "What was that? Are we in like the third grade, now?"

He chuckled in recognition as he put her down. He looked into her eyes, and Leah wondered when gravity had decided to reverse itself.

"Hey," he breathed, brushing a strand of her hair from her face.

"Hey." Leah grinned even wider.

Things are going to be OK.

Will

The day before Leah's farewell show, they called Will and offered to put him back in the Program.

Hell of a lot of good that ever did. Will held the phone as if it were contagious, but he listened. They offered to move him again, even to keep him and Leah together.

The thought had some appeal—they could have gone anywhere. Maybe to France; she could have set up a small gallery, or sold paintings in a courtyard to tourists. He could have played games of chess with old men in the plaza, until he was one of them himself. A simple life, with an untraceable pension from the government paying most of the bills. It would be the least they could do, his contact at the Program had said.

Surprisingly, it was Leah who had said no, for both of them. Will wasn't sure why, but as he looked across the gallery to her small face with its huge smile—she was smiling again, finally—he was glad. They had just found the truth about each other. He didn't want to start the lies all over again, even if she was with him. Lies might keep you safe, but they blunt the joy in your life. Sometimes Will startled himself with his own perspicuity.

Will's chest swelled as he watched Leah haggle with a prospective buyer. She was adorable in a serious navy shift dress that contrasted the hilarity in her eyes. The buyer was gray haired and kindly, a local store owner that Will had seen in the town. He joked with Leah, bartering. He finally offered to buy two pieces, one of hers and one of Bradley's, saying they made a nice set. Leah thanked him with sincerity, and Will was relieved to see her face free of pain.

Will was just about to cross to where they stood when his phone rang. He looked at his caller ID and smiled.

"Hey, Syd."

"How did you know it was me?" She asked in girlish innocence. She actually meant it.

Will rolled his eyes and wondered for the umpteenth time how the best agent in the CIA and his sometimes goofy friend could possibly be the same person. "Oh, I have my ways."

"Heh. I see." Syd paused, as if not sure of what to say. A lot has happened since she last saw me.

"My dad showed me the reports you submitted. I would have called sooner, but he suggested I wait until—until Leah's therapy was finished." Her voice dropped in concern. "Leah—how is she?"

"Much better. She's doing great, in fact. We're having an art show for her, right now. You should see it--she's the toast of Twin Rocks, Oregon. Quite the metropolis. I'd let her talk to you, but she's currently fending off three rabid buyers. I might need to step in before things get out of hand."

Will could hear Syd's smile in her voice. "To protect her, or them?"

"Oh, them, definitely. Leah can take care of herself. She's like the Tasmanian devil. Small, but terrifying," Will laughed.

"So it sounds like." Syd's smile faded. They were silent, each thinking about Irina.

Will was sure that whatever Syd was thinking, it involved guilt. It wasn't the first time Syd had felt responsible for the actions of Irina Derevko. But the last thing Will wanted to hear were her unwarranted apologies.

"Syd, I haven't had any news—how are you?"

So Sydney told him everything. That she had finally found out about her missing two years…but that it was classified, so she couldn't share the burden of knowledge.

"That sucks," Will said. He was rewarded with her wry giggle. His talent for understatement was alive and well, he guessed.

She told him about her sister by Irina and Sloane, and Sloane's recent disappearance with Nadia. Will marveled. Another betrayal. Irina's list of secrets seemed endless.

She told him of Lauren's duplicity; about Vaughn's devastation when he learned that he couldn't leave her immediately. That he had to pretend not to know—to the point of sleeping with her. Will was speechless. That's the last time I ever envy him.

Suddenly, memory seized him.

"Lauren—Vaughn's wife—was Covenant? Wait…was she blonde?" Pieces fell into place. A photo on Vaughn's desk, seen the last time he was in LA while he waited for Syd to leave Marshall's office. Just an ex-journalist's curiosity, at the time. He had wanted to know: what woman was making Syd so unhappy?

"Oh, my god! I saw her picture on Vaughn's desk. I can't believe I didn't remember. Syd, she tried to kill me."

Syd sighed. "I thought as much, when I read your reports. But by the time they came through, I already knew Lauren was a double agent. It was one more thing to hate her for. I don't know what I would have done, if she'd taken you and---" Sydney shuddered.

Her voice when she spoke again was bleak. "She's dead, Will. Vaughn and I killed her, two days ago."

"Oh. That's, that's---" He couldn't decide if it were terrible or wonderful.

Her voice quieted to a throaty whisper. "You were right. There's no feeling of closure, of redemption—it's just emptiness. I guess that's what hate does to you. It hollows you out."

Will ached for his friend. He searched for a bright thread in the dark topic.

"What about you and Vaughn? Are you guys OK?"

The question didn't even twist him. His cheek could still feel Leah's hair from when she had hugged him. He had buried his face in it as he held her in joy. It was real—her treatment was finished. We are both free, now.

Syd's sigh brought him back. "I don't know. I hope so, but this has all been so hard. So strange."

I couldn't agree more. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Just when you think it can't get any weirder, it does."

They both chuckled awkwardly. Neither wanted to reopen scabs that had yet to scar over. Will wondered where their easy camaraderie had gone, if the events of the last half-year had stolen it from them.

"Will?" And there it was. The tone in Sydney's voice reached across the miles to touch the part of him that remembered exactly what true friendship felt like. He thought she might say anything.

"I'm glad you are coming back."

"So am I, Syd."

Will seized the moment. "Love you." A smile lit his voice—

—and was returned in her happy tone. "Love you, too, Will."

Leah

Leah looked out the window of the plane, lost in thought. Will dozed beside her, his head propped on his Badgers jacket.

She had rejected the offer from the Program.

She'd had enough of painting a world that wasn't real. A world in which Bradley had lived, had loved her enough to fight his illness. A world in which she hadn't been twisted by a merciless woman into a sleeper agent for a country she had never seen. A world in which she and Will could be a normal couple. That world doesn't exist.

So the CIA had made them a different offer—and they had accepted.

Leah would stick to painting the world the way it was, even if she had to fit her studio time into the too short breaks between briefings, between missions.

The CIA thought she would be a good agent. She got the feeling they felt that her "training" with Irina made her an honorary member of the Derevko-Bristow espionage legacy. Leah thought that excessive praise, but suspected she was ready for this change regardless. She was less dreamy now. Her time with Will had burned her with a new flame, leaving only tempered steel in her soul. She had been distilled to her essence. Her mind was less like a glittering Renoir and more like the efficient, elegant strokes of Asian calligraphy.

The plane landed at LAX, wheels jarring on the hot pavement. Will woke and blinked sleepily.

As she unbuckled her seatbelt and unfolded from the cramped airline seat, Leah felt a surge of ironic acceptance. She found to her surprise that that she even looked forward to fulfilling her potential as an agent. She was quick and smart and never stopped pushing herself. She would welcome the challenges being an agent brought: to learn new accents, to walk new ways, to fight hard and to win.

I can't wait to see Sydney again. Leah was sure she was as caring as Will had described—and as talented. I'll be learning from the best.

Leah hoped that Will would train to be a field agent as well. She knew there was no one she trusted more—she would like to partner with him, eventually. Maybe together they could relish stealing back the Rambaldi brush Sark took from her apartment. That would be fun.

Leah and Will walked slowly down the jet way. They both only had small backpacks; Will's hand was free to slip into hers as they left the plane. She didn't turn, but she knew his incomparable blue eyes were watching her. She smiled. Her world held few constants, but Leah knew that Will would stay with her through whatever lay ahead. The past few months had seen the fires of danger and pain scorch away their mistrust, leaving behind only their love like a hard, rare gem.

As she emerged from the dark jet way, the airport seemed full of light.

Fin

A/N: Well, that's all folks. Please take a sec to let me know what you thought. It will help me make the next story better! Thanks for reading!